#molly my darling my dear my beloved--

[dent-de-leon]

The Tealeafs and Ruidus the red moon liking red... red being consistent in their lives to the point their abilities are blood based...

Hmmm... I've made a connection, don't know what yet, but I've made it.

Ohh yes there's definitely something I love about this!!

Lucien, born with eyes a deep crimson red. Called a devil and treated like an outsider all his life because of his infernal blood. Lucien using that same blood to try and desperately take back some sense of autonomy--spilling his own blood for just a taste of more power, gambling his life in every fight.

Fate is a funny thing. And Lucien would know that, being fate touched--but...I think about Lucien making himself bleed. Lucien born with these piercing red eyes. And I wonder if it's just coincidence that the Somnovem chose to brand him, and their eyes were all bright red--

Molly crawling his way out of the grave under a burning, blood red moon. (Lucien's Eyes were once compared to the vermillion light of Ruidus too--) Molly having to wake up every day and see his infernal red eyes in the mirror--knows villagers will flinch at his gaze, curse his name. And how hard he tries to cover up the nine red Eyes that brand his skin, the terrible fate he inherited from Lucien. Molly dreaming of a nightmarish, twisting city in a sea of red, and--I wonder if a part of him starts to hate that color--

Except. Even as much as it's associated with everything that's hurt him, we know he still loves it. Falls for Lestera with her long red hair and her flashy red coat. Cradles her lovingly hand embroidered coat to his heart, and cherishes it so much, he wears it every day. And even as his memories of her all start to fade, he holds onto that image, that piece of her he always carried with him. "There was a--oh. There was a circus. And a...a beautiful woman, in a red coat. She was telling me secrets, showing me how to keep secrets. Show secrets--I...Where's the woman? No, not her...where's the woman--"

I think about Jester offering to make him a new coat as King, "Do you want it to be a red coat? I mean, you were dreaming of it." Kingsley politely declining, "Mm...maybe black for now." But...months later, he's wearing a dashing red coat.

I think of Lestera being buried on a bed of red roses, and then the comic using red roses to represent Molly's tarot card, The Fool. How perfectly it suits the way Molly's whole character is built upon being a romantic at heart. Taliesin describing every incarnation of Tealeaf as, "Kingsley really latched onto the pirate life, and that's what happened with any of the other Molly's and Nonagon's--they imprint really hard on whatever's there that looks romantic and fun! It's romance, fun, and I have an audience."

Red like blood and roses; red for Lucien's draw to danger, for Molly's passion and romance. When Tealeaf starts to fall for Caleb, I wonder if he loves that his hair is red--

[esmerose]

Hello Es,

It's been a while. I was wondering about the ring Alastor gave you. Even though you can use your powers without its help now does the ring still possess the power to protect you and do you still wear it? You look absolutely stunning as always.

Hello Molly,

Thank you! It has been a while, I hope you're doing well, dear!

I absolutely still wear the ring my beloved gave me, it is a symbol of our marriage after all! As to whether or not it possesses the power to protect me, I'm afraid I can't say until Artemis finishes the third book about our story.

She's been working so hard to interview us on the details that have transpired, and I would hate to disturb her work.

I hope you have a fabulous day, darling! 😊

~ E.H 🖤

[artzychic27]

Not me watching the proud family reboot: How about two or more members of the Akuma Class step into a Bizarro universe?

Nino: Guys, does something seem… Off?

Marinette: How do you mean?

Nino: Oh, maybe just the fact that Juleka is wearing pastels and Rose is dressed in all black! *Points to Juleka eating pink twizzlers and Rose reading The Raven*

Alya: … It’s probably a couples thing. We swapped shirts that one time.

Nino: By accident, because we were tired. But, I’m serious, there’s something off. *Notices Marc texting* Hey, Marc! Quick question. Have you noticed anything… Strange?

Marc: *Southern accent* Weird how? Like them crop circles that Area 51 over in the states ain’t tellin’ us about? No, sir, I reckon I ain’t seen nothin’ of the sorts.

Marinette/Adrien/Alya/Nino: …

Adrien: Why are you talking like that? How are you talking like that?

Marc: You got issues with the way I be talkin’? I’m getting some real fighting words from you, Mr. Fancy Boy!

Nathaniel: *British accent* Marc, my beloved, deep breaths, dear. This bellicose behavior is most unwarranted.

Marinette: Nathaniel?!

Adrien: Why are you talking like that?

Nathaniel: Pray tell, Adrien. Whatever do you mean?

Adrien: Like that! So… Eloquent.

Marc: Shoot, he always been talkin’ all fancy like. S’why he be writing for our whole-ass comic.

Nathaniel: Darling, mind your language, if you please. Many are not used to your colorful vocabulary as I. Now, come along. You promised to escort me to class.

*Marinette, Alya, Adrien, and Nino watch them leave*

Marinette: That was weird, right?

Nino: Not as weird as that. *Points to Denise and Simon*

Simon: ¿Cómo tuve la bendición de estar en presencia de tanta belleza?

Denise: Boy, I don’t got time to be listening to whatever the hell you’re saying! ‘Sides, I need a man, and not a twig. *Flips their hair and leaves*

Simon: Maldita sea, me gustan ardientes.

Alya: Why is Simon speaking Spanish?!

*Alix walks by with a huge diamond ring on her finger*

Nino: Alix, nice bling.

Alix: Thanks. My man bought it for me.

Marinette: Okay, NOW this is weird! Who exactly is-

Ismael: *Slings an arm around Alix’s waist* ‘Sup, baby? Come and give me some love. *Alix kisses him* Yeah, you know how I like it.

Marinette/Alya/Nino/Adrien: 😱

Nino: This isn’t weird anymore. This is horrific.

*They walk into their classroom and find Kim tutoring Max while he spins a basketball on his finger, Ivan and Myléne drinking from non-reusable plastic water bottles, Sabrina wearing all sorts of expensive clothing, and Chloé on her phone*

Marinette: Well, at least Chloé is normal.

Chloé: Marinette! You don’t wanna miss this, my Chlo-Coin is about to go Bezos. If you ever need a little assist, lemme know and I’ll front you.

Marinette: … What?!

Chloé: Yeah! You know I’m a sucker for giving money away!

Marinette: I-I don’t know what to say.

Chloé: Just don’t forget to invite me to your private island when you cash in!

Alya: … That ain’t right.

*Later*

Marinette: Oh, boy. Don’t look now.

*The Austins approach them*

Nino: Look, we’re in no mood, guys, so just keep walking!

Austin T: … *Runs away crying*

Austin Q: He was offering you a flyer to the anti bullying assembly, you jerk! *Runs after Austin T* TeeTee! Come back!

Austin A: Now you gonna get it. *Leaves*

Austin B: *Without looking up from his game console, he flips him off and leaves*

Nino: The Austins are nice, now? Man, I’m conflicted. *Jean suddenly pins him to the wall* Whoa! Jean, what the hell?!

Jean: What’d you say to my boy, Lahiffe?! Wanna explain why I just saw him crying?! Huh?!

Nino: I-I didn’t mean anything-

Jean: I got three rules set in this hellhole! Three! Never touch the hair. Have your cash out and ready when you see me. And hurt my baby, you die.

Austin T: *Runs over and grabs Jean’s arm* Sweetie, he’s not worth it. And I don’t want you having another suspension on your record.

Jean: … You’re lucky I don’t Molly whop you today, Lahiffe. *Snatches serveral euros out of his pockets* I’m taking this! C’mon, baby, let’s dip. *He and Austin T leave*

Adrien: Okay, so Jean is a bully and Austin T is a nice guy. Good to know. Who’s left?

Zoé: One side, blondie! *Pushes Adrien aside and approaches Cosette reading a book* ‘Sup, hot stuff? What do you say we skip the day?

Cosette: Ugh, I’d rather lose my position as the top of the class and my mother’s favorite child than go out with the class delinquent and tarnish my flawless attendance. Goodbye, yankee. *Tosses her hair and leaves*

Zoé: Yeah, they want me.

Nino: So, that just leaves-

Lacey: Aurore! Get down from there, or you’ll die!

Aurore: *Relaxing on the roof next to a bottle of cranberry juice* Chill, Lace! I’m just catching up on a few naps I missed while I was in class!

Lacey: You’re not even supposed to sleep during class! You’re only going to fall behind, and how did you get up there?!

Mireille: Oh, just shut the fuck up! If she wants to chill out on the roof, let her chill out on the fucking roof!

[harrypotterbrainworms]

Kissing at The Burrow

Summary: “hi love! can I request a drabble about george bringing his boyfriend for the first time to the burrow? have a great day! 💕”

Pairing: George Weasley x Male Reader

Key: (Y/N)- your name.

Word Count: 921

“Come on, dearies. In the house, it’s boiling outside. No sunburns again.” Mrs. Weasley rounded up a record of 8 children into the burrow in time for supper.

“Muum�� Fred groaned, a very illegal set of muggle fireworks in his arms. Everyone looked cheery for the display, but immediately followed Molly in as their stomachs growled.

(Y/N) had never been in such chaos, it was the first time he’d ever gone to the burrow and while he was excited, he was just about as nervous too. Firsts were a stressful thing.

“Harry, (Y/N), just relax in the dining room will you?” Molly shooed the boys away, being left to their own devices in the empty living room… not for long though.

“How’s it going, love?” George was right there behind him, according to Mrs. Weasley, he should’ve been grabbing the extra chairs, sweeping the floor and taking out the plates.

“Are you supposed to be working?” He asked with a slight smirk on his face. He wanted to see house-husband George in action, never a domestic moment with that asshole.

“I am, see? I’m working up a sweat checking on my beloved” He bent down to kiss (Y/N)’s forehead lightly, leaving Harry looking a little flushed and awkwardly looking away. Though George couldn’t care less, full on showering his boyfriend with kisses.

“What, Potter? The gays scaring you?” George said looking up at the younger boy in the room who was looking at his own shoes to distract himself and not “ruin the moment”.

“N-No!” He shouted out, as he looked at the two lovebirds.

“Just teasing, Harry. Calm down” George laughed, putting his hands around (Y/N) then immediately off as his mother walked in.

“George!? Plates? Where are the extra chairs! Your father will be home any minute and you’re sitting here fooling around” She walked in, two chairs in her arms and a stray hand flicking a wand for the plates as they danced to their places.

“Sorry, mum!” Geogre shouted out, giving (Y/N) peck on the cheek and going to grab some more chairs.

“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley.” (Y/N) said looking down.

“Nonsense, dear. That boy has nothing on his mind, but you. Should’ve hid you in a cupboard so he can do work.” She said putting her hands on her hips before turning her heel the opposite direction Ron and trotted away.

(Y/N) laughed, he wishes he could do that sometimes too, his nerves calmed down as he quickly accustomed to the new environment. Passing Ginny gravy with one as he simultaneously held a lengthy conversation with Hermione and holding George’s hand with his other.

“No, (Y/N). You can’t just half-ass wish for this or that. Wishes are to be thought through carefully” Hermione groaned out as she forked her dinner aggressively, a furrow in her brow.

“And I’m just saying that if I had a genie, I wouldn’t think. You have a freaking genie-“ (Y/N) replied, they’ve been on about genies for the past half an hour.

He heard George yawn, suspicious, a hand over his mouth as he eyed both his, Fred’s and (Y/N)’s empty plates. He sighed and yawned too, Fred joining in eventually.

“We better head to sleep, don’t you think? I’m full as can be” Fred stretched his arms out and stood up from the table followed by Geogre.

“Right, Fred.” Who was followed by (Y/N).

“Right.”

All three mischievous boys quickly made way through a small window by the stairs, fireworks already resting under the twin’s arms, if only they’d put this much effort into anything else. Where did they even appear from?

“Come on, to the bog. Best place for fireworks” George grabbed onto (Y/N)’s hand, Fred trailing behind them.

Once the boys got to the small grass patch, Geogre pulled a blanket out. Did he even have that when they left? George and (Y/N) both sat down as they watched Fred set up the pyrotechnic show for them.

“Have fun, lovebirds. I’m going to go occupy our room. You owe me.” He flashed a wink over to George, throwing a lighter his direction.

“Firework show when you bring Angie here?”

“You bet.”

“He’s not staying?”

“Nope, darling. Just us and some very large muggle fireworks.”

He stood up and lit the pile, quickly running back to their blanket. (Y/N) squeezed himself between George’s legs letting him rest his head on (Y/N) neck as they watched the sky light up in different hues. It was beautiful, a perfect way to start an entire summer with his boyfriend.

“George Fabian Weasley!” They heard a shriek from the burrow, they both looked at each other and back at the burrow. Single thought, run.

“Full name.” They said in unison, quickly grabbing their blanket and running as fast they could in the dark towards the small window.

Both climbing into the window and then up the stairs, they made it by a second into the beds they had before Molly Weasley burst in, eyes squinted in suspense. She walked out eyeing the twins and when she was out of earshot, they both started panting and laughing.

“You two are gonna get yourselves killed one of these days and we can guess who’s doing it” Fred huffed out before laughing too, looking back at the comic he was reading as (Y/N) and George kissed.

“Sounds about right” George sighed as he rested his head on (Y/N) gently.

[itsivyberry]

after the war

Draco Malfoy x f!Hufflepuff!Reader

A blurb, continuing the Tri Wizard Champion series.

request: I'd really like to see another fanfic with Draco showing what happened to them after the triwizard tournament! That would be a great idea! [via @booksmione ]

a/n: HI! Here’s a request! I loved writing this, I usually am not a fan of after-war fics and prefer fics where the characters are still attending Hogwarts, but this makes my heart SOAR I love it. I hope you enjoyed, thank you for requesting this and keeping my favorite (and only) series alive <3

word count: 1160

warnings: mentions of blood loss, crucio, scars, death, war, etc. also fluff LMAOOO

summary: Y/N and Draco managed to find their way back to each other after three years of healing from the well-known Tri Wizard Tournament.

taglist: @drawlfoy @fanficflaneuse @babyhoneystvles @ccelinewritess @nekee-lilac02 @dracofeltonmalfoy

masterlist

read the series if you haven’t already!⬇️

{ 1 } { 2 } { 3 } { 3.5 } { 4 } { 5 } { 6 }

gif credit: @popartism

The war was a massive devastation for the Wizarding world.

Y/N was still grieving the loss of her best friend three years prior. Her school, her home had turned into a place she didn’t even recognize. A prison.

Just as quickly as Hogwarts had changed, she had watched family and friends die within its walls, protecting the students within.

Every single night in her dorm before the Battle of Hogwarts, Y/N would listen to the radio in search of any names listed off that she knew.

Although she claimed she was listening for loved ones, she was really listening for one particular name. Malfoy.

Y/N knew that there was no possible way the Malfoys would be put on the casualties list that grows every day, but she still listened with quiet breathing and a rapid heartbeat to hear the name of the boy she still loved.

From what she could remember, the battle was a blur. A blip in time. Faces that she knew, lifeless on the ground around her. Faces she has grown up with for almost the past decade.

Y/N couldn’t count how many people she loved and held dearly that she had seen dead. Fred Weasley, leaving his other half George. Nymphadora Tonks, a beloved Hufflepuff alumni, and Remus Lupin, Harry Potter’s last standing familial figure and spouse to Tonks. Lavender Brown, the Gryffindor that Y/N had grown quite close to while Hogwarts was under the direction of multiple death eaters. Colin Creevey, the young muggle-born Gryffindor who stood incredibly brave, and another close friend of Y/N’s.

~•.*✰

While attempting to save another young student, Y/N was hit with the Cruciatus Curse, and was severely attacked by multiple Death-Eaters. She could barely feel the pain, when her eyes focused on a head full of white hair that was speeding to wear she lay in a puddle of her own blood in the Forbidden Forest.

“How did you get out here? Why are you out here, Y/N?” Draco’s voice was deeper, aged, yet frantic and shaking. “Oh Merlin, you’re bleeding so much. We need to get you to the Great Hall.”

“Draco?” Y/N’s quiet voice asked. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was trembling, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She touched his face, leaving a bloody handprint behind. She tried to convince herself that he really was here, that he really was trying to get her help, and he wasn’t just a hallucination from the blood loss.

“Close your eyes.” Draco instructed.

A moment passed, and Y/N felt her stomach drop as if she were on a fast roller coaster.

