#next batch will go to the greek pride!

[konnyart]

Last chance to preorder my Good Omens stuff before they are gone forever (okay, not really, they are preorders, but-). Part of the procceeds will go to charity, I am very close to breaking even for the order!

You can preorder them here!

[mingkii]

LOVE AGAIN ─✎ 송.민기

❖❳；Pairing; Song Mingi x Fem!Reader (ft. P1h's keeho, itzy's ryujin, and wooyoung)

❖❳；Genre; Greek mythology au, angst, reincarnation au.

❖❳；Words ; 6.2k

❖❳；Warnings; Mentions of death.

❖❳；Synopsis; A mission to find your lover who was reborn in the mortal world became a mission for heartbreak as you watched him fall in love with someone else.

❖❳；A/n; I honestly don't know what happened near the end, very disappointing but oh well. Not very proud of this so im sorry and don't get your hopes up.

❖❳； Note; My entry for @/sleepylixie and @/delicatewerewolfsoul 's hamartia collab. This might contain inaccurate representations of greek gods but for the sake of the story, just go with it. Slightly modernized as well.

The sun rises on the horizon, casting light all over Olympus, waking the gods in slumber, reminding them of the work they need to do. However, you wanted to fight the sun for rising so early. The rays piercing through the depths of the ocean, just enough to peek through the windows of your room.

You stir under the covers, not wanting to get up. The light blinding your closed eyes, preventing you from going back to sleep. You were honestly hoping you won't wake up the next day. You didn't want to wake up in agony knowing there's nothing to wake up to. You still picture his crescent eyes when he smiles, his laugh that echoes in your ears as if he is there with you. His hands that felt soft and warm left a mark on your skin, reminding you of how he held you in his arms.

Every night you see him in your dreams— for a while at least. Your heart was hurt, it wanted to remind you of all the things you could've done, but it knew that if you kept dreaming about him, you would have died grieving years ago.

A loud knock on your door suddenly erupted, a groan escaped your lips. You rolled to the other side trying to bury your head under the covers to drown out the sound. Then, your door busted open, making you sit up in surprise.

"What the fuck," you furrowed your brows, watching your father fix the dislocated door hinge.

"Don't use such language on me, young lady," he leans his trident beside the door. "You have a very important schedule to meet your suitors today."

Your eyes widen, "Suitors?!" You shrieked, your father's face contorts.

“Father, I think this has gone long enough for you to know that I am not interested.” he let out a sigh. He’s well aware of that.

"Look, I understand, but I will not have you sulk for the rest of your life just because that good-for-nothing son of Athena died," your blood boiled at his words.

"No father, I don’t think you do understand," You said with resentment.

You tried to bury the tears back down, not wanting to cry in front of your father. The pent up anger made you want to lash out like what he said was the last straw but your pride was much stronger.

"It's rude to keep them in line, they've travelled far just to get here, so I suggest you make yourself presentable and be there as soon as possible," his last words before shutting your door closed behind him.

The knick-knacks on your shelf shook as your father slammed the door shut. He wasn't mad, he was just….strict, as your father and god of the sea, you are under his territory thus, giving you no choice but to follow him.

You laid back on your bed, pulling the covers, letting out a muffled scream into the blanket. Only kids get treated like this, he acts like you aren't already a hundred years old.

You didn't want to meet another batch of mermen with plastic smiles and fake personalities. They were only after you because of your title, daughter of Poseidon, god of the sea, with a legacy that soon passes unto you. You had sisters and brothers, you didn't understand why it had to be you, but Poseidon himself already had it all planned.

You swam near the big stadium-like structure, with large pillars that were carved so intricately in quartz.  The end of the stadium planted Poseidon's throne where he sat so elegantly. You hid behind the pillars, spotting the men that were seated to the side, waiting for your arrival, but you already decided you weren't going to attend. Not this time.

You took the longest route to Olympus, making sure no one spots you, escaping the suffocating vast seas that used to be called home.

=

"You know one day I could get killed by your dad," Wooyoung set the teacups filled with hot liquid on the dining table where you sat.

It's been a while since you set foot on land, you didn't miss it, the painful after-effects of walking for too long did make you wonder how land dwellers live.

"He won't since I made him promise it," your cheeky smile made him roll his eyes.

"But won't he easily find you here?"

"He will but he couldn't be bothered to travel all the way here," you took a sip from the cup, hot liquid running down your throat.

"I'll be home by sundown, can't have him wash Olympus just to find me," you force out a laugh, wooyoung giving you a sympathetic look.

He knows you are still mourning. Deep inside you are still in pain, but you try to keep it hidden.

"You know, it's been years and he is still bringing me these men I barely even know and he wants me to pick one to marry?" You planted your forehead on the table, hiding your face in frustration. "It's getting annoying." After those annoying years of having to pretend you are ok and just sitting pretty in front of dozens of merpeople, making yourself look like a prize in a glass box waiting for a winner to take you home.

But of course, it's still your choice and you chose to be with none of them.

"Were any of them attractive at least?" You hear the familiar charming voice. You look up to see Wooyoung's mother— aphrodite— adorned in her usual attire, laced with gold sequences, a headpiece in gold, and jewellery that complimented her skin.

You shook your head as you gave her a soft smile, "They always have this forced appearance to look strong and the wide creepy smiles that they think will help attract me to them," she listens to your rant, pouting slightly, "What a shame, you know your father's taste was never that good," she winked. You knew she was talking about your mother, whom you didn't know that well since she is always focusing on your brothers.

"I thought you went out early," Wooyoung questioned. Aphrodite cupped her son's cheeks, kissing the top of his nose.

"I just forgot something dear," you giggled at her ways of babying her son. Fixing his hair and touching up the light makeup he puts on every day. You can't deny how attractive Wooyoung is, you could see the features that he inherited from his mother.

"Poseidon won't stop what he is doing though, I suggest you do as his wishes y/n, or you'll face his consequences," strips of memory to that day cross your mind again. It was truly painful to recall, it made your heart clenched and you wanted to scream your head off.

"Look, whatever it is you want to do, just make sure it isn't something stupid," Wooyoung held your hand in his, rubbing your skin with his thumb. You remembered the last stupid thing you did.

You were grateful to have met someone like Wooyoung, he has always been there for you. Even though your father had been skeptical of him for so long, he still let you be around him.

But you can't promise him this time because another stupid idea just popped up in your head.

=

"Are you kidding y/n? Didn't we just talk about this?" Wooyoung follows you from behind as you walk through the forest. The last time you were here was the day your world fell apart.

You swore to not cross paths where it reminded you of him but right now, it is important.

"Look, demigods are bound to be reincarnated, there's a chance I could see him again," you explained, stepping on sticks and pebbles, slashing through vines and large leaves with your bronze dagger. Mingi wasn't like you or wooyoung who had both parents that are gods. Like Athena, he was created by her from her mind. He wasn't born….normal.

"And then what? What will you do if you see him?"

In all honesty, you didn't plan that far, all you thought of was to meet mingi in the mortal world. Wooyoung's concern for you just became worse when the silence answers his question. You have no plan, you just wanted to see mingi again.

You ignored Wooyoung's continuous nagging until you reached your destination. The tree that grew sweet magical berries that can only be found deep in the forests of Olympus. The berry that could help the gods enter the mortal realm.

"Y/n…." Worry settles in, Wooyoung knows the side effects of these berries. You weren't as powerful as your parents who were able to visit the mortal realm on your own, you needed help and you were certainly not gonna ask your father.

"I'll be fine," you picked a few handfuls of berries and stuffed them in your bag, "Atlantis won't be that far, If I need to, I’ll just come back." You smiled at Wooyoung.

"I leave tomorrow."

"What about your dad? Won't he get mad?" You two made your way back out of the forest, taking the path of where you came from.

"I just told him I'm sleeping at your place for a while," Wooyoung freezes in place. As expected of his role as your best friend, he's responsible for covering you up.

"You owe me big time."

=

Arriving at the mortal realm, alone and slightly scared. But the sight of what seemed to be the city made you giddy all of the sudden.  

You walked around exploring the beautiful structures of the city. Tall buildings surrounding the area, billboards, and giant screens with lights and flashing colours. You were overwhelmed at first but it was quite interesting. It was nothing like you have seen before.

There were tons of people who wore casual attire, some wore suits as they travelled to work. Big buses and cars drove by in the streets— you almost got run over by one, not knowing the purpose of the blinking traffic light; the horrendous sound of the car horn almost did make your ears bleed.

Settling down on one of the park benches, you took a break from walking. The sandals you brought weren't doing any justice for your feet.

Your surroundings were peaceful, pink flowers scattered across the concrete, different coloured leaves decorating the trees, getting ready for the fall season. Suddenly, you felt a gust of wind. The eerie grey smoke rising in front of you. Chills running up your spine, your mind having a clear idea of where it's coming from.

A cold mischievous laugh emitted from within, your initial reaction was to pull out the dagger from your side, clutching the handle tight until your knuckles turned white.

"Relax, it's me," the same annoying voice you dreaded hearing.

"Ryujin, what are you doing here?" You scowled. She was bad news— the spirit of mischief lives within her, wherever she goes, chaos follows.

"Hmm, are you not happy to see me?" Her Cheshire cat-like smile plastered onto her face as she took a seat beside you, crossing her leg on top of the other. Her hair was shorter than the last time you saw her, eyes still full of mischief.

"I was hoping to not see you again after the incident 20 years ago," you spat, hatred lacing your words.

"Right, the poor boy, died so soon," her face turned into a sad look before smiling once again.

Ryujin was the main cause of his death. Your father just made it happen. Leading Mingi to that place in the forest where she knew your father was there, he hated Athena's children, he wouldn't hesitate to kill one in sight.

You wished there was a way to go back in time to stop Ryujin from leading Mingi to his inevitable death. But as expected, she felt no shame or guilt whatsoever.

"What is it that you plan anyway, there is a reason for you to come here, right?"

You kept your mouth closed, not wanting to possibly give your plan away for the spirit of mischief to take its course. And so, you kept quiet. Ryujin clicked her tongue in annoyance. She wished she could read minds, but that's her brother's power.

"Fine, keep it to yourself," she stood up, grumbling something under her breath, "Just so you know, I am not leaving without having a bit of fun," another gust of wind blowing in your direction leaves swirling in a circle on the concrete just below her feet, the puff of smoke covering her figure as she disappeared.

Your mind was in shambles. Usually, she would try and pressure you into answering but she brushed it off so soon.

You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding, the weight suddenly leaving your chest. Sometimes the presence of Ryujin gives you this uneasy feeling, but it was better than getting a visit from her brother. He is ten times worse.

=

You finally adapted to the mortal world, got a place to stay all by yourself. There were obstacles on the way but you got over them easily.

You lay quietly on the bed, and to be honest, it was a bit uncomfortable. The covers are placed over you up to your neck. You stared at the ceiling, counting rams in hopes of helping you fall asleep. And on your 1117th ram, your eyes finally grew heavy.

But to your dismay, your throat decides that it was parched. You sat up from your bed, wearing your slippers, and made your way to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass and filling it up with water, but before you could take a sip, you saw a figure on your couch.

You dropped the glass, shattering across the floor. The figure whipped his head around and you couldn't believe your eyes. Is this a dream? You must be dreaming… You might have even gone mad.

"Mingi?" You stuttered. You haven't called out that name in so long.

"Y/n, be careful you'll hurt yourself," he stood from the couch, making his way to you. You took a few steps back. Mingi's face shows a look of confusion.

He stepped on the glass unfazed by it. Did he not feel that? Of course, this is a dream, he's not real.

"What's wrong?" His arms out to reach for you.

"N-no, I'm dreaming, this can't be—" you shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. You felt warm hands cup your face, it was so real, your knees so close to giving out.

"What do you mean?" His eyes were the same shade of brown. His hair is styled the same way he always has it in.

"You're real?" Your voice croaked, mingi chuckled. The same smile you saw years ago, but as expected, his face started to fade. This is definitely a dream. It was impossible to have mingi physically there, you saw him….die, right in front of your eyes.

"Of course I'm real," his voice was soft, comforting even. You were really hearing his voice, this is his voice. He pressed his forehead against you, kissing the top of your nose promptly.

At this point, you couldn't stop the tears from falling. You sobbed making mingi pull away and look at you with worry in his eyes.

"Please don't leave me again," you pleaded. You wished it was real, your chest grew even tighter. What kind of cruel punishment is this?

"Why would I leave?" He wiped the tear on your cheek. "I'll always be here," he said in reassurance as he pulled you in his embrace. You missed it so much—you missed him so much. The same warmth was still there, but it eventually started to feel cold. Like Hades was paying a visit to take him back to the underworld.

You finally got to see him again, even if it was only a dream, it really felt like he was there, body and soul present. You didn't want to let him go, there's no way you are losing him again.

His image starts to fade, you start to feel the emptiness again. His hold on your body began to feel like nothing, it was cold like ice. You tried to grip his shirt, keeping him from disappearing. You spewed out pleas, begging him to stay. At Least for a little longer.

But then you woke up, hot liquid running down your face.

You were crying, something you haven't done in a long while. Slapping your cheeks, making sure you were really awake.

"Come one y/n, it was just a dream," you said to yourself out loud.

20 years and you thought you were over him. But those agonizing years were torturous. Everything seemed to remind you of him. Wooyoung almost didn't see you for 18 years until you finally decided to visit him. You wouldn't know what to do if wooyoung was never in your life, you might as well have been asleep for the rest of your life.