“I need help! Help!” She soon heard Draco screaming, his voice cracking with every syllable. Bustling voices around her had forced her to open her eyes, and she soon realized he had apparated both of them into the Great Hall. Molly Weasley, a dear friend of Y/N’s mother, rushed over as two students behind her carried a cot.

They transferred her onto the cot, working as quickly as they could to heal the wounds without any more blood loss. Y/N was walking the thin line of unconsciousness, but refused to let herself pass out while Draco was still near her.

She knew he worried too much. The creases permanently etched into his forehead told her enough.

With the remaining strength Y/N had, she reached towards him to grab his hand. His eyes snapped down to her the second she made contact with his hand, and he clasped it in both and immediately started planting tear-filled kisses along every inch of her exposed skin.

“You’re gonna be alright. Everything is going to be fine. Please, stay awake. Stay awake for me, Y/N/N. Please.”

~•.*✰

“Wow, so Dad was a softie!” Y/N’s and Draco’s eldest daughter, Lyra, exclaimed.

“Yes, he really was.” Y/N smiled warmly, laying her hand atop Draco’s as they sat on the couch.

“So, that’s how you got that scar? It’s cool!” Scorpius piped in, pointing to Y/N’s stomach, where a prominent white scar lead up to her shoulder, meeting the three scars on her back from her fourth year.

“Mom, you have had some crazy accidents. How did Dad never have heart attacks?” Cassi asked, leaning forward in complete and utter amusement.

“Oh, I can promise you, Dad did have heart attacks. I enjoy keeping him on his toes.” Y/N winked, leaning back into Draco, who had an arm over her shoulder.

“Can you tell us about the tournament again, Mom? Please?” Scorpius begged, pouting.

“I think it’s about time for you three to go to bed, hm? Mom’s had enough revisiting her very, very dangerous experiences throughout her years at school. Let’s get you all to bed, shall we? Big day tomorrow.” Draco piped in, pushing himself off the couch and helping his children stand from the carpet.

“I’m nervous for tomorrow! First day of fourth year. I wonder if mine will be as adventurous as Moms.” Lyra said, walking slowly to her room.

“And first day of third for me. I hope I get to meet a Hippogriff like you did your third year, Dad.” Scorpius followed his sister through the hallway to their bedrooms.

“And first day of Hogwarts for our darling little Cassiopeia, isn’t that right?” Y/N appeared behind them, scooping her youngest up and planting kisses everywhere on her face. Cassi squealed, giggling loudly as Y/N continued walking to their separate rooms.

“Goodnight, my darling lovebugs.” Y/N said, blowing kisses through each of the open doorways to her children.

“Goodnight, my favorite troublemakers. Get some sleep, or I’ll have the boggarts come scare you!” Draco laughed mischievously, just before getting whacked lightly upside the head by his wife. She quietly scolded him, and he put his hands up in mock surrender.

“Goodnight! Love you the mostest.” Cassi peeped up, flicking her tiny wrist to turn off her lamp.

“Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad. Thank you for telling us the story again.” Scorpius yawned, turning on his side and doing just as his sister had done to turn off his lamp.

“Thank you, for reminding us again how cool our parents are. Love you guys.” Lyra said, snapping lightly to turn out her lamp. She always was a bit more advanced than her brother and sister.

Y/N quietly closed all three doors, before heading to her and Draco’s room to finally get some sleep. It wasn’t long before they were both dozing off, Y/N in Draco’s arms.

“Goodnight, my love.” Draco whispered, planting a kiss into Y/N’s hair.

“Goodnight, Dray. I love you.” She whispered back, her eyes closing and letting sleep finally take over.

Even though she struggled to get the happy ending she wanted after fourth year, she could now proudly say she was a part of a loving family with the boy she had loved since she was 14. She was has happy, healthy, and healed as she could be.

And that was her perfect happy ending.

~•.*✰

final a/n: as you can guess, Cassi is named after the constellation Cassiopeia and Lyra is also named after a constellation! I didn’t want Scorp to be an only child, so I gave him an older and a younger sister. I hope you all enjoyed, I really love this and now I’m mad at the lack of storyline after the war for Draco >:( anyways I just like smacked this out in 20 minutes because I’ve been in a Draco loving mood recently?????? Ok lol but I hope y’all enjoyed!!

[emotionallydrainedtrash]

Lullabies and Teddy Bears - Fred Weasley

Chapter One

Memories

3rd Person P.O.V

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Rory! Happy Birthday to you!"

The 3-year-old girl giggled. Her cousins, 1-year-old Harry, and 3-year-old Daisy were giggling too as they hugged their cousin. Well, Daisy did. Harry tried.

Auntie Lily and Uncle James were smiling brightly at the trio. Rory's Uncle Moony grinned at his little "niece" and Uncle Padfoot was howling with laughter at the sight of little Ronnie smearing yellow frosting all over James' face.

Cordelia's parents had been killed when she was just one. Marlene and Luke McKinnon were celebrating their only child's 1st birthday with close family and friends when they were attacked by death eaters. Marlene handed her baby to Molly Weasley who then disapparated with her children and Rory. 

Cordelia's parents fought bravely, but Voldemort himself got the upper hand. Then on Rory's 2nd birthday, her beloved Grandfather Todd was murdered by a muggle gang while he was on his morning stroll through London.

Here's the thing. Those murders would stay in her mind and it gave her nightmares. But those nightmares would be nothing compared to the ones that came alive the night of her 3rd birthday. Cordelia was hoping for a perfect, no-death birthday, and it looked like the results would be promising. 

The 4 adults were all howling with laughter at the leftover batch of pink and yellow frosting being thrown across the room by the 3 children, when Remus and Sirius said their goodbyes and disapparated. James and Lily were wiping the last of the frosting from their baby's clothes when the front door was blown open.

They seemed to be paralyzed with fear as they realized who it was. Voldemort had come for the Potters and he had no intention of letting any survive. James yelled to Lily,

"Lily! Take the kids and go! I'll hold him off! I love you, sweetheart! Thank you for letting me into your life!"

Then he turned to the children. "I love you all so much! So very, very much! Don't you ever forget that!" Lily took the children in her arms and hurried upstairs, into Harry's bedroom. She set the children down and locked the door. She faced the children and said quickly,

"babies, we're going to play a game of hide and seek okay? Don't come out until we come to find you."

Daisy and Harry nodded, convinced, but although Rory nodded, the toddler knew something was off. You see Cordelia was very smart from a very young age and knew that this was no game of hide and seek. But she allowed herself to be put in the closet with Daisy, as she watched Auntie Lily place Harry in the crib and whisper sweet nothings to her baby son.

She turned to the closet and opened a door. She knelt down to the height of her niece and daughter. She cupped their small cheeks in her hands and whispered words that would stay with the both of them forever.

"My princesses, I love you so much. You and Harry are the most wonderful things to ever happen to me. I want you to remember this, stay strong, kind, build walls where you need to but don't use those to keep everything out."

She said to her daughter,

"take care of Harry for me lovely. Make sure he is safe. I'm so proud of you. I love you. I love you so much." "Mummy where are you going?!"

Daisy cried out. Lily placed a finger over her lips. She then turned to her niece. Marlene was one of her greatest friends and Cordelia was so much like her.

"Rory darling, take care of both of them for me. I have loved raising you as one of my own. Thank you for the joy you bring me. I love you!"

By now the tears were streaming down all three faces. With one last kiss on each of their heads and a hug, Lily Potter shut the closet door and savored the last moment she would have with her girls.

Suddenly the two toddlers heard voices downstairs. Rory pressed her ear against the heavy oak panel and heard James shouting at Voldemort. "I don't need a wand! I'll take you on with my bare hands! I'll punch you right in the bloody nos-wait, no, never mind."

The girl heard a curse being thrown across the stairs at James.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A heavy thump was heard and Cordelia's stomach grew tight. She whimpered as she heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Foolish boy," Voldemort muttered. Suddenly the door to the bedroom was blasted open. There stood the Dark Lord himself.

"Move aside girl!"

"No! Take me not my son!"

Lily cried. Harry was starting to cry, and that was too much for Daisy. Before her friend could stop her, Daisy was out of the closet and in the crib trying to comfort Harry. Not wanting to be left alone in a closet with an open door, Cordelia scurried out and joined the Potter children in the crib. Lily was really crying now.

"Don't hurt any of them, please! Take me not them!"

The Dark Lord had reached his limit. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a blinding green light, a piercing scream, and Lily Potter fell to the floor, her life stolen. The Potter children started crying but Veronica held back her tears, a nasty habit she'd take with her as she grew.

Voldemort pointed his wand at the children. Rory and Daisy held on to each other and Harry, wanting to die with the ones they loved. The curse left Voldemort's lips and suddenly time seemed to slow down. Although the curse hit them, nothing happened.

Voldemort cried out in pain and vanished. Daisy and Rory climbed out of the crib, Daisy clutching her wrist, and Rory holding a small shaky hand over her neck. They crawled over to Lily and burst into even more tears. Daisy shook her mother.

"Mum please wake up! Don't go!"

Veronica shook her head.

"D it's not working. She's died."              

A strange man, with black hair up to his collarbone and an all-black outfit, walked into the room. As soon as he saw Lily Potter's body, he sunk down against the wall, as tears dripped down his hooked nose. He too crawled to Lily and cradled her lifeless body in his hands, rocking back and forth. A few hours later, just before the man left, Rory plucked up the courage and asked him

"Sir, who are you?"

"Severus Snape" was the low, hoarse reply.

The man disapparated, and almost immediately after, Remus appeared in the room, and a large man who looked like a giant walked in followed closely by Sirius. Remus picked up Cordelia and the giant man Hagrid picked up Harry out of the half broke crib and Daisy off of the wood-littered floor. Sirius let out a strangled cry.

"No, please! Let me take Harry and Daisy! Please, I'm their godfather!"

Hagrid shook his head, as a few tears rolled from his eyes into his thick, bushy beard.

"I'm sorry. I can't. I'm on orders from Dumbledore."

Sirius looked crestfallen.

"Take my motorbike then. I won't be needing it anymore."

Remus spoke up.

"Where are you taking them?"

"To their Aunt and Uncles 'ouse on Privet Drive."

Daisy shrieked through her tears.

"No! They're mean! They're always really mean to us! Oh, don't take us there!"

Hagrid looked very sorry as he shook his head, and headed out of the room. Now it was just Rory, Remus, and Sirius in the destroyed bedroom. "Well, we should go."

Remus said, with tears streaming down his face. 

He and Sirius walked down the stairs, with little Rory sobbing as she passed the dead body of her beloved Uncle James. Once they were back in the living room, and Remus had gathered up all of Cordelia's belongings, he bid Sirius goodbye with an air of betrayal and watched as Sirius disapparated.

As Remus walked out of the house, with Rory at his side, he heard a noise coming from around the side of the house. He set down the suitcase that held all of Rory's things, told her to wait there, and went to investigate. No sooner had he turned the corner, there was a shout and a loud thud. Remus had been knocked unconscious.

Cordelia stood there, frozen in fear. A brown fox, much larger than your average fox, came into view, next to the unconscious Remus. Before she could even scream out for help, the fox pounced on her. She felt strong jaws clamp onto her wrist, and sharp claws, digging into her neck.

All of a sudden, the fox was blasted off of her. Remus had gained consciousness and was absolutely fuming. The fox then tried to disapparate, but Remus splinched it as it left. He hurried over to Cordelia and conjured bandages to wrap around her neck and wrist.

As the small girl let her uncle tend to her wounds, she suddenly felt pain like no other and screamed. Remus looked panicked as the bandages he had just wrapped around Rory, tore and fell to the ground. She felt every bone in her body break and then felt new ones replace them. She felt like she was growing bigger, and furrier. 

With a final, ear-piercing scream, Cordelia dropped to the ground, whimpering in pain. When Remus saw what his darling Rory had become, he really couldn't stop the tears from streaming down his face.

She had become a Moonfox. A creature like a Werewolf, but not as dangerous, nor were the Moon Cycles at the same time. Remus would transform on a full moon, while Rory would transform on a crescent moon. Although distraught, Remus couldn't help noticing how lovely she was as a Moonfox.

As a Werewolf, Remus was a skinny, tall, bare skin, skeletal wolf. But Rory had a fluffy black coat, in the exact shade of her hair, bright blue eyes that still shone with sadness, a body larger than a regular fox yet smaller than your average dog. She had unusual markings around her eyes, and they looked like teardrops. Overall, she looked stunning.

Remus looked up at the sky and saw the crescent moon. He carefully approached Rory and quickly retracted as she lunged towards him, baring her teeth. As Rory was too weak to move forward any further, and could not reach Remus, she bit her paw and scratched her hind legs. Remus' heart ached. 

Cordelia was very weak and tired and Remus was able to cast a powerful sleeping charm on her. He picked her up, along with the suitcase, and apparated to his rundown cottage. He laid the sleeping fox on the bed upstairs then went to his own. As it sunk in that he'd been face to face with the Potter's traitor, their best friend, and done nothing, the pain was almost too much to bear.

 One of his best friends was a traitor, two of them were dead, and his niece was forced to suffer just as he does. Remus could do nothing but drift to sleep, his mind filled with sorrow, his heart filled with grief.

XX💛

[llendrinall]

Omg if an adult Draco woke up in 5 year old Draco's body and he wanted to make his father's life a living hell. Id read that, please please tell us the stuff he'd get up to. (as well as the stuff you would get up to at school, please)

It would be a nightmare for all involved. Draco, who had fought so much, suffered so much in order to atone not only for his mistakes but those of his family… and he finds himself back! All progress lost! He had broken his back, literally (it was a really dumb idea and Harry was very angry with him) to get Granger to warm up to him. Longbottom had forgiven him! (And Draco doesn’t even know what exactly he did to merit that). Harry had…

Harry had kissed him the weekend before.

And now he is back in his five-year-old body. Not even eleven, when he could see Harry and make a difference. No, he is five, and Draco cries and rages so much that he develops a fever and is incoherent for a week.

Afterwards… Well, you know how parents pride themselves in their children’s achievements? How parents want their children to be better than them? Lucius has found there is a limit to it. Having his son be more eloquent and advanced than any other child his age is great. Having his five-year-old son tell him with impeccable grammar that he, Lucius, will bring the ruin of their house is not great at all. Draco looks at him with a cherubic face and eyes that are burning grey, accusing him of crimes that even Narcissa doesn’t know about. Crimes that Lucius had barely begun to plan.

It is terrifying.

It is well known that what muggles call “demonic possessions” are nothing more than a wizard having a little too much fun with an imperius. But when Draco grabs Lucius’ wand, goes down to their hidden vault and, and, and opens it! He- he just casts the spell! Draco is five and he is doing magic that many adults struggle with! Oh, then Lucius wants to believe there might be something else.

(Out of all the forbidden things in their vault Draco went straight to the diary the Dark Lord had entrusted Lucius. Straight to it. And he destroyed it that very same night.)

“You failed.” Draco says, hot and angry. He is so pale and soft and full of fire. “You failed at everything and I had to take your place. I was given an impossible task as punishment to you, threatened not only with my death but the whole family, because of you!”

“Tenses, darling.” Says Narcissa softly. Narcissa is blind to the monster they have in the house. She doesn’t see it. She is convinced that there is nothing wrong with Draco, that he is just a very powerful seer who is a bit confused with timelines and verb tenses.

Draco is not a seer. Lucius is sure of that because if he were, then he would know that Lucius is thinking of… cleaning up the line. Narcissa is still young and she can give him another son or Lucius can remarry.

He is not a seer, but one day over breakfast Draco looks up and says “It won’t work. Whatever you are plotting, it won’t work. I can’t recall a single plan of yours that worked longer than a month. Kicking Dumbledore from Hogwarts, bribing the Ministry, bringing back the Dark Lord. It never works.”

So Lucius packs up his things and leaves the country quietly.

Narcissa is… shocked, which means she is furious, betrayed, and briefly terrified that she might lose her income and secure position. But once she is reassured that she still holds the house and the fortune she takes a big breath, internally swears that next time she comes across Lucius she will castrate hex him, and steps up into the role of Lady of the House.

She also listens to Draco. She insists that what Draco says has happened is yet to come, but she listens.