=

The clamshell that sat on your bedside table glowed. It was a magic shell that sends messages back and forth in writing. You gave one to Wooyoung so you could communicate from a distance.

"Did you find him?" The letters glowed as they appeared.

"Not yet." you wrote back, watching the writings disappear indicating that he is reading it.

"Time is ticking y/n." Anxiety washes over you again. Soon the berries won't be enough to hold you there and you'll be needing to come back home.

"Y/n, you there?" A voice startled you, making you almost drop the shell. It would be bad if you did, it was a fragile thing, you could risk shattering it and won't have anything else to communicate with.

"In here!" You called out, quickly hiding the shell in the dresser.

"I brought lunch," mina smiled, holding up a paper bag filled with takeout.

The day you moved in, still exploring the apartment that you rented, you heard a knock on your door.

You peeked through the peephole. A woman stood in front of the door patiently, short brown hair— half of it tied into a ponytail— dressed in a leather jacket and denim pants. She looked about 20, maybe 21 but she doesn't look older than 25.

You almost pulled out your dagger but resisted, remembering that they are mortals and you could get in trouble. You slowly twisted the doorknob open, opening it slightly so your body is visible but not the room.

"Hi, I'm mina!" She said in a bubbly tone. Her energy made you slightly overwhelmed. "I'm your neighbour, just next door." She pointed to the apartment beside yours.

You nodded, not knowing what to reply. "Have you finished unpacking?" You tilted your head in confusion. "Do you need help with boxes or anything?"

You looked back in your apartment, body moving aside just enough for Mina to have a clear view.

"Did you not bring any stuff?"  You shook your head.

"I only brought a satchel," you gripped the strap that hung across your body. She gazes at the small bag attached to your body.

"Well, it looks like you need help settling in, why don't I cook dinner for you? You don't seem to have any pots or pans or food either." Your stomach grumbled at the mere mention of food.

Mina giggled, making you heat up in embarrassment. "I'll take that as a yes."

Since then Mina has been your source of food and company. She's been a great companion for the past few days. You told Wooyoung all about her and he just replied coldly. The thought of your best friend getting jealous of your new mortal friend made you laugh.

"So, I just started my 3rd year of college, and honestly, I am tired of it— I've been thinking of dropping out but then my mom might whoop my ass…"  Mina rants while you sit there, zoned out watching the floor like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"Earth to y/n," mina waves her hand in front of you, snapping you out of your daze.

"Oh sorry, What were you saying?" The girl pouts, eventually brushing it off to discuss other things.

"Oh right, so I met this guy on campus and he is like, really cute. He is super tall and like, maybe a bit built..." You listened to her attentively but still in the back of your mind you couldn't help but discuss your plans on how to find mingi to yourself.

"Should I ask him out?" You blinked— you weren't paying attention again.

"I'm sorry?"

"The guy I met on campus on my first day, should I ask for his number?"

"Oh totally, you should," you said plainly, you feel really bad for not paying attention but you couldn’t help it when your mind is being occupied with something else. Mina just brushed it off, not noticing your spaced-out expression. She continued rambling while your mind wandered.

Time was running out, you needed a plan.

=

"Remind me why I am on your college campus again?" You said, mina dragging you by the arm. She woke you up at an ungodly hour just to travel early to her college campus. Few students were walking around campus, on their way to their scheduled class.

"Look, I barely have friends, also do you go to college? You look to be around my age," your eyes widen. Atlantis doesn't have schools, you had to travel to Olympus just to make it to class, but you only had to go until you turned 18. And you are immortal, you haven't been to school for a hundred years.

"I graduated," you just said. Hoping she won't ask further questions.

"Oh so you're older than me then," you nodded. She stopped to sit by a tree in the campus garden, patting the grass beside you. You sat beside her, leaning on the tree.

"I don't have class 'till after lunch, we can grab something to eat before you can go back to your apartment," she took out her textbook and paper to finish what she didn't the day before.

"Sorry for dragging you, You are always locked up in your apartment so I thought why not take you here with me," you were planning on exploring more of the city, just to take note of the possible routes to get around.

"Won't I get in trouble? I don't go here."

"You are fine, besides, it's an open college, anyone can visit here," she explains as she gets back to her work.

Your eyes wandered off somewhere else, spotting the students who were early, sitting on the grass as they got some sleep under the trees. Some were reading books and some were having their breakfast.

It makes you sleepy after a while, deciding to lean your head against the tree, closing your eyes for a brief moment.

A pair of shoes tapping against the grass, crunching the leaves on the way. You didn't bother to open your eyes so you just stayed and listened. Must be one of mina's friends as you hear her voice ushering for them to sit.

They sat on the other side of the tree beside mina, talking about classes and homework but something about that voice tingles your brain. The familiar deep husky voice made your heart ache. You were confused as to why you were reacting that way.

Soon the person left and you were forced to open your eyes when mina shook your shoulder abruptly.

"Guess who just gave me their number," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Who?"

"The hot campus boy," she squealed, waving the paper in her hand. "His name is mingi and it's kinda cute and his voice was deep, not that deep, but like...deep."

Your eyes widen, "mingi?" She nodded. You felt like your world stopped spinning. Your mind is in shambles, processing the information. Your ears deafened the sounds around you, muffling mina's continuous babblings.

You thanked the gods that he's here, but then reality hit. He doesn't know you for he is only a reincarnation of the mingi you knew. He is no longer the son of Athena, he is just human.

=

"Are you sure it's the mingi?" Wooyoung's message appears from the clamshell. You lay on your bed, a book on your lap as you were reading just a while ago.

"Yes, Mina's description fits so perfectly," you bit your lip, anxiously fidgeting with your necklace. What if it wasn't him? You can't confirm that it really is him, he has no memory of his past life.

"Ok, so what are you gonna do now? You found him, what's the next step?" You mentally slapped yourself for being unprepared. You wanted to see him again, that was your main goal, and now that you know he's here, you have no reason to stay.

You want to be with him but it's impossible, you are immortal, he'll age while you stay young. Well, nothing much was changed when he was a demigod, but he had the opportunity to become immortal. It's not like there is some way a mortal can become immortal.

…..or is there.

"I'm coming back," the writing disappeared letter by letter as wooyoung's message appeared right after.

"Really? So that's it?"

You shook your head as if he could see you. "I have a plan"

"Oh no," wooyoung thought. Letting out a deep sigh. "She's gonna get into more trouble isn't she?" Wooyoung wished that somehow something would knock some sense into you.

=

"Y/n!"

"Mina, hey," she threw herself at you, engulfing you in a tight hug.

"I'm gonna miss you," she squeezed around your neck, restricting your airflow.

"Mina," you patted her back, making her apologize with a sheepish grin, "I'll be back soon though, you don't have to miss me too much."

"I know— wait, are you free right now? I was wondering if you wanna go eat before you leave," you thought for a second. Though it isn't difficult to travel back to Olympus, you're unfortunately on your last berry.

"Sure," you hoped it'll last you for another few hours.

Arriving at a restaurant with mina, ordering food as soon as you sat down. Your eyes wandered around. The restaurant was busy, waiters quickly passing around, trying to get to the customer's table as soon as possible.

"Finally," Mina says, standing up on her seat. You turned your head to the person she was referring to.

"Sorry I'm late, I got stuck in traffic."

"I invited mingi, I hope you don't mind y/n," Mina says with a sorry smile.

"I don't mind at all." That unsettling feeling soon washes over you, seeing mingi stand in front of you, face to face. You find it weird to see him like this like he didn't die. He looks like the same mingi years ago, it just felt….different.

You took your seats again, Mina helping mingi order his food. The three of you waited for your orders, chatting about anything that comes to mind. Mina talking about classes and homework that is due and mingi asking if any of you were free to a party this weekend.

Of course, you can't go.

"So, Where are you from y/n?" He asks you. His voice sounded so natural to you but at the same time, it felt foreign, like you just heard of it now. Technically you did but, the way demigod reincarnations work is they get reborn the same. Meaning they'll look the same, speak the same, and their personalities are most likely the same. Nothing will change once they get reborn— except, they won't remember anything from their past life.

"Atlantis," you blurted out, panic rushing through you. You can see the confusion in their faces.

"Like, the lost city of Atlantis?" Mortals, what are they teaching them?

"I mean Atlanta," you corrected yourself, body stiff as stone.

"America? That's far, do you have a flight?" Mina intervened. You didn't even know where that was, you just so happened to remember that book you read before coming here and the main character lived in a place called Atlanta.

"Uh yeah, sure," you felt cold sweat trickling down the back of your neck. You just hope they won't ask any more questions.

You let out a sigh of relief as the two of them get back to chatting with each other.

Finally, the food arrived and the sooner you finished the sooner you got to go home. And with your last berry, you popped it in your mouth after the meal.

Leaving the restaurant with mina and mingi you were finally able to go back to Olympus.

As you are ready to part ways, Mina engulfs you in a tight hug, cutting off your airflow. "Mina, you're squishing me," you said in a choked out voice. "Be quick ok," she gives you a final hug before walking in the other direction.

You waited until the coast was clear and hid somewhere secluded.

=

You arrived safely and with just a minute to spare. You were gonna go to wooyoung's place first before going back to Atlantis when you saw a lightning strike. A gust of moist air blows your way, a growling thunder piercing through your ears. Your mind immediately assumed that it was Zeus but when the clouds cleared you saw your father, sitting on a cloud with his trident on his lap.

"Father," you said, greeting him with a bow. Though he didn't look pleased with seeing you at the gates of Olympus, he still gave your hair a ruffle.

"You have me worried sick y/n, where were you?"

You expected yelling, hearing these words and this kind of tone shocked you. Especially even after telling him that you were staying at wooyoung's but still found you at the gates

"Look, I know I may have gone too far— with...you know, the marriage," he admits. Avoiding eye contact with you as much as possible. Not that it wasn't sincere, he just wasn't used to admitting he was wrong. But he loves you dearly and he'd do anything for you.

"It's ok, I actually forgot those happened." there was an awkward silence. Then, Poseidon left, after informing you of what time dinner was gonna be.

You finally arrived at your best friend's house and instead of a worried wooyoung, you were met with a furious wooyoung.

"I knew this was a bad idea, your father almost killed me!" He said. You rolled your eyes at the exaggeration.

"Relax wooyoung, nothing happened," you placed your bag onto his bed, taking out the souvenirs you got.

"Did he say anything to you? You are still alive so I'm guessing you haven't met yet?"

"I met him at the gates and he said he was worried." Thinking back to that moment made you shiver, it's like someone replaced your dad with someone completely different.

"Huh, well ok then— Ooh what are these," he was quick to change the topic as his curiosity fills in. Wooyoung takes the bag of candies you brought, ripping it open to take one of the wrappers with the sugary treats inside. You chuckled, watching wooyoung chew on the candy.

He notices your gaze stuck on the floor while you get lost in your own thoughts.

"Hey, did something else happen there?"

You snap back into reality, taking a while to process what wooyoung just said. You shook your head in response.

"Actually, is there a way to stay there without the berries?"

He stares at you for a moment, he honestly thought you were done and you weren't going back there. It's dangerous for you since you are not as strong as your father. Even with something more efficient than a magical fruit, you are bound to get in trouble.

"My mom has a necklace," wooyoung says, he didn't want to say it but he knew how important this is to you. Eventually you'll stop, knowing mortals and gods cannot stay together forever.

"She used to make me wear it when she let me go to the mortal world with her."

"Can I borrow it?"

=

"Y/n!" Mina ran to you with open arms, "I missed you so much," you giggled at your friend.

"I've only been gone for a week."

"A week too long," she pouted.

She takes your hand in hers, pulling you to whatever direction. You arrived at the airport, making it look like you got here by plane. Passing security check out and exiting the building.

"You still remember mingi right?" She asks.

"Of course, I left for a week, it doesn't mean I forgot anything that's here," she grinned.

"Why, what happened?" You asked, hiding the hint of fear in your voice.

"Oh nothing," she sing-song, trying to stop her lips from smiling too much.

You both stopped at the front of the main entrance, waiting for you-don't-know-who. Until a car stops in front of you. Mingi came to pick you two up, giving you a ride to your apartment.

"So, what's it like in your hometown," she asks, taking a bite of her food.

"Uh, It's….you know —uh…. there's trees and buildings."

Mina nodded slowly as she continued eating her food.

After you two finished eating, Mina left to finish her college work— probably with mingi.

You didn't want to think the worst but considering mina's behavior around mingi, you couldn't stop the thoughts running around your mind.

You gripped the pendant that was tied around your neck. It's pearly white color glowing due to the light reflecting on it. Its sharp edges indicate that it was shattered into parts.

The other half is with mingi.

Atleast, when he was still with you. It symbolizes your promise to always be together and be there for each other.

But fate just wasn't on your side. And it still isn't.

As you walked out of your apartment to get some fresh air, you spotted the two by the parking lot. Their faces are inches away from each other.

You didn't know why but you felt your heart sink. Tears welling in your eyes. You reminded yourself that this mingi isn't the same mingi that promised to be with you. He wasn't the same mingi that helped you run away from home whenever your parents were arguing again.

That gave you a reality check, you can't be with him anymore. You have to let him go.

Your gaze still stuck on the two, not noticing the sudden appearance of another spirit.

This time, it made you feel chills.

"Keeho," you said in a whisper. You didn't bother to look in his direction.

"Oh, I'm glad you recognize me," he said, a mischievous smile growing on his lips.

"Ryujin would have loved to see this, after all, this was her plan." You curled your fist into a ball, tight enough until your nails dug into your skin.