Draco wants to get Harry at once, but it is not so easy to find a seemingly normal muggle family in the sea of actually normal muggle families living an hour away from London. In the meantime, Narcissa visits Flourish and Blotts every day for a week until she finally gets there at the same time than the Weasleys. Then it’s a question of dropping a handkerchief and waiting for the bespectacled Weasley to fetch it for her and then, well, he is so eloquent and polite that Narcissa insists on buying young, Percival, was it? She shall buy him a quill. Any quill he wants. Don’t look at the price and just pick whatever quill you like best, young man. You must have a proper quill to write your letters.  

Molly Weasley would rather drag herself through shards of glass than accept a gift from a Malfoy; but one look at Percy tells her that if she takes this from him, if she takes his once chance of having something New and Fancy and Just For Him, he will hate her forever. So Molly relents (as Narcissa knew she would because mothers are predictable). Two weeks later Draco has a play date with Ronald.

“I think you should play Quidditch, Draco, dear.” She says, because horrendous as Lucius’ attitude was, she does recognize that Draco can be a bit off-putting. There isn’t that much talking with Quidditch and Draco is clever enough to let the young Weasley win two out of three times.

It takes thirteen months to find Harry and by then Narcissa has got a foot in both the Weasley’s and Longbottom’s houses. The latter was an excruciating effort and is still a very much work in progress. Narcissa had to let that bulldog of Augusta Lonbottom seer her crying and even now they are one wrong word away of losing all progress, but the children are talking and that was the goal.

She is weighting the pros of buying a house near the Dursleys and just moving there versus the advantage of frequently inviting the Weasley kids to the manor, when she sees the anxious look in her son’s face, a look of urgency and desperation and…

“Draco,” she cries, softly and sadly. Beautiful Draco, six years and two months and with a face like a silver coin. “Draco, dear, do you love this boy? I don’t mean like you love Mummy. Do you…”

“I know what you mean, Mother.” Draco says, serious, he is always so serious. She supposes he has to be to contain the fire burning inside. “I am not a child, I have told you. And I love him with all my heart.”

Oh.

“Then, you shouldn’t meet so soon.” Narcissa says firmly, although inside her heart is aching and she doesn’t know why. “Children who grow together tend to see each other as siblings. Why, your Great Aunt Marthia grew up with Gaius Mulciber, her fiancée, and their marriage was very difficult. I think he tried to poison her in order to marry his lover, or the other way around. I can’t remember. In any case, it is better to wait.”

But Draco doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want Harry to spend a single day more than necessary in that house where he was miserable and unloved. Whatever it takes, he says. Whatever it takes, even if the price is not loving Draco. Let’s rescue him now.

Narcissa explains that waiting would be much better. There are other things they have to keep in mind, like the return of the Dark Lord and the fact that Harry is linked to him. It can’t be that bad, the muggle house. Just bad enough that Harry will jump easily and eagerly to the wizarding world once it’s presented to him, so he will be all the more willing to sacrifice his…

“oh”, Narcissa says, very softly, not even an exclamation mark or a capital.

“oh”, she repeats.

Internally, she thinks “that bastard”. Dumbledore, of course. It is well known that Dumbledore wants Voldemort’s destruction at whatever cost.

“Draco you have to get yourself invited to the Longbottom’s house.” Narcissa says. Something in her tone finally cuts Draco’s unending cries that they have to get Harry, he will do it himself even if he is just one meter and ten centimeters tall.

Draco is a charming b-. Draco is charming, boy, child or adult trapped in a kid’s body. He gets an invitation and a layout of the Longbottom’s house. Narcissa then dons a pair of sensible country boots that she doesn’t mind getting dirty with mud and barely sleeps for the next ten days. Her skin suffers from it greatly, mind you.

By day three she has successfully stolen the rat Scabbers from the Burrow. She was going to switch it with a real pet rat, but it escapes and she can’t go chasing it. Then she begins a ten-days terror program on the Longbottoms. Footprints on the flowerbeds, upsetting the warding charms on the doors, definite signs of tampering in the chimney… Augusta Longbototm is many things, but she is certainly not a fool and by day four she is at the Ministry demanding help form the Auror office. It takes five freaking days for them to send a couple or aurors down. Narcissa is incensed on her behalf.

She waits until Dumbledore sends Moody down to the house. Moody casts extra protection charms and lays some traps and that night Narcissa pushes a stunned Pettigrew into what seems the nastiest of all of the traps. The one Dumbledore told Moody not to use but he still prepared the moment he left. In goes Pettigrew, stunned and wounded because Narcissa is under a lot of stress and she might have tortured him a bit.

Narcissa and Draco are there to greet Sirius, their BELOVED cousin (all capitals so no one dares says otherwise) when he is released from Azkaban. She has him shaved, washed and all set in a nice London house before Dumbledore can even begin to say “unfit for taking care of an underage boy”. At six years and four months Harry leaves the Dursleys and moves with his godfather.  

 And then it’s all nice for a while until Pettigrew escapes Azkaban, meets Lucius in the continent and together bring Voldemort back. There is a war. People grow more and more afraid of Draco and he has more attempts on his life than Harry ever had. Narcissa kills Bellatrix and doesn’t even think about it.

And, one day, a young handsome gentleman with shiny black hair arrives accompanied by a sullen lanky young man with streaks of pink in his hair. Draco labels the lanky young man as the ugliest adult he has even seen. The handsome young gentleman introduces himself as Harry Potter and asks if perhaps Draco remembers him?

The burning fire inside Draco disappears. There is only hot air and ash.

The ugly lanky young man is adult Draco, of course, governed by an eight-year-old who has completely destroyed his hair.  Harry, his Harry, is just amused at Draco’s indignation that they allowed this to happen. Apparently Child Draco was a handful to deal with.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to find you,” handsome gentleman Harry says, and he is so warm and beautiful that Draco wants to cry. He doesn’t even care about how ugly is adult body is because once he is back in it Harry grabs his hands and doesn’t let go until they are back home.

[thebadgerclan]

When The Snake Wed The Badger-Chapter 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x Hufflepuff reader

Chapter summary: Your best friend, Molly, takes you on a pre-wedding girl’s trip

A/N: 2 chapters in one day wooooo!  I’m taking requests for Newt Scamander now, so if you have any, send them my way!

The wedding was 3 days away, and Molly decided she was taking you away for a girls weekend.  The only slight downside was you wouldn’t see Severus until the wedding.  You were a little saddened by this.  “Y/N!  You have literally your entire life!  Spend some time with your bestest friend!”  Molly dramatically threw herself across your and Severus’ couch.  “She’s not wrong,” Severus called from the other room.  

“Well yeah,” you said.  “But won’t you miss me?”  Severus came into the room and pulled you into his arms.  “Don’t be ridiculous, badger.  Of course I’ll miss you.  But think of it this way, it’ll make the reunion all the more sweet.”  Molly mock gagged.  “Ok, don’t want to hear that, I still think of you as my teacher!”  “And yet here you sit, on my couch. Go pack, Y/N.”

Once you were upstairs, you threw some clothes in a bag.  You didn’t know where Molly was taking you, so you grabbed a little bit of everything.  Arms came to rest around your waist and you jumped a bit.  Severus pressed kisses to your neck.  “I’ll miss you so much, badger.  You know that.  But you know what’s gonna get me through the next 3 days?

“The thought of you walking down that aisle, in that gorgeous white dress, to me.  That, my dear,” he kissed you.  “Is what.”  You turned and hugged Severus.  “I’ll miss you so much.”  “Princess, don’t you cry for me.  It’s only 3 days.”  “Y/N!” Molly screamed from downstairs.  “You ready?”  “Yeah!”

Severus carried your bag downstairs and kissed you goodbye.  “Have a good time love, I love you.”  “Love you too Sev,” you said before taking Molly’s arm and Apparating away.  When your feet hit the ground, you were on a beach.  “Molly, where are we?”  “Bienvenida a españa!”  You laughed, “Molly, I thought you spoke French!”  “I do!  That’s the only thing I know!” 

So that’s how you spent the next 3 days, lounging in the Spanish sun, drinking sangrias, and having the time of your life.  It was the evening before your wedding when Molly said, “Ok Y/N, one more surprise.”  She Apparated you into a hotel room where your wedding gown, Molly’s dress, and a few gift boxes were waiting.  One was from Molly, the other from Severus.  

“Happy wedding Y/N!”  She handed you her gift.  Inside the box was a pair of earrings with teardrop gems in Hufflepuff gold.  “Molly, they’re beautiful, thank you so much!”  You hugged her close.  “What are maids of honor for?  Open Severus’!”  On his box was a note: “My beloved Y/N, Tomorrow, tomorrow you will be my bride.  My sweet girl, I cannot wait to see you tomorrow.  I know you’ll look so beautiful.  I miss you terribly my love, but we will be together again soon.  I hope you like your gift, badger.  It would mean the world to me if you wear it tomorrow.  Rest, my sweet.  I’ll see you in the morning.  I love you eternally my darling, sleep well.  -Your Severus” 

His box held a necklace.  The charm was a snake, wrapped around a badger, it’s tail forming a heart.  On the back, Forever your protector was engraved.  “It’s beautiful Y/N,” Molly said.  “It really is.  You set it on the table next to your veil and get into bed.  As you fall asleep, you imagine Severus’ arms around you, and pure joy fills you.     

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Emiel Regis X Reader | What Will Remain Of Us | Chapter 21-30

Originally posted on AO3. Keep an eye on the warnings, these apply from chapter 25 and up.

Word count: 1700+ Warnings: Death, angst, Frontotemporal Dementia

Chapter 21 - Orphanage

‘Missus Godefroy, please tell us about vampires again!’

Even though her shift was nearly over and the nightly caretaker was about to arrive, she smiled and sat down with the children, who quickly gathered around her.

‘You know that Mrs Wilson does not appreciate it when my stories give you nightmares.’

‘Please Mrs Godefroy! Little Elise is already in her room, hiding under her blankets because your beloved will pick you up soon!’

A hearty laugh escaped her lips as they curved upwards even further and she brushed her hand through the boy’s dark hair.

‘Perhaps another time. Perhaps Mr Regis himself could tell you one day about being a vampire.’

‘Mr Regis most certainly could.’ She was startled by a voice at the door, a silverfox vampire leaning against the frame, smiling slightly.

La Compassion made him think of the higher vampire Orianna, yet he wasn't sure if those memories were fond of not.

Mrs Wilson brushed past him and the children of the orphanage scurried off, but not before giving Regis’ lover a quick hug.

‘See you tomorrow Mrs Godefroy, thank you for being so nice to us!’

‘Not a problem, Simon. Be a good boy now, and maybe Mr Regis can come with me one day.’

‘Oh no, nothing of the sort.’ Mrs Wilson exclaimed, practically shooing her towards her husband.

‘Alright, Agnes. I will bring a Katakan instead. That could be safer after all.’

Chapter 22 - Flower Crowns

‘Mommy, look at this!!’

She looked at the little girl before crouching down next to her. Upon her blonde curls, a flower crown was placed, another clutched in her hands.

‘Daddy taught me how to do it! This one is for you.’

Her daughter reached up and placed the wreath of daisies upon her mother’s head.

(Y/n) moved to pick up the six-year-old and arose from her low position, smiling as she saw Regis in the doorway, a fond look on his face, a slight hue of pink on his cheeks. In his silver hair, also a flower crown.

‘You look lovely.’ Emiel said, approaching his wife, kissing her on the cheek and ruffling their daughter’s hair.

‘Little Molly is a quick learner. Soon she will steal all my herbs to make them into a braid.’

‘Would you mind?’ She asked him, smiling at her daughters enthusiastic expression.

‘Quite so.’

Chapter 23 - Sick

He held back her hair from her face as she sat hunched over, belching out whatever was left inside her stomach. The stench that came from the growing puddle underneath her was pungent and far from pleasant.

'I am sorry, Regis.' she muttered, bags under her eyes and small pieces of puke stuck to the corners of her lips. She tried to rub some of it away, only causing it to stick to the back of her hand. He gave her a small smile, rubbing her back reassuringly.

'That's alright. You're just sick. Just get it all out of there.'

He didn't need to tell her twice. She returned to vomiting all over the grass like there was no tomorrow.

Chapter 24 - Energetic

Little Molly was quicker than her mother, and she knew it.

So when Regis returned home one day, a bottle of wine and a fresh bread in hand, he was far from surprised to find his love out of breath, a jumpy, jolly child still running around.

'Won't that child ever grow tired?' she wondered, causing the Higher Vampire to chuckle. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile as he observed the blonde curls dancing around the room.

'Only to think about the idea that one time we were as young and energetic as her.' 'I can't remember that at all.'

'Me neither, dear. But tonight, she will be exhausted. I have brought some wine, so we have all the evening to ourselves.'

His lips brushed against the nape of her neck, making her blush. In front of them, a blonde head appeared, a small finger reaching out to them.

'Tag, you're it.'

Chapter 25 - Overcooked

Regis returned home from the market to a pungent, awful scent.

With a hand in front of his mouth and nose, he entered the cozy homestead quickly.

He found the love of his life in the kitchen behind a boiling pot of whatever was in there. The food had long overcooked and hot water was flowing onto the floor freely, staining the wood a few shades darker.

The thing that confused him even more was that she didn't seem to mind at all. Instead, she was zoned out, staring out of the window.

'Darling?'

He reached out, turning off the heat. The boiling in the pot died down, revealing burned potatoes.

'Darling?' he touched her arm, startling her.

'Oh, Regis, you scared me.'

'Are you alright?'

She nodded, turning to the cooking again. 'Yes, yes I am fine.'

'Are you sure? You were completely zoned out there for a moment. The potatoes are over-boiled.'

'Oh... I am sorry, dear. I must've forgotten that those were on the stove.'

Regis rubbed his chin, observing her, narrowing his eyes. He hummed, letting it slip for now.

'If you say so.'

'Don't worry about it.'

Chapter 26 - Birthday

On her tippy-toes, little Molly moved closer to the bedroom, Regis in tow with a tray in his hands.

It was early, the scent of omelettes and freshly brewed tea filling the room. Carefully, Molly pushed open the door, the hinges slightly creaking.

'...Happy birthday to you!'

Regis and Molly sang loudly enough to startle awake the woman that was still laying underneath the covers.

'Happy birthday mommy!' the blonde girl ran up to her mother, jumped onto the bed and hugged her.

'It's... It's my birthday today? I thought my birthday was next week!'

Molly laughed as her mother startled tickling her.

'You and daddy set up breakfast in bed for me? How sweet of you!'

Regis smiled fondly at the scene, placing the tray carefully on the duvet.

'Of course.' he spoke, leaning in to press a chaste kiss onto her lips, earning an 'Ewww!' from little Molly.

The couple laughed, Regis' hand momentarily curling around the small of the birthday woman's waist in a protective manner.

'We have way more surprises up our sleeves. All that we can tell you is that you need to put on a cute dress with some swimming wear underneath.'

She sighed happily as she took a sip of her tea. 'That sounds too lovely, my darlings!'

Chapter 27 - Molly

Something in Regis stirred in concern at the sight of Molly's rather disheveled curls. What caused him more unease however was the fact that she was still in her pajamas.

His love was ready to head for the market, a warm cloak already wrapped around her form to shield her from the icy fingers of winter's merciless grip. 'Come on, Molly, we are going out.'

'But mom, I am not ready yet!'

'Don't be silly, come on, we don't want to miss out on the warm cinnamon rolls Pierre has been baking, do we?'

The pit of Regis' stomach churned in an unpleasant way.

'Darling.' he whispered. 'she is still in her pajamas.'

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise as she observed Molly a bit better - the little girl was on the verge of crying. 'Oh...' she muttered, 'but we can fix that quickly, can't we?'

Regis just looked on as she ushered their daughter towards her room to dress her, a heavy stone on his chest as he tried to suppress tears.

Chapter 28 - The Beginning Of The End

'Isn't there anything you can do, then?'

'No.' a certain raven-haired sorceress spoke with sadness in her voice. Violet eyes flickered to her form a few meters away, busy with skimming through a book, before lowering to the floor.

'I am so sorry, Regis. But there are things even black magic can not undo.'

'What do you suggest I should do, then?'

Yennefer sighed deeply, lips slighty parted.

'I am afraid you should begin the process of letting her go.'

Regis looked up at the sound of his lover approaching them.

'Did you find the book you was looking for?' she asked with a smile.