"Why?" You managed to let out. You didn't want this to affect you but it does. After everything you did, it all didn't matter in the end.

"I don't know, ask ryujin. I'm just here to relay a message."

Keeho pushed himself off the wall that he was leaning on and came over to you.

"Don't try to bring back something that was meant to be taken away, it'll come back to bite you in the ass," he whispered against your ear, sending chills down your spine.

Then he left, disappearing into the mist again.

Even though you just came back, you were already itching to leave. Packing your bag and locking the apartment. Giving the keys to the landlord.

Mina notices you in a hurry to leave, running after you to catch you.

"Y/n! Where are you going?" She grabs your wrist making you stop. You didn't turn around, you stayed rooted to the ground. Swallowing the thick lump in your throat before speaking.

"I'm sorry Mina," you pulled your wrist away from her and left. You felt guilty, she was your only friend and she felt betrayed. You left without an explanation.

=

"Y/n? You're here, did something happen?" Wooyoung read your expression.

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts as you replaced the sad look with a small smile.

"I'm great, I just didn't like the whole vibe there," you lied.

You removed the ruby crystal around your neck giving it to wooyoung, muttering a thanks. Alongside you removed the pendant that was tucked under your shirt. Wooyoung was shocked as you never took it off and you swore you never would.

You tucked the necklace into your pocket, taking a mental note to put it away when you get home.

Although you didn't accomplish your original mission, you did realize that it's always good to let go of something. Never let anything or anyone tie you down. You are still heartbroken, but you are sure you could get over it soon.

Of course, the siblings that stared at you through the window, mischievous smiles on their faces, will not let you live just yet.

[celestialices]

QUEST!

Greek Mythology x Haikyuu

Haikyuu!Ensemble x Reader

OVERVIEW. You were just a perfectly normal student at The University of Tokyo, when suddenly a bunch of 'normal boys', as they call themselves, appeared in your life and started to squeeze themselves into your life. Always saying something like "You're a goddess, we need to take you back to Olympus" (you brushed it off, saying that it was just a silly compliment) and even absurd sentences such as "You got Medusa's eyes" and "You're really Medusa's daughter!"

002: TRUTH UNTOLD

WARNINGS. Cursing, Mentions of Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks and Panic Attacks

masterlist

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Alas, the most anticipated day finally came, the Ritual of Intuition. A new batch of deities will finally reap what they sown for the past 18 years.

But for Asami, it's not just that, hence also her the freedom she desired so much. No more asking for permissions to go here and there, and maybe, just maybe, she gets to explore the human world below! What an exciting day, really. Yet despite how much excitement filled her body, there's also this anxious feeling running through her. A bad intuition, some may say.

"You'll do great." Kiyoko, her half-sister who volunteered to dress her up for the occasion, suddenly said. "I know you will." Shimizu Kiyoko, the daughter of Poseidon and Aphrodite, has always been a caring sister. Although generally known to be aloof and straightforward, she’s also a passionate and responsible goddess. The next Aphrodite.

After placing a gold night star necklace on Asami's neck, the alluring goddess kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you there, okay? Take all the time you need.” Kiyoko bid her goodbye to Asami, off to check on her other friends.

Shimizu Kiyoko is the best sister you could ever ask for.

Asami stood up from her seat after a few breaths, heart hammering as she tread her way towards the large, gleaming primrose mirror in her quarters.

She stared at the mirror, not used to seeing the dead eyes. It was often said that her eyes were like the stars; always glowing whatever time it is of the day. Her usual cheery face was nowhere to be found, placed by anxiousness all over.

Why is she feeling nervous anyways? It’s just the ritual. Nothing more, nothing less.

Shaking her head, her eyes went down to the little details of her headwear and the attire she herself designed just for this day. A simple light blue, priding her father's color representation but in a lighter hue, off-shoulder lace dress that covers up her feet. A hint of turquoise flowers and embroidered silver vines dancing in the soft nude fabric, covered off with a light blue lace tulle, matching the shade of her top. A dress she chose to represent her parents, the reason why she's here today.

A sudden cool breeze passed making Asami shiver as she stared up her ceiling. What's keeping her from leaving her room were a bunch of 'what ifs' clouded in her head. Sighing deeply, "Come on, Asami. You've waited your whole life for this. Don't let the negative thoughts get you, as Sugawara always says." Asami muttered to herself, remembering the words of her friend managed to calm her nerves a bit.

"Asami, my daughter." Asami flinched upon hearing her father's voice, Poseidon. The god entered her chambers with his favored son, Iwaizumi Hajime. She gave them a look before running into her father's arms. "Aren't you excited? You should've left your room by now." Poseidon asked, a bit worried for his favorite.

Knowing Asami, they expected to see her happily running around the halls with her friend, Yamaguchi. It’s one of the common occurrences inside Zeus’ Palace to catch sight of the two best friends chasing each other all over the place. Sometimes, a few other deities joins them too. Nonetheless, it cheers everyone else as well.

"Don't get me wrong, Father. I'm really excited, but also quite nervous." Asami answered genuinely, breaking the hug. "What if I really don't have the powers like everyone says? I wasn't born with powers either." She added and exhaled, fiddling with her hair.

Asami won’t be lying if she says the rumors from the other deities are getting in her head. Rumors concerning her spread like a wildfire in Mt. Olympus. She tried so hard to ignore them, but she got stuck in the uncontrolled fire that slowly burns her mind.

Before she knew it, it affected her whole life. Asami thinks about it as soon as she opens her eyes in the morning, before sleeping at night, even when peacefully eating. It was too much, her mind is as if it’s like a deity is constantly pouring water in an glass that’s already full.

How can she not worry when the common occurrence is when a deity's parent or parents unexpectedly dies, the powers are transferred to them as soon as possible. Of course, every move they make are being watched by Athena, a request of Zeus as his fear still lingers.

But that's not the case for her. At all. She's the first one to have a case like that. Oh how Asami tried so hard to find what it is, from glaring at objects to talking to snakes. Yet it was no use.

Was Medusa not fond of her? Maybe, maybe she forgot. Or maybe! Maybe Athena prevented her to! Yeah, that sounds right. The story of Medusa and Athena’s punishment are still passed on ‘til this day, every deity is aware of it.

"Don't worry too much, Asami." Iwaizumi's words snapped her out of her thoughts. "Like Father always says, you are just a rare case." He gave his sister a comforting smile. A smile from Iwaizume comforted her, even though his smile looks really weird sometimes, he tries.

"Now child, chin up. Let's get going, your friends are waiting for you." Poseidon said with pride laced all over his voice. Asami nodded and gave a short smile, just to let them know she’s fine.

The three exited Asami's chambers and made their way to the courtyard, where the ceremony will take place.

Heavy.

Every step she took became heavier and heavier. Like a brick had been put secretly on her shoes. The discomfort in her heart makes it worse, it feels like she’s voluntary walking towards her death. She used to wander around these halls so free of worries, enjoying every scenery put before her eyes.

So why? Why is this happening now?

”Asami.”

Asami felt like Mount Olympus is disappearing from her grasp, darkness slowly consuming her vision. Like a black hole miraculously popped up, swallowing her body.

“Asami.”

Her companions were talking but she can't hear anything but ringing in her ears. Her thoughts were so loud, she wants to escape but the black hole was preventing her to. Asami was stuck in her own mind.

It hurts.

“Asami!”

It hurts!

"Asami, hey!"

A voice called out to her.

A voice as clear as the skies, a voice she'll always recognize.

The voice she treats as her stars, because through the darkness, it will always be there to give her light.

Her vision leisurely went back. Enough to glimpse at Yamaguchi waving happily before making his way towards the her. Yamaguchi bowed to the sea god and his son who were about to enter the courtyard, them only nodding at him in return.

Yamaguchi was about to give Asami a hug when he saw her face that screamed distress. He immediately took a step back, knowing that's enough space she needs. He silently offered his hand for her to hold on, which Asami instantly grabbed on.

It's always like this.

After years of witnessing her panic attacks, Yamaguchi eventually learned how to act when this happens. Even if he also panicked the first time it happened.

He only watch her body shook in fear, watch her breath difficultly. He can only watch. Of course, Yamaguchi wants to do more than watch. He wants to whisper assuring words to her ears, help her breathe comfortably, he wants to help her.

But he also knows this is for the best. He doesn’t want to overstep her boundaries.

Because it’s always like that.

"Good?" He asked after noticing that her breathing went back to normal. A smile finally made it's way on Asami's lips as she looked at her best friend in the eyes. Yamaguchi only smiled in return.

It was always like this.

An unspoken habit of them both once something happens to one another. Smile like nothing happened. It became a comfort for them, assured that it’ll never change. The constant in a world full of changes.

"Are you excited to receive your powers? I'm really excited!" Yamaguchi gave her a quick embrace, his heart relieved that he finally did what he’s dying to do.

"I'm nervous, Tadashi." Asami answered. "But yes, after waiting for years, we'll finally receive the blessing. I can't wait!" She stated with a big smile plastered on her face, making Yamaguchi chuckle. Back to her original self.

The two entered the courtyard after a few minutes of catching up and went to their respective places, Yamaguchi with the Aeolians, placed at the Doric columns, and Asami with the Atlanteans, next to where Zeus' podium stands.

The ceremony started instantly, starting with the children of minor gods and goddesses residing in Hestia's place, Eophertia. Yachi Hitoka was the first one to go, the daughter of Aletheia, the goddess of truth.

Asami watched with anticipation, since Yachi is a good friend of hers. But the anxious feeling never left her, at all, making her tense every second of the event. "You good?" Iwaizume whispered to Asami, feeling the tense the second he looked at her.

She only gave a look of appreciation to Iwaizume, thanking every deity there is for giving her Iwaizume as her step-brother. She really got blessed with the most caring siblings in her immortal life.

Minutes passed, more deities received their blessings and are already privately trying their new profound powers.

Finally, the batch of Aeolians were asked to line up. Asami visibly stiffened, realizing the Atlanteans were next. As Yamaguchi stood in the center, he peeked at Asami, giving a nervous grin. Asami gave him two thumbs up, forgetting her own anxiety for a moment.

"Atlanteans." Flinching when she heard Hera's voice after the wind deities left the center, Asami didn't notice that her mind flew while the blessing took place. She only started walking after Shirofuku Yukie, daughter of Poseidon and Demeter, nudged her.

Whispers erupted as the year's batch of Atlanteans made their way to the center. Asami stood in the center, as she is the daughter of the ruler of Atlantis. Poseidon gave his daughter a tap in the back once everyone settled down.

"Begin." Hera tiredly announced, thankful that this was the second to the last batch. She was already itching to rest, irritated just like every ceremony.

The god of sea raised his trident, starting the blessing by giving a fair share of powers for his people. In the middle of Poseidon mumbling his spell, Hinata Shoyo, the son of Helios and Perse, detected an unusual reaction from the person beside him, Yachi. "What's wrong?" He immediately asked.

Yachi let out a quiet shriek after Hinata spoke. "I.. I'm not sure if what I'm seeing is right." She answered. Since she just got her powers hours ago, she's having second thoughts on what her eyes is showing her. Maybe it's just her imagination? She tend to do that a lot.

"What do you see?" Tsukishima Kei, son of Selene and Endymone, butted in. Curious of what's happening.

Yachi shook her head. "My eyes.." She took a deep breath, contemplating if this was the right thing to do. "..are telling me that Asami's a human."

Hinata's eyes widen after hearing that, even Tsukishima was taken aback. "Are.. are you sure? That can't be possibly true."

"Check again." Tsukishima uttered.

Hearing the three's conversation, Hermes quietly laughed. He internally praised himself for sitting behind the goddess of truth this year. Kunimi Akira, his son, frowned upon hearing this. "Father, this entertains you?" He asked. His hatred for his father grew in just mere seconds.

Hermes looked at his son before whispering to his ear, "I'm the cause. The real goddess lives with the mortals." Kunimi's eyes immediately widened for a second, he's disappointed but deep down, he's not surprised. Only his father can pull shits like this. "That's just what Poseidon deserves after what he did to Medusa."

Kunimi sighed. "Father." The frustrated god called. "You know what will happen when-"

"I know, I know. That's the fun part." Hermes cut him off. Kunimi wants to curse his father out, so tired of bearing his own parent's tricks. "Hey, Yachi. Announce that to everyone." Hermes whispered to the overwhelmed goddess' ears.

Yachi tensed up, slowly looking back at Hermes. "I.. It's true?"

"You can't lie. How can it not be true?" Hermes smirked. Kunimi cringed at this, wanting to be swallowed to the ground right now. "Yachi, the goddess of truth, has an announcement!" Hermes suddenly exclaimed, eyes are already on him.

Everyone was confused, especially Asami. "What is it?" Zeus asked, displeasure everywhere on his face. This is the first time in years the ceremony was interrupted. "It better be important. The ceremony is not to be hecked in."

Everyone turned to Yachi who was already shaking in fear. "Uh.. I.." Yachi stuttered. "My.. my eyes are saying that.. that Asami is not a deity." She closed her eyes, afraid of how everyone will react.

The courtyard was silent. Everyone was taken aback, not sure what to react. "What kind of nonsense is that!" Poseidon yelled. The god stared at Asami, who's tears were about to fall. His eyes softened, what Yachi suddenly announced should not be true.

"Where's Aletheia? We can't just believe a goddess who got her abilities hours ago." Hera rolled her eyes.

"Aletheia went to the human world after giving the blessing for her daughter. She can’t come back immediately." Zeus exhaled. He stood up from his seat, "The ceremony shall end now. The superior gods will discuss this with the goddesses of truth later. For now, go to your respective domains." He ordered.