'I did.' Regis whispered, tucking said book into his bag. 'Let's go home.' he muttered, taking her hand into his.

He brought it up to his lips and kissed it lightly, making sure she couldn't see the sadness in his eyes.

Chapter 29 - Orphanage, part II

The remark had pierced her like a sword.

'You cannot come back anymore.'

This couldn't be. The orphanage was her everything.

'Why?' she said with dismay laced through her voice. Her legs felt heavy and she nearly fell over.

'The children are not safe around you anymore.'

'What makes you even think- That's not true! I am doing fine around here!'

Tears poured down like rain in an autumn storm.

'Come.' Regis whispered to his wife, kissing her temple. 'We should go home.'

Chapter 30 - Tomorrow Never Comes

Her husband sat, shivering with grief that had already seeped in his veins.

'I am not dead yet.' she muttered, smiling a bit. Every word took great force.

Molly was holding onto her like there was no tomorrow. But that was true. There was indeed no tomorrow.

'Take care of Molly for me, yeah?' she whispered to her husband.

Regis was silent, just pressing his lips to hers. Salt mixed into the kiss, alongside raw emotion.

'I love you.' he said, 'I love you.'

'I love you, too.' He shut his eyes and just focused on the sound of her voice saying those words.

Their eyes briefly met as soon as he opened them again, her hands waved into Molly's curls.

He wasn't ready.

'I love you.' she whispered. 'My Regis... My lovely Regis.'

He gritted his teeth as her eyes fell shut, fighting the urge to shake her awake. No, she couldn't slip away. Not now, not yet.

With a gasp, she opened her eyes again, reaching out to touch his face.

'Oh, my love. What I wouldn't give for another decade with you and our little girl. Don't forget about me.'

Regis' bottom lip trembled as he cupped her face into his hands, her eyes closing again.

'I won't. I love you.' he said once more.

...

...

...

With one final breath, she slipped into a peaceful slumber.

He was afraid that she had already forgotten his name.

But then he recalled his promise he made many years ago.

'I will never be able to forget you, my dearest. I will hear your name in the wind and see your face in the stars until the end of time, and beyond that.'

[caduceus-tealeaf-derolo]

Comfortable Confessions

This was a request from the lovely (and ever so patient) @mamzellecombeferre who requested an Ace!Fjord drabble, with Fjorster content; This was a lovely challenge, and I loved writing it! (I am also very open to constructive criticism, especially in the realm of Ace representation, as I am not Ace myself, and wish to do the community justice.)

 Without further ado -  The incessant ticking of the clock was getting on her nerves as the afternoon droned on. Jester was never good with monotony, and even less so when she had something to look forward to. The lack of distractions in the meantime gnawed at her subconscious as she sketched idly in her book, not really seeing what she drew. The room was too warm, the ticking seeming to make the time pass even more slowly; with a huff, she threw her possessions into her bag, and marched outside. 

The winds tugged playfully at her clothing as she walked through the campus, the winter storm clouds swirling overhead and creating interesting pieces of art in her mind’s eye. The community college wasn’t terribly large, but it’s architecture was pleasing, the people who populated the grounds fairly nice, and the professors well appointed. Walking briskly through the small gardens between each proper building, Jester made her way to the theater where her “Darling Suitor” as her mama called him, would be busy rehearsing. The cramped lobby had the feeling of a lush boudoir, which was offset by a beaten couch and coffee table, an even more cramped ticket booth, and a small set of stairs on the right and left that led to the stage beyond. Plopping down on the couch, her skirts spreading out in an artful arch as her mother had taught her, Jester re-assembled her pastels and her sketchbook, turning to a fresh page. From the drawn curtains across the room her ears picked up a lilting voice profess their love for the keeper of their heart before humming a few notes, and seeming to continue on with their work. Letting out a happy sigh, she snuggled further into the couch, and pulled a small throw blanket from her bottomless bag. The soft surroundings soothed her frazzled nerves, and eventually she dozed off in safety and contentment. Minutes or hours later, as time passes differently in theaters with them being realms between, Jester was lightly jostled by firm and familiar arms. “Hey Jessie, I’m just carryin’ you to the car. No worries.” eyes shut tight, trusting the care of her boyfriend, Jester dozed off once more to the rhythmic sway of his step as he held her. Vehicle already started and warm, he clicked her into the buckle, and made sure her tail was inside the vehicle before closing the door. Jester dozed, neither awake nor asleep, but floating in the in-between. Soft warmth surrounded her, a larger, somewhat rough hand sneaking beneath the blanket to hold her own on the drive. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that he smiled at her whenever there was a stop. “I’ll be right back, grabbing us food.” she managed to grumble out what seemed like an appropriate response, and felt his smile as he kissed her drowsy cheek. The winter wind that swirled through the warm vehicle as he left made her snuggle deeper into the reclined seat, wiggling toasty toes that sat right against the heat that was blowing on them. A frumpkin-length nap later, the door opened once more, and this time a barrage of enticing scents swirled around her. Paper bag in hand, Fjord leaned into the back seat and secured what she figured to be a take away dinner, before pulling out and driving them to their small shared apartment. Upstairs, and just enough space for the two of them and a friend if one needed a place to crash, Fjord carried first her, then their dinner and her bag up the staircase, proving once again that she was not the only strong one in the relationship. Comfortable and finally ready to exist as a person again, Fjord found her happily setting out two large bowls and two sets of ornately painted sticks at their side. Placing the large bag of food on the coffee table that also served as their dining room and studying surface, Jester dutifully scooped noodles and toppings into the bowls before pouring the piping hot and fragrant broth over them. “Thank you Jess,” the half orc smiled, tusks nearly fully grown in, “you’re wonderful.” Jester cocked a hip along with an eyebrow. “I’m wonderful? Silly, you just let me exist as a burrito for nearly an entire evening. I feel practically pampered. Here, eat while it’s still hot.” Shoving a pair of chopsticks into his hand with a small kiss to the cheek, she sat down across from him, each enjoying the other’s company. Walking through the day each of them had experienced, it was decided that while nothing in particular was bad, that they both were wearing a bit thin, and needed an evening to, as Fjord put it, ‘Get in touch with ourselves and each other.’ And so, began the great pampering. After consulting briefly with both Molly and Caduceus about what they each recommended, the pair went about their night. Sappy movies were promptly put on the laptop while they both snuggled in jammies, wearing some sort of face mask that ‘Duces said would help them both sleep better. Jester and Fjord watched Oskar and his beloved make eyes at each other, eventually culminating in a rather messy tangle of sweaty bodies, which Jester scrunched her nose at. The screen faded to black, far too late in the tiefling’s opinion, and Fjord began combing his fingers through her deep azure hair. “Jess, you’re sure you’re okay with us not.. Doing those things? You used to be pretty interested in it.” the deep twang prolonged his words, their formation so specifically him that she smiled. “No, my darling gentleman suitor, I am very very okay with not doing… Those things.” worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she rolled the topic around in her mind a moment before continuing. “Even if I were interested in doing that, having sex and things like it, I know you are not and would not ask you for it.” the appreciation in his eyes encouraged her to go on. “And also, I have found a freedom in not having sex be a thing that is expected of me. For my mother, it is her business, her trade, and she is rightfully proud of it.  Though, as much as I know about it, especially through her, I am not sure if I could separate the act from the mindset of ‘work’ at this point. It would be like if I sold my art, instead of giving it away. It would sap out all of the joy in creating.” Her partner nodded, moving fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp in small circles that felt particularly good around the base of her horns. “Boy am I lucky to have landed you, little missy.” “Ditto, dear suitor, now, let’s watch another one - apparently this movie is about a magical school.” The two holding each other, small kisses and snuggles exchanged throughout the rest of the evening, they each found comfort in the arms of the other, and eventually fell asleep.

[geekmama]

Dream Baby Ch. 2: Wide Awake

In which Molly contemplates a whole new world (and champagne brunch at The Landmark). 

This is for Ellis_Hendricks in congratulations on finishing her superb series, In Loco Parentis, and because she was concerned that Molly never got that takeaway Sherlock promised in the first chapter.

The hours… the dark night…the sound of rain…

I dreamt of you…

Molly stirred, encountered something solid, and gave an involuntary groan even as the solid something shifted to give her room…

Sherlock!

Memory came rushing back at lightspeed… those first kisses in that dark sheltered alcove… the laughter, the light in his eyes as they’d stripped off half their wet clothes in the middle of the living room… his hand on her wrist, pulling her after him, down the short hall to his bedroom, as though he couldn’t wait a moment longer…

Then… quite literally hours. Sometimes every nerve atuned to this new reality, and sometimes half dozing, the moments stretching out as in a dream…

Dreaming, in the dark, velvet night…

…to the sound of rain…

Other sounds, too. Helpless, joyous cries. And words, so many words… desperate babbling… languorous whispers. Words she had never thought to hear – or speak - in such a context…

Beyond all her seemingly foolish, unquenchable hope.

She would remember it all to her dying breath, she thought as she turned onto her back and her eyes opened to meet his…

...more green than blue in this shaded morning light…

…wonder and joy -- and a dash of relief -- in that beloved, crooked smile…

Later she would recall this moment, too, and find it strange that she had felt no fear that the coming of a new day might have changed things, brought him to his senses, or that he might be put off by what she was all-too-aware was her thoroughly shagged-out appearance.

But that was later. In that first, beautiful instant of awareness, she could only return his smile and murmur, “Good morning!”

“Molly,” he said, slow and deep, savoring the word as though it were something new, and perhaps a little surprising. Sending a small shiver through her… a frisson of desire.

Good Heavens. He would surely be the death of her.

But she replied with a whispered demand: “Kiss me.” And to her unutterable joy, he did, with careful sensuality… and then less careful. Her hands slid up and she put her arms about his strong shoulders, just as she’d always wanted to do… the feel of him… so real, so alive! And the taste of him… and then he made a small sound against her mouth as his hips pressed against her, moved against her, his burgeoning arousal plain…

He tore his lips away with a soft gasp, closing his eyes and setting his forehead against hers briefly before raising his face and opening them again to look down at her, troubled. “I… Molly, I want you. Again! Is that…” His voice trailed off, his question unvoiced.

“Sherlock, it’s fine,” she said, softly. She brushed some of the dark curls back from his forehead, and caressed his cheek. “You… you told me last night it had been years—“

“And never like this.” His expression lightened. “You don’t think it’s… strange, then? Abnormal.” He moved his hips again, and a suggestive smile tugged at his lips.

She couldn’t help chuckling, and pulled him down for another kiss. However, before he could construe this as full speed ahead, she said, “But Sherlock…”

He stilled and drew back again. “Yes?”

She felt herself blushing, but had to say it. “I’m a little… sore. I do want to… again… but—“

“I see. I can be gentle, though,” he said, coaxing – but with a hint of mischief, too.

*

Considerably later, Molly lay staring at the ceiling, her body still flushed and quivering, Sherlock’s expensive Egyptian cotton sheets thoroughly rumpled beneath her – beneath them, for he was lying on his back, recovering right next to her – and her hair, which was no doubt the very definition of bed-head, strewn lavishly across his goose down pillows.

“Do you think Hudders will have heard that?” he asked, still somewhat breathless, but laughter in his voice in spite of it.

Molly gave an amused snort. “I daresay. I don’t believe I will think of the word gentle in quite the same way ever again.”  She turned her head on the pillow to look over at him. “I assume you were telling me the truth when you said it had been years, but in that case… how on earth…?”

He rolled to face her, obviously pleased with himself. “Research, to some extent – John’s laptop, and those romance novels you leave about your flat have always been convenient resources. But you are far too easy to deduce, dear heart. My darling Molly.” He had moved to embrace her again as he uttered these endearments in that voice, and even now, after… after everything that had gone before…  she felt a noticeable ache of desire.

But then, having trapped her there, he looked down at her quite seriously and said, “Marry me.”

She could not help but stiffen. “Wh-what? Sherlock!”

He gave a sort of frown, though his eyes were still smiling. “Molly, I know you’ve been off the pill since you broke off your engagement to Tom—“

“I… you… my age—“

“Yes, you have reached the age when other forms of birth control are preferable – but you didn’t think you’d need any of them, either. And here we are: quite possibly pregnant, since, if I remember correctly, this would be about day fifteen of your cycle—“

“How do you know that?” she exclaimed, outraged and blushing furiously.

“Please,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “your mood swings alone—“

“My wh—“

He kissed her, which very possibly preserved his life. She squirmed beneath him, attempting to preserve her wrath, but he was so very persistent… and it was so very… enjoyable.

 When she was (admittedly) thoroughly subdued, he pulled away very slightly and said, “Molly… my love… my darling pathologist, and lover… and friend… don’t you want to? Haven’t we wasted enough time?”

“That wasn’t my fault,” she said, pointedly.

He sighed. “I know that. And just think: you will be in a position to hold it over me for the rest of our lives if only you will say yes.”

A swarm of objections rose in her brain, only to be dismissed as very minor in the scheme of things. And, in a Sherlockian sense, this proposal was eminently logical. “Very well,” she said. And then her pique at his abrupt methods faded quite away and she added worriedly, “But are you sure?”

He opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to dismiss her concern with his typical insouciance. But then his expression changed to something far more serious and tender. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said simply. After another kiss, he added, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

There was a brief silence as they considered one another, contemplating this momentous, life-changing decision…

And then her stomach growled.

Her hope that he hadn’t heard it was dashed immediately.

“Hungry?” He chuckled, eyes alight – an expression she ordinarily adored.

But she resisted its infectious quality and summoned a scowl. “You did promise me takeaway last night. I haven’t eaten since this time yesterday.”

“You had a packet of crisps. I saw it in the bin.”

“A packet of crisps in twenty-four hours! Are you trying to starve me?”

“But wasn’t it worth it?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. And couldn’t help herself. “Oh my God, yes it was,” she exclaimed, and kissed him again, and wrapped herself about him in a fierce hug. He laughed beneath the kiss, and then she was laughing, too, and, a minute or two later, they were still laughing as they faced each other on the pillows.

He said, “Let’s shower and go out to brunch. The manager at the Landmark owes me a favor, I’ll text him. And then we can go and shop for your engagement ring.”

Her heart swelled with joy – but then plummeted slightly. “I’ll have to go home first, I have to get some suitable clothing. And feed Toby.”

“Oh, Toby,” he groused with an eye-roll, but there was no real heat in it. “Yes, very well. But come shower with me, first.”

*

Their sudden, all-consuming sexual liaison had thrown them into the deep end and no mistake. It was one thing to lose oneself in such ecstasy, and quite another to experience the more mundane domestic intimacies for the first time as a committed couple. Sherlock seemed boyishly unsure of himself, and she felt a bit awkward, too, in spite of the fact that not so many months had passed since she had helped him through his latest (and, as he had stated quite adamantly at the time, last) recovery from drug abuse. That had been different. She had served in the capacity of medical professional, as well as caretaker and friend.

Now, they were lovers.

And engaged to be married.

As he moved the soapy cloth over her breasts and down over her tummy (an utterly fatuous smile curving his lips, if only he’d known it), she could not help wondering if she was, indeed, pregnant. It was certainly possible. And at that thought… the awareness that their affection, and their shining new commitment might bring a new life into the world – a superb and possibly startling combination of Holmes and Hooper genes -- such a wave of tenderness swept through her that tears stung, then filled her eyes.

Sherlock saw her lip tremble and his smile vanished. “What is it?”

“Nothing! I… what if I am pregnant?” She swiped the heel of her hand against the tears trickling down her cheek. “I might be, you know. You were right.”

His smile was back. And growing. “We’ll manage,” he said, and dropping the soapy cloth, he drew her close and held her for a long time, his cheek against her wet hair as the warm water poured over them.

*

Toby was extremely vocal in expressing his opinion of her prolonged absence.

Molly laughed, and Sherlock, suppressing a grin, said, “Go change your clothes, I’ll feed him. I know where everything is.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Molly assured him, trotting up the stairs as Sherlock bent and scooped up the cat to carry him into the kitchen.

When she came down again – in a few minutes, just as promised -- she found her lover leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as her cat consumed what looked to be a whole tin of the posh wet food, the kibble dish sitting close by and already refilled.

“I’ve given him fresh water, too,” Sherlock told her, looking up. And then his brows rose. “Where did you get that dress?”

“I’ve had it a while,” she replied, smiling at the light in his eyes, vastly pleased that he seemed to approve. “It’s an Alexander McQueen. I was lucky enough to find it in a second-hand shop – too rich for my blood, otherwise. I… I thought you might like it.” The mini-dress was fitted and short-sleeved, with a flared skirt, and made of a smooth white material with an elaborate pattern of black scrollwork over all. She had felt, when she bought it (and not precisely dirt-cheap, either, in spite of the locale), that it would be perfect to wear if Sherlock ever asked her out – yes, even after all these years she had still lived in hope – since it would provide a pleasing contrast to the elegant simplicity of his dark, bespoke suits.

“I do like it,” he said, and set his hands at her waist, bent (only slightly, since she was wearing heels), and kissed her. “You look beautiful.”

“Then there’s a pair of us,” she said lightly, even as she blushed, her heart thumping.

He took her hand. “Come on, let’s go eat so we can get back to more important things.” And he actually waggled his brows at her.

*

They were in the cab, halfway to the Landmark (where seating at a secluded table and iced champagne awaited them), when the faint sound of a particular text alert issued from the pocket of Sherlock’s coat.

They turned to each other in sudden dismay, and Sherlock blurted, “Lestrade! I forgot all about that.”

“The Steed murder.” Molly winced. “Maybe we should do dinner, instead?”

But a stubborn look swept over Sherlock’s face. “No. We’ll go now, it won’t take long.” And, after checking his mobile for the address, he leaned forward to give the cabbie their new direction.

*

Greg’s face was the very picture of astonishment when they showed up, dressed to the nines and exchanging a loving glance as Sherlock handed Molly from the cab.

“What the… are you two off to a wedding or something?” Greg demanded.

“No, not at all,” Sherlock said, rather haughtily as he straightened and smoothed his coat. But then he added, “Not yet, at least,” and his lip twitched against a smile.

Molly blushed only a very little (she trusted) as she said, “Hello, Greg,” just as she had the previous night... in another world.

Greg’s eyes flew back and forth between them, a grin forming. “Bloody hell!” He said to Sherlock. “You finally got off your arse!”

Sherlock glared at him, but otherwise ignored this remark. “You won’t mind Molly attending, will you? Her input might be valuable, and speed things along. The management of the Landmark is holding a table for us, and Molly is very hungry.”

“That right?” Greg grinned. “No takeaway last night? Or tea this morning? Does Mrs. Hudson know what’s been going on under her roof?”

Sherlock sniffed. “I doubt she cares what goes on as long as the place isn’t blown up again.”

Molly wrinkled her nose, feeling guilty. “We snuck past her door on the way out, but I believe she… um… suspects.” 

Sherlock looked a bit conflicted at what was, essentially, Molly’s blatant admission of what precisely had been going on between them for the last fourteen hours, but finally gave it up and said to Greg, “We haven’t told anyone, yet, really. It seems you’re the first to know.”

Greg’s grin softened to something less teasing and much fonder. “Congratulations, you two. Lord, wait’ll John hears.”

“Not to mention our parents,” Sherlock groaned. “But John’s still in Tahiti, with that Gooseberry woman and her progeny.”

“Rushbury!” Molly corrected. “And her little girls are the sweetest things! I met them and their mother when I was picking up Rosie from nursery one day.”

But Sherlock was now looking thoughtful. “There’s a ten hour time difference between London and Tahiti.”

“So… two in the morning?” Greg mused. The grin appeared again.

Answered by Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, no!” Molly protested, but with as much laughter as disapprobation.

And, with that unholy Sherlockian gleam in his eye, Molly’s beloved reached for his phone.

 ~.~

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

'The Ghost of Black Rose Hall' Chapter 10: I don't belong and, my beloved, neither do you

Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

.

.

“Excellent work, Miss Hooper.”

                She smiled brightly. “Thank you, Doctor Stamford. Have a good night.”

                Though months had passed since that fateful night in the moors, Molly still couldn’t quite believe this was her life. Finally, she thought. London was a bustling city, full of people and carriages running to and fro. She performed autopsies at Bart’s Hospital under the watchful eye of Stamford, thanks to Sherlock and Doctor Watson giving a glowing recommendation for her.

                Despite her decent reputation, scandal still followed. Many in London were curious about the woman who had taken up with the famous detective at 221B. Even the papers had caught wind of it eventually…

.

.

                “Famed detective, Sherlock Holmes, returns to London with a mystery woman,” he read aloud to her and the Watsons. He scanned the article, tossing the paper into the fire when he came across their questioning of Molly’s morals, and not questioning his own.

                Molly gave him a knowing look. “Do not worry yourself for my sake,” she told him. “I am well off financially with my newly found inheritance, I have lovely friends, and I have you; I’ve no complaints. Let them write what they want.”

                He smiled, admiring her courage. After all, she could have stayed with John and Mary, scandal avoided.

                “An excellent attitude to have,” Mary encouraged her.

                John nodded in agreement, then turned to Sherlock. “And if you’re truly bothered by it, my dear friend, I have just finished writing your latest adventure—The Ghost of Black Rose Hall. That should set the record straight.”

                “The world doesn’t need to know of her sorrows,” Sherlock argued.

                Molly placed her hand upon his arm, squeezing it with affection. “It’s okay, my love. I’ve already given Doctor Watson my approval.”

                He looked at her then, the once mysterious woman who captured his heart, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “As you wish.”

.

.

                Sherlock heard the arrival of a carriage, setting down his violin to look out the window. Molly was home. He smiled softly, his heart thrumming loudly in his chest. Upon hearing her footfalls on the stairs, he opened the door just as she made it to the landing. “Hello, my darling,” he greeted her before kissing her cheek.

                Her smile brightened his evening. Molly reached up, caressing his face. “How was your day? Find a new case?”

                Instead of retiring altogether, Sherlock had decided to take on one or two cases every now and then. It was clear to him, after his time in the moors, that he just couldn’t resist a good mystery. “Oh yes! A locked room murder!” he exclaimed cheerfully.

                She giggled. “Don’t sound too eager; you might wind up on the suspect list.” A heavenly smell caught her attention, causing her stomach to growl. “Did you make dinner?”

                “I did,” he replied proudly. He then added, “Well, Mrs. Hudson assisted me, but I did most of the cooking.”

                Her brows furrowed slightly. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

                He kissed her softly, their noses brushing, taking a moment to savor the taste. “Mmm, I thought we should celebrate ourselves.”

                Molly’s heart felt fit to burst as she watched him take her hand, kneeling before her. Tears sprung in her eyes. “Sherlock…”   

                 “Molly,” he began, “my beloved, I hope you realise just how much I love you. Though we met in a most horrifying circumstance, we found our own slice of happiness together in spite of it all. You’ve spent so much time in the darkness. I’d like to be the one to give you light and love, to guide you home, for the rest of your life. I want the warmth of your companionship, and your love, for the rest of mine. I understand if you’re hesitant, but would you do me the honor of becoming Molly Holmes?”

                She knelt down to meet his eyes. Her eyes sparkled with visions of their future. Breathlessly, she said, “Yes.”  

And though they knew the age old promise well—until death, do you part—they didn’t believe anything, not even death, could ever part them.

[writingwife-83]

Prompt No. 19, por favor!

Taken from this list- https://writingwife-83.tumblr.com/post/164059902833/another-kiss-meme

19. Kisses because I don’t want you to go and maybe I can convince you to stay just a few minutes longer

This is a combo of a number of your faves. Sherlolly kisses, domestic fluff, and Victorian AU. Enjoy, my dear friend! ❤️ 

A Lifetime

It was a thrilling day.

Molly was excited to have been invited to attend a very exclusive lecture at Bart’s, which she and Sherlock hoped was only the beginning to getting her foot in the door. And Sherlock had just that morning received a telegram from Inspector Lestrade, informing him of the need to reopen a cold case. That was fortunate of course, seeing as the last case he’d solved was over a fortnight ago, just before their wedding.

She was so incredibly grateful that this was their life and their reality now, she really was. Their work, responsibility, and all the excitement that went along with it…it was all she had ever wanted and more.

Except…

Molly chewed her lip lightly as she leaned against her dresser and tried her best to finish placing some pins in her hair. Instead though, she gazed past her reflection and watched as her husband pulled the braces up over his lovely shoulders and then straightened his shirt and collar a bit. That was when he caught her eye in the reflection as well, and they held each other captive for a couple moments.

Sherlock cleared his throat then and they both smiled briefly as Molly tore her eyes away and continued fixing her hair.

Ten minutes later they milled about the kitchen, fixing themselves some tea. He handed her a cup, sliding the milk and lemon slices over to her. Molly’s fingers brushed against his as she took the little plate and she had to twist her lips to keep from smiling too widely at the memory from two weeks before. That first morning they’d awoken in their honeymoon suite and had a lovely tray of tea sent up…but then they’d taken barely a sip before forgetting the tray entirely and collapsing back into the already disheveled bed.

“Containing the spread of disease?”

Sherlock’s voice made her look up with raised brow.

“Pardon? Oh yes! Yes, that is the lecture,” she confirmed.

“I shall look forward to hearing all the details this evening,” Sherlock commented as he stirred the sugar into his tea.

“Yes of course, I cannot wait to share all that I learn,” Molly agreed enthusiastically. “And I’m sure you’re in eager anticipation of the case.”

“Eager, yes,” he replied instantly.

“Good!” Molly said with a bright smile.

She really couldn’t wait for that evening. The flat would be darkened and they would sit around the fireplace, perhaps sipping another cup of tea as Molly related the fascinating parts of the lecture and Sherlock described how the casework went. They’d be wrapped comfortably in their dressing gowns and wrapped up in each other and-

Molly shook her head and took a hearty gulp of the hot liquid in her cup. This sort of daydreaming would not do.

Twenty minutes later and the Holmes were dutifully putting on their coats, hats, and gloves by the door.

“We shall need separate cabs,” Sherlock commented as they walked down the stairs to the bottom landing. “Not going in the same direction.”

“Oh,” Molly replied, disappointment briefly visibly in her expression. “Yes, of course.”

He reached for the handle…

“Wait! Your necktie!” Molly tugged at his shoulder to turn him round and began fiddling with the tie which was absolutely not in need of straightening.

Their eyes locked instantly, and as she tried to act like she was adjusting his tie, she realized that what she was unconsciously doing was to pull downward on the material, inching her husband’s face closer and closer to her own. She was pretty sure she heard him growl out a soft, “blast” just before she reached his lips.

Molly let out a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction as they sunk into a kiss, the kind which had now become comfortable and familiar as well as spine tinglingly delicious.

Sherlock emitted a little groan as he pulled back. “You’ve done it now, Mrs. Holmes.”

She smiled innocently. “Have I?”

“I had been using quite a bit of mental energy this morning to avoid thoughts of kissing you. You have made a ruin of all my efforts,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Sorry, darling,” she whispered with a little giggle while leaning in to trail kisses along his jaw.

“You are…far from sorry,” he correctly deduced, shutting his eyes at the feeling of his wife’s lips.

“I can’t help it,” she said between feathery kisses on his face. “I’ve grown so accustomed to spending our days and nights together, and mostly in each other’s arms, that it’s a bit more difficult than I anticipated to get all properly dressed to be out and about and away from you till this evening.”

Sherlock made a thoughtful little expression. “It is hateful how very much clothing we’re currently wearing, isn’t it?”

Molly laughed again. “It is indeed! How I long for my nightdress and dressing gown…” she dropped her voice while lazily running her thumb along his bottom lip. “…and nothing.”

“Mm,” he rumbled in reply, “nothing is my personal favorite.”

The subject matter making her naturally itch for more, Molly leaned into him again, tasting his mouth with slow and passionate appreciation, and causing her husband to pull her into an especially tight embrace which quickly began to make them forget that lectures and cases and the entire rest of the world even existed…

“Oh for heaven’s sake!”

Their heads whipped around to see Mrs. Hudson coming out of her flat.

“The two of you have plenty of time for all that,” their beloved landlady said with a laugh and a wink at them as she scooted past and out the front door. “Try getting out in the sunshine for a change today!”

Molly smiled shyly at her as she left and then glanced back up at Sherlock. “Suppose she’s right.”

“She is, I admit,” Sherlock replied, drawing what looked like a deep breath of courage before holding the door for his wife and gesturing for her to go ahead. “Plenty of time for all that later!”

“Yes, plenty,” Molly agreed, the reminder warming her from the inside out. “We’ve got a lifetime.”

💋💋💋

[notagarroter]

Shopping

Eurus eventually did start speaking again, which was hailed by the Sherrinford doctors as a major therapeutic breakthrough.  They met with her every day after that, and soon enough they all agreed that she was completely reformed and could be released to the care of her family.  

Mummy and Father were delighted, of course, and Mycroft apparently thought it best to go along with the official story.  Sherlock, for his part, had his doubts about the sincerity of his sister's rehabilitation, but he decided to keep them to himself.  It would only worry John, and anyway, with Moriarty definitely dead and Mycroft on his best behavior, Sherlock had recently found himself without an arch-nemesis, which was a sad state of affairs for the world's only consulting detective.  Eurus might at least liven things up a bit. 

The only problem was, Eurus wasn't being very lively at all.  She had moved into 221b a week ago, but seemed a bit intimidated by the idea of navigating the world without the protection of a false persona.  Instead, she mostly lay around the flat in her pyjamas, flicking idly through the television channels and ordering delivery in a variety of funny voices. Sherlock had had enough.  

"Could you at least change your clothes?  You've been wearing that for days now."

"I have not," declared Eurus, insulted.  "I change my clothes every morning.  It's just that they all look the same."

"Yes, institutional white doesn't really suit you.  I think it's time to branch out."

"I suppose I could borrow your shirts and trousers..." she offered.

"Not what I had in mind. Here," said Sherlock, pulling out his bank card.  "Take this and go shopping."

"Where?  I've spent my life in an institution, I'm not exactly familiar with all the London shops."

Sherlock paced the sitting room with his hands pressed to his lips in prayer-form, considering.  "Where did you get your clothes for your alternate identities, back when you were seducing John and pretending to be my client?"

"Oh, that.  I strangled people."

Sherlock stopped his pacing and turned to his sister.  "Really?  Did you kill them?"

"Well, I didn't bother checking for a pulse, but I presume so."

He cast her a sidelong look and resumed pacing.  "You must really hate shopping."

"Maybe if I didn't have to do it alone...  " Eurus suggested.  "You could come with me.  Or we could visit your tailor."

Sherlock scoffed.  "I don't know anything about women's clothes, and neither does my tailor."

"What about your friend, then?  Molly Hooper."

"Molly?  The one whose house you broke into, placed cameras everywhere, and emotionally tortured?"

Eurus flicked her hair over one shoulder.  "Is she still upset about that? People can be so petty."

"Anyway, I absolutely forbid you to go shopping with Molly Hooper."

"Why?  She has lots of cute clothes.  I noticed when I was surveilling her."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust at the work 'cute'.  "Molly Hooper is a dear friend and a lovely woman, but you, Eurus, are a Holmes, and we must have standards.  I will not have a member of my family dressing like...  like that."  He gave a shudder and pulled out his phone.  "I have a different idea in mind," he said, dialing.  "Though I had hoped this could be avoided.  It's going to upset an extremely delicate balance, and I really hate when she's one up on me."

--------------------

The Woman turned out to be hiding out in Jakarta for some reason, but two days later she swept into the sitting room of 221b in a navy blue sheath and matching fur capelet.  John was sitting in his chair braiding Rosie's hair, while Eurus helped Sherlock tie up the loose ends from a unexpectedly intriguing counterfeiting case. Eurus looked up immediately and Sherlock could see from his sister's expression that she had registered Miss Adler's suitability as a shopping companion.

"You must be the patient," said the Woman, pulling Eurus from her chair and looking her over with an appraising eye.  "Not bad, not bad at all.  We'll have to burn this smock, of course, but there's a good figure, excellent posture.  I can work with this."

"I appreciate the favor," said Sherlock, "but you really didn't need to come such a long way for this."

Miss Adler's blood red lips spread into a smile.  "Oh, I wanted to, believe me.  I've felt like such an idiot ever since I heard your request."

"Why's that?"

"What's the first question every lesbian should ask when she meets a man who unexpectedly arouses her interest?"

Sherlock stared at her blankly.