The deities were quick to follow, only sparing worried and disgusted glances to Asami.

Hanamaki Takahiro, son of Boreas and Oreithyia, was about to fly away but noticed Yamaguchi never moved after the devastating announcement. "Yamaguchi, hey." He called yet Yamaguchi didn't seem to hear him, gazed fixed on Asami.

Matsukawa Issei, son of Notus, tapped his Yamaguchi's back. "Asami's going to be okay." He said, capturing Yamaguchi's attention. "It's still not confirmed. Everything will be fine."

The spaced out god only nodded. Getting ready to fly, "I'm sending gods to the human world to find the real daughter of Medusa if this turns out to be true." The three heard Hera announce which made the wind deities look at her.

"Hera's right. We can't let a goddess wonder in the human world. Especially Medusa's daughter." Zeus stated. "If she doesn't want to return here, kill her." He added.

Aeolia - The Island of the Winds. It is ruled by Aeolus, the divine keeper of the winds. Aeolia is where the four seasonal Anemoi and their family lives. It is located on top of the clouds, above Poseidon's sea.

Aeolians - The people of the Winds. Every Aeolian can fly, the ability is given by their ruler, Aeolus.

Eophortia - Hestia's Residence. It is known to be the Land of Freedom. Home of minor deities. Demi-gods and Semi-gods who've got nowhere to go has been took in by Hestia. Everyone is welcome in Eophortia.

Atlantis - Poseidon's Paradise. Where sea deities, sea-nymphs, merpeople and sea animals live. It is a peaceful place, everyone gets along.

Atlanteans - What people of Atlantis call themselves. Every Atlantean can communicate with sea animals, creating a peaceful environment.

A/N:

Sorry for not updating so soon! School's been a bitch. I'll try to update regularly as much as I can. The reader insert may appear on Chapter 4! Please bear with me.

A lot of characters have been introduced in this chapter, I can't wait to show more of their side in the upcoming chapters. Also, I'm planning to release a little event here soon! It is called 'Exploring Olympus' wherein I'll post pictures of the places I took inspiration in for the places in Mt. Olympus.

I took a lot of time describing how Asami felt before the ceremony. I'm sorry if it's poorly written, but I gave my best! I will be better in the upcoming chapters.

Notes, comments and reviews are very much appreciated! It makes my heart so happy :) If you have any questions or literally anything else, please send an ask! I'd love to answer them.

Thank you for reading!

[lukecastellandeservedbetter]

Introducing the May Castellan stories- the first?

When Luke Came Home

Masterlist

For the first time since Luke had left camp to join Kronos, he was alone.

At the end of the driveway of the house that was never really a home, Luke hesitated. He knew this was necessary, he needed to be strong as a vessel for Kronos.

But standing here, he felt like a frightened child.

He took a deep breath and began the walk to the house.

He opened the door quietly and stepped inside. Nothing had changed, his old boots rested by the door, his winter coat hung up neatly. The air smelt like burnt cookies and mildew. A thin layer of dusted coated everything has he walked through the mudroom and into the kitchen, as if no one had been in the house, or at least this part, since he left.

He stepped into the kitchen slowly and quietly, trying to mentally prepare for the scene he might encounter.

Juice boxes were everywhere. Stacks of sandwiches littered every surface, the table and counters and even the little ledge in the window that connected the living room to the kitchen. Cookies in various degrees of “burnt” were stacked just as precariously around on remaining surfaces. She looked like she was trying to feed an army.

And there she was.

She had a little more grey in her hair, but then again, so did he. But besides that, she looked the same. A lump formed in his throat but he quickly swallowed it, trying to push aside the pain that was bubbling up in his stomach and took a step forward, clearing his throat.

May turned around surprised and looked a little confused. “Hermes?”

Luke looked at her just as surprised. He’d met Hermes once, and didn’t feel like he resembled the god of thieves at all, however he also knew gods could change their shape and form and it was viable that he may have looked like Hermes had all those years ago.

He cleared his throat, suddenly very uncomfortable. “No mom, it’s me, Luke.”

May lit up with the warmth and joy of a thousand suns as she moved over to hug him tightly. “You’re home! Come, sit, I made your favourite!”

Luke couldn’t even find a moment to protest as May pulled him to the kitchen table, moving one of the cookie sheets with lumps of charcoal on them so he could sit.

He could remember, vaguely a time when he would sit here and struggle through the math homework. Algebra in particular would frustrate him to Hades.

May was talking a mile a minute, asking him about his walk and if he had fun playing outside and if he made any new friends and if they would want any cookies because the next batch would be out of the oven soon.

Luke watched his mom make a sandwich and set it in front of him, sitting across from him happily.

Luke pushes the sandwich away a little. “Mom, I need to ask you a favour.”

“Sure thing sweetie, what is it? Another sandwich? More juice?” She asked, starting to get up.

Luke grabbed her hands gently- when did they get so small? “No… I need to… do something. Go somewhere. And I need your permission.”

May looked at her son with such a light in her eyes, Luke almost felt guilty about leaving her in the first place.

But nights of endless screaming, things being thrown, those same hands that caressed his skin so gently now flying to his face with such force that he’d skid clear across the room if it landed.

“What is it?” She asked, increasingly confused.

“I need your permission to go into the River Styx.”

May furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Luke, before her eyes found the scar on his face. She reached forward and traced it. “Honey, what happened? Did the other kids get too rough?”

Luke sighed and took her hand gently from his face. “No mom, it’s from my quest- I fought a dragon.”

May lit up entirely. “My son fought a dragon?” She asked. “My son! A great mighty Greek Hero!” She said excitedly. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it? You need to go to the River Styx so your father can take you to Olympus because you’re a hero, right?”

He was at a loss of words at her excitement and pride in the situation. Obviously he couldn’t tell her the truth, but he didn’t want her rattling off about this either.

“No mom, it’s just… something I need to do to get strong again.” He explained carefully. “I just need your permission.”

“Oh! Oh yes, of course, with all the monsters out there, I’m sure Olympus wouldn’t want to lose their best hero yet,” she beamed with pride. “My son, a hero.” She repeated.

He tried to remain calm. He didn’t want to trigger anything, he kept his voice level and his movements slow.

“I just need your permission mom.” He repeated. “The monsters will go away if I do.”

“All of them?” She asked curiously.

Luke nodded.

“You have it! You have my permission to dip in the River Styx!” She said happily.

Luke nodded and got up. “Thanks.” He took a step towards the door.

“Wait, where are you going? You haven’t even eaten yet.” She stumbled over to him, desperately grabbing his hand.

“I have to go.” He paused. “I’m sorry.” He added quietly.

“Wait,” she rushed over to the last pan she took out- relatively unburned -and packaged a few cookies up, along with his untouched sandwich.