"Oh, I know this," said John as he fiddled with his daughter's barrette. "'Do you have a sister?'"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John shrugged.  "Harry used to ask all my rugby mates."

"A Holmes sister!" Irene exclaimed, clasping her hands together in devilish glee. "It's Christmas and my birthday all wrapped into one. Where have they been keeping you locked away all this time?"

Eurus hesitated.  "It's a long story."

The Woman raised her eyebrows.  

"It'd probably just bore you," said John.  "Unless you're desperately curious what really happened to Sherlock's beloved childhood dog."

"Oh dear, that does sound dreadfully dull.  Let's skip it."  The Woman slid an arm around Eurus's waist and tugged her close.  "Come, darling.  I'm thinking Balenciaga is your look—something with a bit of drama.  But first we need to address these split ends.  What do you think?  Are you up for a cut and color?"

Eurus's eyes shined with excitement.  "It sounds wonderful."

"Perfect.  I have a car waiting outside," said the Woman, guiding her toward the door.  

"Miss Adler," said Sherlock, pulling her back as Eurus set off down the stairs.  "Are you sure you're all right with this?"

"I'm delighted!  We're going to have ever so much fun."

She grinned wickedly and followed Eurus out.

"Well," said John, standing up with Rosie in his arms. "That's going to be weird."

"Indeed."

"Do you think you should warn Miss Adler?  About what happened to your sister's last sexual partner?"

"Oh, she knows.  I think it was part of the appeal, to be honest.  Miss Adler does love a challenge."

[mollyaprewett-blog]

Molly has a journal where she writes what will be an unpublished cookbook for her children to find after she's gone with all of their beloved family recipes created by her.

The year is 2047. It is a rainy September day. The Weasley-Potter-Granger family is returning, silent, from a nearby graveyard. Molly Prewett Weasley, aged 97, has died. Ginevra Potter { née Weasley } has not spoken a word since her mother’s passing earlier in the week. { her brothers had to offer the eulogy in her place } Heartsick, Ginny retreats from the pitying gaze and sympathetic words that her husband and children have been barraging her with for the past six days. Her feet find her way to her mother’s sewing room; she has not been in this room since her mother fell ill. But Ginny was overwhelmed with the need to be smell her mother, to feel her mother’s presence once more. s she turned the doorknob, she became seven years old again, and had the distinct feeling she’d be interrupting her mother hard at work knitting the Christmas sweaters. She did not interrupt her mother. Her mother was not there to be interrupted. The spell was broken. Ginny collapsed to the floor, a broken sob springing into her throat. She clawed the floor, the only solid substance left in her world. Her fingernails scratched into the scuffed wood floor, leaving new markings. Hysterically, she laughed. Mother would kill me for scratching the floor. Her tear-drowned eyes did not see what touched her fingers, so softly. She blinked them away, and a small parcel, clearly enchanted, nudged against her hands once more. With shaking hands, she lifted the parcel up, and opened it. Inside, there was a sealed letter. On the front, her name. In her mother’s curving script. Another choking sob. After several unsuccessful attempts, Ginny opened the letter; carefully, so as not to tear any of the writing. The charmed letter comes out, and says, in her mother’s voice:

“Ginny, dear. I knew it would be you to come in here. That’s why I’ve written this for you. The boys have their own letters, you see. Now, don’t cry, love. I was ready. I lived to see you, and the boys, and so many grandchildren. I lived through two wars, dozens of weddings, and hundreds and hundreds of birthdays. I was ready, my love. Now, please don’t fret. We won’t be apart forever. But I’ve made you this to keep you company until we’re together again. You’ll have to take care of the boys, you know. They’ll be lost. They’ll need you. But this will help. I love you, my little Ginevra. My darling, my only girl. I love you, always and forever and a day after that, Your mum.”

Ginny had to pause, several times, to hold the letter further away. She never wanted to stain the parchment. Nearly an eternity later, Ginny reached into the parcel, and pulled out a stack of nearly three hundred papers, bound with spello-tape. Embossed on the front, it read “Weasley Family Recipes: A Meal for Every Occasion, by Molly Weasley” Carefully thumbing through the pages, Ginny noticed the neat notations her mother made, that she’s so often heard Molly say while stirring a pot, or seasoning a cut of meat: “be sure to salt both sides!” “you can’t use too much butter, my dear.” And for the first time in six days, Ginny Potter spoke, holding the cookbook tightly to her chest, like a life preserver. “Thank you, mum.”

[ulyssesredux]

Lotus Eaters

She didn't know, and brought him closer and closer to a grasp of the terrible Guide. How much are they in water? Eleven, is he pimping after me? More than doctor or solicitor. Was it rage alone which caused it?

I want to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then he tossed off the dregs smartly. He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the typed envelope. Not so lonely. —Had a bit of paper. No-one. He spoke with great difficulty. In came Hoppy. You are welcome, even with a ribbon round her neck and do the other constellations danced in a chilling and awesome silence full of a single glimpse. We salute you, you wish, I don't think. Clever of nature. How are you gaping at? Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. English. What perfume does your? Why did you? He unrolled the newspaper. Have you brought a bottle?

Perfectly right that is the real meaning of that Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital.

Same notice on the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. I will tell you all. How do you do not deny my request before my patience are exhausted. Fifteen millions of years of time taken up telling your aches and pains. He had reached the old man. Nor may those who inferred from his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and read again: choice blend, made of the repellent earth-mammal Carter that he had left—near the Snake Den on the pedestals was vacant, and then face about and bless all the other.

You've reasons of your own for not wanting that mask off—let it alone. —Yes, Mr Bloom said, moving to get in. What's wrong with him? No, Peter Claver S.J. and the smell of sponges and loofahs. But amidst the seething chaos, but it had not been able to stand both the prodigious domes and uncounted billions of miles that Randolph Carter into that last and first of secrets you may still go back unharmed, the quasi-hexagonal thrones, there hovered an air of the silver key was still in his grasp, since the beings of the earth four years ago. Turning quickly to save his estate. Flowers of idleness. Like that something. Please tell me what kind of perfume does your wife use. Damn all they know or care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. Yes, sir, when they both served in the arms of kingdom of God is within you feel. With it an abode of bliss. He stood up, looking over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its subtler properties you know what to do. Went too far last time. Influence of the timber lot into the void; yet at that same archetypal and eternal being, size and boundaries which his sharp voice said. Smell almost cure you like the hole in the arms of kingdom of God is within you feel.

Let off steam. Footdrill stopped. Their full buck eyes regarded him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of horsepiss. Yes, Mr Bloom put his face forward to catch the eye. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it in his absolute discretion. Bore this funeral affair. Mr Bloom raised a gloved hand on the same boat. Dear Henry I got it!

Heavenly weather really. So it is. M'Coy's changed voice said.

Clearly I can see today. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. I'm glad I didn't work him about getting Molly into the newspaper baton idly and read idly: What is weight really when you come back. Couldn't sink if you will through time in an ancient graveyard—had spoken of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read idly: What is he pimping after me? Poor papa! Chloroform. Wonder how they explain it to melt in their hands. —No, he's going on straight. Wonderful organisation certainly, goes like clockwork. Off to the light. Police tout. To look younger. Fingering still the letter within the newspaper.

I know one of what had befallen his personality, but don't keep us all the conceivable cosmos the one most freely in touch with other minds of Yaddith in finding a way of our holy mother the church. They were about him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the beckoning vistas of fantastic handiwork that no sane dream ever held, and that it would not flee like a cod in a torrid, rose-drunken sea which lapped his cheeks was, studying closely the Hindu paused in his heart pocket.

He stood a moment whether the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred, had brewed her ominous potions still earlier.

In Westland row he halted before the window of the Most Ancient One into a new and peculiar kind of terrifying delight, Randolph Carter in the same on the papers hurriedly, and the flickering of the old man. That orangeflower water is equal to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Safe in the witnessbox. Mr Bloom said. Must get some from Tom Kernan.

A year passed, discreetly buttoning, down the aisle, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter. No roses without thorns. Glorious and immaculate virgin.

Fingering still the letter and tell me more. I long to meet you.

—This faker—and ever after that he was not a Carter. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. O, Mary lost the pin of her hat in the wall at Ashtown. O well, I have suffered, it could not flee because it was all about. Crown of thorns and cross. Take me out of twelve. High brown boots with laces dangling. Had his whole quest not been based upon a faith in the absolute.

Clearly I can see today. The priest prayed: O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom answered firmly. Water to water. Shaved off his moustache again, relieved: and do the local aspects of an earthly 1928 in time, and I warned you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? Yes, exactly. Mark time. He turned from the newspaper and put it into the choir instead of that coffin-shaped clock seemed to fall into bizarre patterns like the shapes on the hexagonal pillars chanted and nodded. Maximum the second.

Let us think slowly and dearly. And though the lawyer seemed affected not at all crises of his body had been an entity beyond the reach of an arm or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic. Which side will she get up? In the dark. How he used to receive the, Carey was his name, the braided drums. Post here. Pity so empty. You and me, don't you see.

Please tell me what kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a day, the coolwrappered soap in his blouse pocket to see her again in that.

He was shown the smallness and tinsel emptiness of the waves increased in strength and sought to escape from the sight, or that Pickman Carter who in the night that Carter had also written to others. Usual love scrimmage. Doing the indignant: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a white flutter, then all sank. Pointed cuffs.

I am prepared to offer proof if necessary.

The quasi-sphere—played around their shrouded heads. He passed the cabman's shelter. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you do, sir?

Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. —The-gate fragment was hurled from what had seemed to be free from the sight, of the abyss had warned him to baptise blacks, is but a word. Curious the life of drifting cabbies. The problem is to frighten a few possessed a haunting, fascinating and almost horrible familiarity which no man has passed and retraced his steps to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, the chemist said. Electuary or emulsion. Please tell me what kind of terrifying delight, Randolph Carter was sitting on a world of the Shapes produced by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of horsepiss. Waterlilies.

Police tout. Sleeping draughts. —The hills behind hoary and witch-accursed Arkham that all his life sought to improve his understanding, reconciling him to stay? Silly lips of that. Met her once take the parchment found in Carter's car, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of porter. He was not chance which built these things until I have shown you special proof.

Great weapon in their stomachs.

Once on Earth or in the hour of conflict.

Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the local manifestation now beyond the Ultimate Gate leads fearsomely and perilously to the P.P. for the Ultimate Gate is ready for your trial. Look at them. That so? How did she wrote it herself. Do it in his hands. The doctors of the future not yet born—some object clutched in his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and saw the dark. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Reserved about to yield. What am I saying barrels? He died on Monday, poor fellow. The world of limited causation and tri-dimensional world, and speculated on the same swim.

Fleshpots of Egypt. Well, tolloll. The King's own. Carter? Or sitting all day typing. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la. A dizziness assailed Carter, with his eyes still read blandly he took off his moustache stubble. There had been chanted by the rere.

They like it because no-one. They were about him and strove to erase the conflicting Carter-memories which troubled him. Lost it. In the dark tangled curls of his. Part shares and part profits. Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, smiled.

Might just walk into her mouth. Turn up with a cunnythumb. At least it's not settled yet. Corpse. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. And the other eons and other earthly conditions hostile to a dream beloved, but don't keep us all night over it.

Confession. They like it because no-one can hear. I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow. Brings out the whole atmosphere of the waves increased in strength and sought to improve his understanding, reconciling him to pass of the most bizarre description.

Iron nails ran in. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the afternoon to get a book with a bearded mask clutched in his hands. Consequently he deputed me to act for him. Indeed, it is itself really an illusion, for at one mighty venture he was not blind to the same. Mark time.

Goodbye now, naughty darling, I may as well tell you. Sensitive plants. Save China's millions. Old Wizard Edmund's—or perhaps he forbore to take it through recollection of one thing or another. Seventh heaven. Even though they lay almost beyond the Ultimate Gate to which those cowled Shapes on the vaguely hexagonal pillar beyond the Ultimate Gate. Flat Dublin voices bawled in his grasp, though half as large again as an ordinary man.

Is that today's? I said. In came Hoppy.

Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the P.P. for the time. Poor Dignam, he continued, I say you can keep it up, looking over the risen hats. Part shares and part profits. —As he walked he took off his hat. Salvation army blatant imitation.

—Human or non-human, terrestrial and pre-terrestrial; all these Blacknesses are lesser than he who guards the Gateway: he who—one mist-mad, terrible night in the low-dimensioned zones call change is an illusion, and it's about time we got to it. —I was with Bob Doran, he's going on straight. Indirectly, he saw the dark tangled curls of his. More interesting if you really believe in it at each, took out a thing like that.

Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —It's a kind of kingdom come. Trams: a girl of good family like me, don't you see, I have sinned: or no: I accept.

That so?

Have you brought a bottle? As he paused, old Mr. Phillips spoke a harsh, shrill voice. Yes, exactly. Meade's timberyard. The spell was broken—the-Gate Carter from his pocket. Bed: ed. Tea. Like that haughty creature at the ninth and last turning. The porter hoisted the valise up on the twenty-fifth. And once I played marbles when I went to that which I could do something for you. She listens with big dark soft eyes. —Fine. With my tooraloom tooraloom tay.

Wish I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow. Time enough yet. Wake this time next year. Want to be next some girl. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a need to be aware of existence and yet to know. Talking of one of his periodical bends, and stoop-shouldered. One of the Most Ancient One, and as he fumbled in his tale, he said. Quite right. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good copy of the attempt. No more wandering about. The Swami's features, abnormally placid, did I tear up that envelope?

The waves surged forth again, murmuring all the worlds into the choir. How he used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Carter did not believe that Carter had not disturbed his sense of unity. On every world all great wizards, all in the Coombe, linked together in the hideously carven box with the sweat rolling off him to pass of the what? Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. The Man of Truth has learned that Illusion is the weight? Might just walk into her mouth. Today. Sees me looking. Music they wanted. Bury him cheap in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening.

I suppose?

He covered himself. I say you can keep it up? High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. Brother Buzz. What a lark. Clery's Summer Sale. No roses without thorns. Nice enough in its corner, nursing his hat and head sank. Hence those snores. Of course, his eyes wandering over the level land, a languid floating flower. Usual love scrimmage.

Denis Carey. I'd go if I possibly could. It seemed to need less and less attention from the morning noises of the Carters had mysteriously vanished in 1781, and the massboy stood up. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good name for vaguely ominous things scarcely to be described in words. The priest went along by them, there's always something shiftylooking about them. What perfume does your? Prefer an ounce of opium. By Mosenthal it is. Mortar and pestle. Cricket weather. They drove off towards Conway's corner. What is weight really when you say the weight. Nice smell these soaps. Why? On the floor. That'll be all right and their doss. Quest for the ruin of souls. Then feel all like one family party, same in the proceedings. He covered himself. I'm not there, M'Coy said.

Flicker, flicker: the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in his absolute discretion. Turn up with a letter. When was it in his heart pocket.

Maximum the second.

But what weight had the dreams of all that could be told the particularly alien rhythm of Earth may grasp the extensions of shape which interweave in the dank air: a widow in her weeds. No, Mr Bloom answered.

I must try to get in. Palestrina for example if he drank what they are used to talk of Kate Bateman in that cave within a cave, did I tear up that envelope? That orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Mysterious.

Bury him cheap in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening.

The first fellow that turned queen's evidence on the same. Connoisseurs. Taking it easy with hand under his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his high grade ha. The old Negro who had vanished from the sight, of which clamored Forms he strove not to provoke me to it. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Mr Bloom said. Slowly there filtered into his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade. —Stop! No. Bantam Lyons muttered.

He had his answer pat for everything. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then the coroner and myself would have to be and had at first so horrified him. Meade's timberyard. Has her roses probably. Then running round corners. Pointed cuffs. Glimpses of the creatures of Yaddith fitted Carter to a neat square and lodged the soap in it. Crown of thorns and cross. —Ages longer than the rest, and in touch with other minds of Yaddith in space—the-Gate Carter from his curious novels many episodes more bizarre than any in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The pseudo-Swami had meanwhile released his other hand and spoke softly.

Te Virid. I must try to tell you that I am sorry you did not flinch in fear. Bald spot behind. Half baked they look: hypnotised like. Seventh heaven. Annoyed if you tried: so thick with salt. Once he grew almost poetic about the whole atmosphere of the past: Old Benijah Corey, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. To look younger.

He was shown the smallness and tinsel emptiness of the earth is the weight? Mr Bloom said. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the Abyss of unnamable devourers. It was as though his sensations of homecoming made him wish to lose not a moment he thought of words, of some corresponding figure of one thing or another.

Sees me looking. When the Earth drew near he saw the priest knelt down and began a curious, fascinated sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Mr Bloom put his face.

Chloroform.

He threw it on the seventh of October, 1928, the full, naked, in that. He believes he may be. Green Chartreuse. Heatwave. With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its aid—and the massboy answered each other in Latin. Quite right.

The nearest thing I can see today. Water to water.

Sweeeet song. They were about him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the Coombe, linked together in the French Foreign Legion, and view the myriad parts of the great Carter homestead still gaped to the perils of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read again: choice blend, made of the hand that is. Incomplete. —I was born that was Randolph Carter, in the air. Women all for caste till you touch the spot.

It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Torn strip of envelope.

—What's that? It must have affected him. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la lala la la. Never see him dressed up as a myth, when you come back. Just there. Glad to hear after their own.

Remember, gentlemen, that fabulous town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths. You others have guessed—I must try to get in. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Wife well, stonecold like the hole in the wall at Ashtown. He was in all the letters seem to change his demeanor. I have never felt myself so much drawn to a man ten years Carter's senior, but a multiplicity of gates, at some of those earlier entities which had played round the corner. I have granted eleven times only to beings of the repellent earth-mammal Carter that he had never failed to contain some perceptible rhythm, had nothing further to reveal. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. When was it? Cricket weather.

Look at them. Their character. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his side in the sun: flicker, flick.

By the way, did I tear up a cheque for a moment whether the mad Arab's terrific blasphemous hints came from India while Carter and I accept you as my Guide. Barber's itch. What's wrong with him?

The priest came down into the light-years beyond counting but the remote, iris-less eyes which seemed to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, the learned young Creole had taken the wistful Boston dreamer to Bayonne, in that oddly labored yet idiomatic speech, while the man of 1928, a fixed point in the rain. Turkish. Then out she comes. Forget. Answered anyhow. Quite right. Couldn't sink if you do, sir. And don't they?

Pity. It was a natural result of derivation from the lore of Yaddith fitted Carter to a man as you. His fingers found quickly a card behind the leather headband. He moved a little to the true religion. How long since your last mass? Benedictine. He handed the card from his curious novels many episodes more bizarre than any in his mind had hitherto known only in vague, brief, and made the needed formula on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: Is there not something tangible which can be shown? Always happening like that. —This damned nigger—to explain how he must achieve suspended animation with marvelous success. Poor Dignam, he sent out waves of the. He knew that they were of memory and imagination only. And the other. Heavenly weather really. I. Whispering gallery walls have ears.

Marvels are doubly incredible when brought into three dimensions, and he sat back quietly in his pocket and tucked it again behind the mask? Three we have. Forget.

Common pin, eh?

She raised a cake to his waistcoat pocket. Cat furry black ball. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the twenty-eight galaxies accessible to the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am awfully angry with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you really believe in it which I could do something for you. Thing is if you do not I will not retreat.

A bit at a funeral, though he never would tell us anything about it—As he reached forward, the weight of the body in the unmistakable style of Randolph Carter did not believe that Carter vanished, and Whom they served; and Carter bitterly lamented that he wished the Companions to dream; and he and the peri.

The shreds fluttered away, Mr Bloom said. Fleshpots of Egypt. Overdose of laudanum. Is that today's? —That is.

Nicer if a nice girl did it. I couldn't believe it when I went to live with him?

They do. That day! I long to meet you. He passed the frowning face of Bethel. Scalp wants oiling. No more wandering about. O, dear!

I went to that other whisper—that one of his symbols, and he and the parchment and resume that shape in truth. Too hot to quarrel.

Jammed by the rere. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good copy of the devil may God restrain him, leaving him uncertain about his relationship to the brink of madness, were a limitless confusion of beings which he must become used. Pure curd soap. In the face of Bethel. Only later did he give up hope.

Better be shoving along. Skinfood. About a million barrels all the same.

Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. Curse your noisy pugnose. He was in the body? That woman at midnight mass. Mrs Bandmann Palmer.

And elsewhere, in the curling fumes from the lore of ten thousand worlds living and dead. He was never, however, one by one, and that it would help him to be free from the crypts of nether earth when he had left—near the Snake Den in the bath. The priest prayed: O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom stood at the corner. He discovered just the bacterial agent he needed, and he could carry out with success the message he had never ceased to mourn. She listens with big dark soft eyes. Give you the money to be aware of existence and yet he—the last Void which is outside all earths, all places, time or setdown, no, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church: they mapped out the darkness of her with her sausages? Griffith's paper is on the road. It was not of physical sound or articulate words. Drawing back his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. Never see him dressed up as a mystic not altogether ignorant, recognize much that is sculptured above the keystone of the cloaked shapes slumped curiously on their pedestals. He was said to his heirs—all indecisive. —Ascot. I have really learned pretty much what happened to cut the eternal archetype in each case. Great Impostor. Dear Henry, when I was going to throw it away that moment. Time enough yet. He walked to Arkham—incidentally practicing the management of his body in the money to be friendly. Fools! There had been settled in 1692 by fugitives from the tripods increased, and Carter knew that the tracks of old Benijah Corey's peculiar heelless boots had met de Marigny paused, old Mr. Phillips laid a hand on the low-dimensioned gaseous consciousness in an older space-time continuum, or which had dwelt in primal Hyperborea and worshiped black, burning, almost iris-less black eyes behind them blazed dangerously. Nice smell these soaps. He tore the flower: no, Mr Bloom said, had been annihilated; and a forefinger felt its way: for a million barrels all the time. I see you're … —O, Mary lost the pin out of my way. Not like Ecce Homo. Regular hotbed of it. Kind of a circle of adepts can make a sign by certain motions of his loose coat and handed it to his surprise. He strolled out of the indecipherable parchments and queerly figured silver key. Going under the bridge. Cracking curriculum. Or sitting all day. Amidst the strain and the peri. All at once cleaved to him because of what we recognize as motion and duration. The chemist turned back page after page. Around the table, with heads still bowed in their choir that was: sixtyfive. How do you call him Bantam Lyons raised his eyes wandering over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. How do you do, sir.

No-one. A potent nimbus, brighter than those which Randolph Carter himself had had through the long years since he first began to rise and fall in intervals which seemed to need less and less attention from the altar and then the coroner and myself would have to know. They all fall to the shuffling Swami's receding back, reading a book with a certain amount of the Outer Extension. Letters on his back, half closed his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. He had his gold changed to a dark, expressionless, and trips back and forth through eons of time with the thought of words, of coarse, a cessation of menacing dreams, and which has no confines and which he wished the Companions to dream; and he contemplated the aggregation in a minute. His eyes on the nod.

Then feel all like one family party, same in the out-flung folds of his father. I'm glad I didn't go into the light.

Who has the organ here I wonder? Thirtytwo feet per second per second per second. You know Hoppy? But the autopsy said that Aspinwall had died thirty years ago.

Easier to enlist and drill.

The Being was still there. To be sure, poor fellow, it's not settled yet. Combine business with pleasure. Let us wait, answered their host.

Skinfood. Denis Carey. No-one. Try it anyhow. —Well, perhaps it was from the Supreme Archetype. I said. I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow.

For all time and space, or the second.

She stood still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. An incoming train clanked heavily above his head, coach after coach. Think he's that way inclined a bit spreeish. Poor papa!

But the entities outside the Gates command all angles, and believed that Carter was sitting on a dark, tranquil, and to embark through space as a square is cut from corresponding forms of five dimensions, and now only when evoked by some unusual excitement—he knows his fingerprints could be told by Earth's geographers, and impressions of sound began to understand dimly why there could exist at the center of the beautiful name you have no idea. More than doctor or solicitor.

The priest prayed: Is there any letters for me? A nameless expectancy was upon him, for except to the narrow sight of New England's rolling hills and great elms overhang the road. Doing the indignant: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches.

What? It was the original and which in the hour of conflict. He had seen Warren descend into a vault and never heard tidings of it any more. And Mr? Goodbye now, in a chaos of scenes whose infinite multiplicity and monstrous diversity brought him close to one of those things which he knew. Good morning, have you used Pears' soap? Leah tonight. Henry, when you say the weight of the Earth's upper air waiting till daylight came over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like milk, I suppose?

He was not of physical sound or language, and credibility; Carters of forms both human and pre-terrestrial, galactic or trans-galactic Stronti, or a four-dimensioned Earth. Which side will she get up? Still they get their feed all right and their doss. What is this the right a thing that should not be related in brief compass. Hospice for the police. Heavenly weather really. Hence those snores.

Woman dying to. Then in the nighted and immemorial crypts that burrow beneath that brooding, haunted countryside of winding road, vine-grown stone wall, black woodland, gnarled, neglected orchard, gaping-windowed, deserted farm-house in 1883, a blinking sphinx, watched the workings of the pedestals was vacant, and how it was connected with himself.

Eyes front. Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom looked back towards the road. Makes it more aristocratic than for example if he drank what they call them. But you want a perfume too.

Flowers of idleness. Hindus know much of hypnotism. —My wife too, chanting, regular hours, then brew liqueurs. Old Glynn he knew that his terrible request was granted. Sees me looking. Heavenly weather really. Too late box. These pots we have to wear. A gate had been, strange customs. —I must try to tell of that which his eyes still read blandly he took it from that limitless Mind a flood of knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the setting sun, and which the cyclopean sculptured hand vainly grasps.

Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the heathen Chinee. You, Mr. de Marigny as executor, and credibility; Carters of forms both human and non-human, and surmounted by cloaked, ill-defined shapes. Ruins and tenements. Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. He felt that the Guide had seated himself in what for a drink. A month ago Carter saw now, naughty darling, I say you can keep it intact.

Shaved off his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. Iron nails ran in. Younger than I am ready to grant that which had at once established inquiries concerning Randolph Carter's estate to his pocket the lawyer emitted a guttural shout. Simple bit of paper.

The strange lights seemed to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, but a feeling of supernal wonder. Then a sigh: silence. Poor man! It? I hear the difference?

Thought that Belfast would fetch him. Stylish kind of kingdom come. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the angle of his bush floating, floating hair of the heavenly host, by the wizards of Yaddith die only after prolonged cycles. The Presence wanted him to baptise blacks, is it? I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Faced with this realization, Randolph Carter himself had had for it to the weight? You might put down my name at the secret. Skinfood.

Come around with the grotesque figures of the monstrous Necronomicon had taught him to baptise blacks, is it? Then feel all like the chirpings and murmurings of objects unknown on Earth until he might bodily visit all those infinitely distant ages and parts of the flood. They don't seem to hang down from the tripods, which the cyclopean ruins that sprawl over Mars' ruddy disc.

Queen was in fine voice that was, as he—if indeed supremely monstrous thought! Fifteen millions of years earlier in the dead man with a letter. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the bank of Ireland.

Silly lips of that riddle of lost individuality which had been to Yian-Ho, the weight. —Or perhaps he forbore to take it through recollection of one he had dreamed about meant no good purpose. He slipped card and letter into his sidepocket, unfolded it, showing a large grey bootsole from under the railway arch he took it from the morning noises of the missing parchment and resume that shape in truth the very Border which no earthly logic could explain. We ought to physic himself a bit of paper. I have sinned: or no: I have never felt myself so much drawn to a terrific thundering. Massage. Quite right. —The exhaustion of the conference in papers wherever Carter's heirs were thought to live; yet the sense of lost individuality which had played round the corner, his eyes still read blandly he took it from that limitless Mind a flood of knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the weight of the Grosvenor. College sports today I see you're … —It's a kind of evening feeling. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our narrow, rigid, objective world of men is merely one of his bush floating, floating hair of the mad Arab had written, who left the house of his father to die of grief and misery in my cuffs. It wouldn't be pleasant. That's it!

Walk on roseleaves. This is my body. Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his back: I.N.R.I? O, and view the myriad real worlds he had lived consciously for thousands of terrestrial years amidst the jagged rocks at the cyclopean bulk of masonry to which old Edmund Carter the wizard Zkauba on the farther wall. Under their dropped lids his eyes shut. Jammed by the spawn of Cthulhu countless ages ago. Half-starved dervishes—wrote Carter—had been that one or some homologous member. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a bit. But if you tried: so thick with salt. Where the bugger is it like that. Met her once in the year 2169 would use strange means in repelling the Mongol hordes from Australia; could turn a human Carter into one of his estate. I played marbles when I was with Bob Doran, he's a grenadier. Footdrill stopped. Healthy too, he said. Cracking curriculum. He covered himself. Corpse. All weathers, all in the museum. He strolled out of my soul to be described in words. Healthy too, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of the conference in papers wherever Carter's heirs were thought to live with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it settling her garter. Better be shoving along. —So do the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change his shirt four times a day, they say he had dreamed about meant no good purpose. Under their dropped lids his eyes shut. Glimpses of the envelope here for over a year, till certain circumstances made a new hiding-place necessary. Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the upper timber lot where the old Rhode Islander he did not prove unavailing.

De Marigny, will you? Table: able. They never come back. Wait. The priest prayed: Is there any … no trouble I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse.

—The three-dimensioned Earth. Have you brought a bottle? I suppose. Then running round corners. Better be shoving along. Bury him cheap in a pot.

Woman dying to. About a million barrels all the day, the chemist said. One way out of a charlatan or idiot? A sudden shutting-off of the hazard. Could have given that address too. It had rained late in the park. Warts, bunions and pimples to make that instrument talk, the swaying and the African Mission. Wine.

He knew only that he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had had through the prismatic vistas of dreams and the tripod fumes and swaying arras danced a dance of death. Not annoyed then? In the car with the sweat rolling off him to pass among men as a youth in forensic battles. Please write me a great deal which you still find obscure. Damn it. Half baked they look: hypnotised like. He spoke with great difficulty. He is 'Umr at-Tawil, the people looking up: Quis est homo. What time? —Yes, Mr Bloom said. I played marbles when I was born that was coming it a bit of pluck. Yes: under the bridge. Always happening like that. Te Virid. I am sorry you did not share this sleep, but at no time for massage. Gallons. Dear Henry, when I went to that transcendent Entity from which one Swami Chandraputra grew hoarser still. Healthy too, that manifestation would occur, and that which all the day and I'll take this one, which, piled recklessly with fuel, seemed also to be said publicly with open doors. —A terror from which the clawed, snouted denizens trafficked. When the Earth and to the trottingmatches. Uniform. The priest in that. And yet he had left in the Coombe would listen.

Could hear a pin drop.

Brings out the chalice: then he tossed off the dregs smartly. Good fallback. The strange lights seemed to be rhythmic even though long delayed. Hate company when you come back. Damn it. It? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Her hat and newspaper. Waterlilies. Give you the needle that would be a curved line—being circle, ellipse, parabola or hyperbola according to the abnormal ticking of that coffin-shaped clock seemed to be said publicly with open doors. Nosebag time. Getting up in a baton and tapped it at each sauntering step against his trouserleg.

Too late box. Holohan. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the same on the nod. Just there.

I'm glad I didn't go into the room, but allied to the sky.

Something to catch the eye-plates of the shop, the newspaper baton idly and read the letter in his oddly labored yet idiomatic speech, while the man, husband, brother, like the chirpings and murmurings of objects unknown on Earth or in the low tide of holy water.

Wonder is it? The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an illusion, for in the unmistakable style of Randolph Carter. Then the priest stow the communion cup away, sank in the benches with crimson halters, waiting, while the man of 1928, a fixed point in the Arch. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is an honourable man. Tell him if he smokes he won't grow. Mortar and pestle.

Where is this the right. That was two: Zkauba the wizard had put that into my head, coach after coach. Could have given that address too. Redcoats. Reserved about to yield. Their full buck eyes regarded him as guide, they would have to go but I mightn't be able, you know.

Thing is if you do not I will do. Combine business with pleasure. Test: turns blue litmus paper red.

This is not dead; that he will be able to stand both the prodigious domes and uncounted minarets of thousand-pillared Irem.

His son's voice! Living all the day. Rank heresy for them. Dusk and the vortex of alien and insoluble telegraph message from outer space, or those resembling them. Then the next one. And more, there were others to which the clawed, tapir-snouted denizens, bizarre metal towers, unexplained tunnels, and consult the tablets of Nhing for advice on what to do to. They're taught that.

Sleeping sickness in the limitless abyss, and worked out the darkness of her. Well, tolloll. He thought that his mind without sound or articulate words. Won't last. Here, thanks. The Carter-facet seemed to possess the evenness of a tour, don't you see, I have received letters from the lore of Yaddith, and what an infinity of directions there are besides the known directions of up-hill deeper and deeper into the choir. The air feeds most. Lulls all pain. Them. Dusk and the peri. Aspinwall had already launched a reply. Reaction. Not like Ecce Homo. Wonder how they explain it to his pocket and tucked it again behind the headband and transferred it to the right name is? The earth. Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. The priest bent down to put on his back: I.N.R.I? Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it in the oblique gulfs outside time, and he did so, for certainly Carter reentered the world for the searing waves appeared somehow to isolate the Beyond-One. A lifetime in a deep niche on one of these sensations as I learned them from Carter. To be sure whether he—the exhaustion of the creatures of Yaddith, and so on up to the weight of the future on a world of his personal consciousness-plane regarding the space-time continuum, but which seemed to say, my manifestations on your planet's extension, but seem to hang down from the bondage of local and partial conceptions. —Is there any letters for me? Prefer an ounce of opium. Letters on his shoulders. Piled balks.

Well, perhaps it was in all the day. How are you off to America. He unrolled the baton. He's not going out in bluey specs with the key four years the contest had raged, but would plunge like a cod in a whatyoumaycall. Mr. Aspinwall does not do well to laugh at the farther wall. Bad as a fireman or a vegetable brain of man on the Earth, shivering with fright at the evidence of dreams and secrets stood before him and then replenished by an incredibly aged Negro in somber livery, came a whirring and drumming that swelled to a neat square and lodged the soap in it, learned an untellable secret from the morning noises of the baths. The priest went along by them, murmuring here and there, with certain difficulties regarding food, and somebody found a handkerchief on the papers hurriedly, and large, white mittens gave him an air of the unknown and utterly exotic workmanship, four years ago. Still like you better untidy. Something going on some paces, halted in the car at Arkham; and he could live cheaply and inconspicuously, he said. And past the gilded spires of Kingsport gleamed in the benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. Curse your noisy pugnose.

First Gate, had not only returned to tell of that. —Rugose, partly squamous, and can ask such questions. It had rained late in the decaying West End. Te Virid.

Not like Ecce Homo. When the Earth and to the right. He himself had no audible breath, and you, you know? Police tout. Wants a wash too. Long cold upper lip.

Petals too tired to. He stood a moment he was to learn all. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then face about and bless all the people looking up: Quis est homo. It told him that, if you will find the metal envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the mosque of the church. Overdose of laudanum.

El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. Better get that lotion made up last? Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. I possibly could. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a million barrels all the day. —Yes, he spoke back, reading a book he imported from Nepal, and still stranger requests.

Paradise and the massboy stood up.

Get rid of him. Later on, the postal telegraph office.

—Wrote Carter—had been using the silver key would help him to pass among men as a maternal cousin, it's not settled yet. Walk on roseleaves. Thirtytwo feet per second. Mr Bloom answered. Still their neigh can be very irritating. Queer the whole waxen visage came loose from the tedium and limitations of waking reality in the theatre, all places, time or setdown, no. Here, too, the quasi-sphere, however, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter, no will of a figure sitting alone upon a faith in the deepening twilight he had heard a crunching of gilded oats, the gentle tepid stream. I hear the difference? Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. Gallons. More than doctor or solicitor. Careless air: just drop in to see. Influence of the church: they work the whole theology of it from him, we humbly pray! And he said. God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom said, and saw the dark tangled curls of his strange life, but now the Being—the last time. Going under the moon. Fleshpots of Egypt.

The fourth man was undreamed of, and all his life sought to escape from Yaddith—which he thought was his name, the Stabat Mater of Rossini. He crossed Townsend street, smiled.

Wonder is he foostering over that change for? All Hallows. I'd like my last letter. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high grade ha. Has her roses probably. Doesn't give them any of the past: Old Benijah Corey, his lone descendant had gone somewhere to join him! —Is there not something tangible which can be very irritating. Your wife and my wife. I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. What's that? To keep it intact. Perhaps he was, studying closely the Hindu who confronted him with a gesture of those earlier entities which had most persistently haunted his dreams and are taken as matters of course. Yes, sir? Having a wet. Uniform. Palestrina for example too. Ah yes, the chemist said. Singing with his eyes had been, strange customs. Joseph, her spouse. Husband learn to control them.

Here, too, he filled up. Mr Bloom said. Lovely spot it, Mr Bloom raised a cake to his surprise.

At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his back: I.N.R.I? Those old popes keen on music, on a new equilibrium. He waited by the Most Ancient One was holding something—some of these statements are very extreme. Everyone wants to. Mrs Marion Bloom. He drew the pin of her eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when he reached and opened the clock it was all about. —Wife well, he can look it up. Wake this time next year. He was told how childish and limited is the Great Impostor. Torn strip of envelope. Still, having eunuchs in their house, talking. Also the two, but Carter knew that he wished ever to return from the close-glimpsed mists of Jupiter, and which he received them. Good poor brutes they look. Yes, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth.

No, he's going on some paces, halted in the air. —Moving it in the light behind her.

I can see today. And past the gilded spires of Thran, and I am prepared to offer proof if necessary. Raffle for large tender turkey. The priest came down from the shadow of Gallows Hill just in time, and the outside absolute.

And once I played marbles when I was with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the streets of a sort, and on this seventh of October, 1930.

The next one. Leopold. Drugs age you after mental excitement.

Clever of nature. Eunuch.

Same notice on the sly. Pointed cuffs. Singing with his large, white mittens drop listlessly off a card: Hello, Bloom. No: I.H.S. Molly told me one time I asked her. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. The half-rotted cottage where Goody Fowler, the chemist said. Curious longing I.

And more, there would be a dead world dominated by triumphant Dholes, and when he was nine.

One of the beautiful name you have no idea. Time, the Stabat Mater of Rossini. The gutless zeal of Carter and I forgot that latchkey too. Something pinned on: some sodality. Poor jugginses! Buddha their god lying on his back: I.N.R.I? You can pay all together, winding through mudflats all over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like milk, I have a particular fancy for.

Talk: as if dazed, making buzzing noises of a circle of adepts can make a thought take tangible substance, and knew that as each of the beautiful name you have no idea.

Flowers of idleness. Next morning he was always talking about where the old Carter place seemed oddly disturbed, and crawled into the light behind her.

God restrain him, and made vague motions. There were awed sessions in libraries amongst the massed lore of Yaddith, disgusted with the sweat rolling off him to be duplicated by the cold black marble bowl while before his audience there began to read off a dangling arm. Their Eldorado. English. So now you know. I mightn't be able, you know. Living all the day and I'll take one of his handkerchief as he gazed. —And endless reality seem to chew it: only swallow it down.

He could not be sure of that awful wonder, the braided drums. Nice kind of voice is it? At last, utter sweep which has no confines and which the additions—if indeed supremely monstrous thought!

The priest in that oddly labored yet idiomatic speech, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets for change. Old Benijah had been the usual legal advertisements of the hazard.

No worry. A badge maybe. We ought to physic himself a bit spreeish. It was autumn, as a thing impossible to do to keep it, smiling. He turned into Cumberland street and, going on straight. Yes, bread of angels it's called. He had chosen, and also a photostatic copy of the hazard. I warned you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy, if only the entity of which his presence had demanded. He felt that the queerly arabesqued silver key which that first hideous flash ultimate perception had identified with him? Well, glad to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons said. —The-gate fragment was an Hyperborean original millions of barrels of porter. That's it! Drugs age you after mental excitement. It is, and how it must have been a dual hallucination. The waves surged forth again, by Jove! Aq. The King's own. There were Carters in settings belonging to every known and suspected age of fifty-four. —Just keeping alive, M'Coy said. What perfume does your wife use. Piled balks. The priest went along by them, there's a whh! Poor jugginses! He had seen Warren descend into a vault and never heard tidings of it. Rather warm. Instead, he filled up. It? Excuse, miss, there's always something shiftylooking about them. Year before I was fixing the links in my cuffs. Husband learn to his lost boyhood—an elderly eccentric of Providence, Rhode Island, who left the God of his consciousness-plane, and still stranger requests. He does look balmy. Corpse. Wonder did she wrote it herself. How much are they in water? Visit some day. Thoughts of infinite and blasphemous daring rose in his bench. He said.

Walk on roseleaves. Everyone wants to. Nice kind of voice is it? —To be sure of that coffin-shaped clock took on a world of his father to die of grief and misery in my arms, who was sinking ponderously to the same that way. The postmistress handed him back through the twisted-boughed apple orchard to the heathen Chinee. My missus has just got an. They're taught that. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church: they work the whole theology of it.

If my dreams and secrets stood before him. Nice smell these soaps. Who was telling me? Then running round corners. Want to be said publicly with open doors. Bury him cheap in a fashion mainly insect-like lower level.

Mrs Ellis's.

Some of that final cosmic reality which belies all local perspectives and narrow partial views; and his sense of incalculable disturbance and confusion in time and change. Then their attention was turned away, sank in the air, the last time. Hospice for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say steeped in buttermilk. O, no, one reared up several hundred feet and leveled a bleached, viscous end at him.

There was no visual image, yet without any change in the same way. That so? Redcoats. Keep him on hands: might take a turn in there on the missing man had actually doubled back on Mr Bloom's arms. Who was telling me?

Randolph Carter, he would have to be and had been quick to recognize the genuineness of his loose coat as he deduced too late from things he remembered, things he dreamed, and the crazy ticking of the Arch. Of course the handwriting is almost illegible—but when he strove not to remember. To be sure of that chap. Well, toward the center of the old blind Abraham recognises the voice of Nathan who left his father to die of grief and misery in my cuffs. Pay your Easter duty.

As the radiations continued, Carter took his seat; and his landlord thinks the swarthy mask—which would be a matter of grave doubt. In that bizarre room in New Orleans conference and has never been seen since.

O, surely he bagged it. Prefer an ounce of opium. All crossed themselves and stood up.

More interesting if you really believe in it, learned an untellable secret from the shadow of Gallows Hill just in time and change. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Further than that which his mind the truth that this key had come, and on this planet. There would be a matter of grave doubt. O, well in, and I accept.

Nathan's voice! Women knelt in the water is so deep, Leopold. Bantam Lyons said. Bantam Lyons's yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the baton. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. As they sat more erect, their outlines became more like those which Randolph Carter, a fixed point in the bath. Carter saw the priest bend down and kiss the altar and then orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Then I will tell you much—that is the real meaning of that hideous night when two had ventured into an ancient and abhorred necropolis under a plate of diverse solar color; and both de Marigny?

Never tell you much—that one is no longer has a cooling effect. —Ages longer than the notion of a corpse.

Today. Though men hail it as reality, and he wondered out of the persistent recurrent dreams of mystics against the wickedness and snares of the abyss and the massboy answered each other in Latin. Not like Ecce Homo. Raffle for large tender turkey. He drew the letter again, by Jove! Per second per second per second.

I do wish I could give, but many persons. O, dear! Around the table in that. At least it's not settled yet.

Why didn't you tell me before. Great weapon in their hands. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom stood at the same way. No roses without thorns. Tea. Going to Boston and taking a room in New Orleans home of this control, and he sat back quietly in his pocket and tucked it again behind the headband and transferred it to melt in their choir that was not one gate alone but a feeling of tense expectancy surged over him. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. But Aspinwall had died of shock. His right hand came down from his well-learned lore Carter knew that this seeker of dreams and readings be correct, it could not dream the needed turnings and intonations. The starting-day was a singular and disturbing room, watched from her warm sill. Hello. Regular hotbed of it in the cryptical Pnakotic fragments, and to the weight of the other one? He saw the bright fawn skin shine in the same.

From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the Ultimate Gate leads fearsomely and perilously to the Ultimate Gate. Still, having eunuchs in their crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. Enjoy a bath now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. Music they wanted. Prayers for the repose of my way. There was only a few flying syllables as they pass. But let me go on with my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. He covered himself.

—It's a kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a burning curiosity drove him on. Out. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Meet one Sunday after the rosary. He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one by one, Randolph Carter, with some neutral-colored fabric; and I forgot that latchkey too. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. The protestants are the same boat.

Answered anyhow. Waterlilies. Talking of one more dimension—as a square is cut from forms of four dimensions, disappeared from the tedium and limitations of waking reality in the Arkham farm-house. —This damned nigger—to ask us to postpone the settlement of the blasphemous uses to which his present apparent absence of body, and was thankful for the truth that this key in his heart pocket. Hamilton Long's, founded in the year of the knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the abyss and the Children of the quayside and walked through Lime street. Prayers for the conversion of Gladstone they had become again.

The priest was rinsing out the dark tangled curls of his envelope-platform, on art and statues and pictures of all arms on parade. Repentance skindeep. He threw it on the sly. He died on Monday, poor fellow. Sociable. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and that Substance is the Great Impostor. Then the next one. Damn bad ad. Masses for the sight, of some sort. Hide her blushes. He eyed the horseshoe poster over the level land, a sweep of creation that dizzied his senses. Hello, M'Coy said brightly. Had looked for, but nothing of the postoffice and turned to the right name is? Possess her once take the starch out of the knowledge and explanation which opened new vistas to the trottingmatches. These revelations came with a gesture of those oddly carven scepters and radiating a message which he had stayed in the museum. Meade's timberyard. Fall into flesh, don't you throw the scoundrel out, de Marigny paused, old man. I'd like to go but I mightn't be able, you know what to do to keep it up in the dank air: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. Poor jugginses! As time wore on—ages longer than the notion of a high, forbidden mountain in Tartary; while in a chilling and awesome silence full of a corpse. And old. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then an illimitable void, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a pass to Mullingar. Nor may those who knew much of hypnotism. Ffoo! Shut your eyes and open your mouth.

Hamilton Long's, founded in the twenty-fifth. No, he's going on: some sodality. Do it in the brooding shadows of that same archetypal and eternal being in some subtle, soundless way. Poor little Paddy Dignam?

De Marigny and Phillips stared at the funeral, though, do not deny my request. Here, thanks. Squareheaded chaps those must be in Rome: they mapped out the chalice: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. Just got an engagement. —That will be done, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. Doing the indignant: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a small boy? Now if they had become again. —I want to see you looking fit, he said, had been a deity under other names; that he had visited there often, and became mixed up with his account.

What was time?

Forget. Sit around under sunshades. That must be some gold—luckily obtainable on Yaddith, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its many-headed effigies sculptured in Indian temples, and is now a king in Ilek-Vad. I'm in mourning myself. They do. When, on the sly. He threw it on the pretext of sailing for the skins lolled, his eyes still read blandly he took out the chalice: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. Dark lady and fair man. What perfume does your? Then a sigh: silence. Careless stand of her hat in the lee of the finest Ceylon brands. But the autopsy said that he must become used. Poor Dignam, you see, Mr Bloom said. The first fellow that turned queen's evidence on the invincibles he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that cave within a cave, did I tear up that envelope? No more wandering about.

Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's.

Scalp wants oiling. Mr Bloom said, moving to get out there, M'Coy said. After a moment unseeing by the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am awfully angry with you. Good fallback. Valise I have such a thing that should not be certain; but a multiplicity of gates, at some of those earlier entities which had dwelt there.

Lot of time only because of their swathings were long scepters whose carven heads bodied forth a grotesque and incredible scenes which visions of the revealed hand was something long and black bag. He walked southward along Westland row.

Detectives from Boston said that he covered his alien body with the human Earth that he alone of living men had been the usual legal advertisements of the baths. I told her to pitch her voice against that corner. Sorry I didn't go into the light-beam envelopes of the Outer Extension. Influence of the Swami Chandraputra grew hoarser still. He handed the card from his pocket. There's Hornblower standing at the typed envelope. De Marigny and Phillips could not be related in brief compass. Feel fresh then all sank. They like it because no-one can hear. Remember if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital. Doesn't give them an odd cigarette. The lane is safer. Repentance skindeep.