She handed them to them. “Just while you’re out playing with your friends.” She grinned widely. “Dinner is at 5.”

Luke took the food hesitantly and nodded. He opened his mouth before closing it and nodded again, heading out.

The last time he walked down this road he ran away with Thalia. They’d found Annabeth not long after.

He glanced around before opening the ziplock and taking a cookie out, taking a hesitant bite.

It tasted like ambrosia.

He put the cookie back in and tossed the bags in the next garbage can he saw, trying not to think of how proud she looked, or how happy she was, or how she called him a hero of all things.

He had work to do.

[littledebbieharry]

4.18.18

I am weary when I come home, perhaps from the long walk from the library, or that I did yoga this morning or perhaps waking up past 9 am will always make me weary, the day already promising a hazy, languorous glow. I am weary but, with my jacket and backpack still on, I pull my container of rice out of the fridge and get to work. This rice is far and away the worst batch I have ever made, somehow both mushy and dry in the middle. So I plop it in my housemates’ cheap, borrowed ninja food processor along with some water, cinnamon, maple syrup, vanilla. I pour the rice slurry through the nut milk bag my mom sent me as a gifted months ago and squeeze out the remaining liquid. I take a sip of the makeshift horchata and it is a bit watery, but it has saved me from eating any more of that godforsaken rice and for a cool, creamy nighttime drink, it will do.

Next comes the new batch of rice and I pat myself on the back for rinsing it in a sieve rather than having to tilt and pour water out of a bowl to clean it, hoping that I don’t dump half the rice down the drain in the process. While the rice boils on the stove, I turn towards what will be the fate of this strained yogurt- a raspberry pound cake from my new favorite cookbook but here’s the thing. Not only have I never cooked it, but my housemates do not have a loaf pan and I must adjust for weird Denver altitude and I am endeavoring to make this cake vegan. Risky? Perhaps. But I think that’s part of why I like baking; there’s an all-or-nothing element to it that gets my heart pumping the way sauteéing or roasting never will. After a certain point, baking resists your attempts to tweak, or to save it from mushiness or toughness. A sunken banana bread or a sheet of carbonized cookies has nothing save for its integrity, its principle to see your shoddy whisking or lackluster substitution through to the necessary conclusion. Knowing full well the potential for all sorts of unruliness, I forge on.

For the Greek yogurt the recipe calls for, I buy normal almond yogurt and hope coaxing some of its liquid out will do the trick. I also add another spoonful of flour to the cake for good measure. For the two eggs, I mix up flax meal with water in a souser, letting it congeal for a few minutes while I measure out the sugar, oil, honey, yogurt. This recipe does not call for vanilla and it always intrigues me when I see it is missing from the ingredients list. Does the cake not need it, really? Can I see vanilla as a deliberate flavor component rather than a compulsive, necessary addition? The cake will speak for itself, depending, of course, on whether or not my liberties stray it from its intended path.

I am always nervous when I combine the wet with the dry in part because countless cake and quick bread recipes have instilled in me a fear of over-mixing and in part because I am still haunted by a particularly tough and chewy banana bread from many years past. I make quick, light folds with a rubber spatula and wonder if I should have left some of the flour streaks in before I added the raspberries, but there is a point of letting go in baking and I have reached that point. I smooth it out into the greased pie plate, put it in the 325 degree oven and hope the care of time and heat will serve my creation well.

I turn, finally, to dinner. The wisps of broccolini are already thin but I use a knife to make their stalks even thinner, my mediocre chopping skills making weird, uneven zig-zags through their middles. I sigh when I remember the broccolini requires lime juice and do my best to squeeze as much of it out of the hard, compact little fruits as I can. Chopping each half into quarters seems to help, I discover. I pause for a moment of pride as I spoon my homemade vegan fish sauce into the bowl of vegetable but the shallots on the stove are beginning to burn so the pride is short-lived. The resulting salad, topped with salty peanuts, torn basil and those crispy shallots, is super flavorful but light enough to eat all at once, just like you said, Alison. With the promise of the pot of brown rice and leftover lentils, I manage to leave plenty of the broccolini for tomorrow’s lunch and perhaps for dinner too.

I cannot comfortably enjoy my meal until that cake has emerged and when I check it after 40 minutes, I am delighted to see it rising in one piece and turning golden, too. I do not know, however, whether the cake is indeed “pulling away from the sides of the pan” or if the middle springs back like it should because perhaps I am poking too hard or maybe not hard enough? But after a certain point I take it out of the oven for good and know that even if it doesn’t hold together or the center is still mushy I will have made something new and I will have learned.

A few hours later it has cooled enough to slice and I can tell before I even cut into it that it has turned out perfect, just perfect- soft and moist beneath my fingertips with edges just this side of crispy; tart from the yogurt and raspberries but still oh so sweet. And though I am not hungry I finish the small sliver I have made because by tomorrow the cake will no longer be fresh and more so, perhaps this part of baking is my favorite part; not presenting it to others to devour or curling up with a perfectly proportioned amount but stealing little bites standing at the kitchen counter for testing, appraising, savoring.  It’s a private moment, a place I have carved out just for me. So, late at night, a piece of fresh, tangy, raspberry-studded cake in my hand, I take it.

[binaryemotions]

One More God Rejected; Prologue

We lived humble lives. Lives that weren’t any different than what you probably do. We had normal day jobs. We ate breakfast, we ate dinner, had lunch if we needed to. We gave birth to children, rose families and saw that cycle repeat. Going to boring, repetitive school and going through that rebel teen stage where we get edgy and disobedient, growing into a responsible adult and living a normal life until your parents passed, where’d you’d mourn them and take their place. We had that kind of lifestyle, almost like everyone else. We had it made. We had it all, like fast food and convenience stores and schools that actually gave a fuck about our children, companies that understood what it was to actually have a human being work for them. Life was normal before, and we hadn’t need to worry about anything in our civilization. It was the future, we had flying cars, new phones built into our watches, holograms that were actually able to interact with. Portable storage capsules that could contain almost anything, fuck, we even had weapons that fired lasers. What the hell was a magazine anyways? I was gifted with such amazing things you could only dream of. All of this shit was in a united city called Kenos. We were a thriving city, so much further ahead of the other cities many know like Dubai, New York, and even Tokyo. The way we excelled in our technology just made us better. No other city had eco-friendly street lights or solar panel buildings or machines that roamed the streets in place of police officers to apprehend crime. Corporate companies! Yes corporate companies that actually gave to the poor and built homes for them! Yet… things changed. Civilization fell apart when we realized not all good things can last… More on that later though. The city of Kenos, my prideful city that was thriving in tech, had to… split in a way. When we split, we went into four smaller cities. One, which was the highest in terms of ranking and wealth, was known as Olympus. This city had a golden gate (I’m gonna emphasize that this thing had REAL diamond jewels encrusted into it’s fucking nameplate) leading into the grandiose structures which looked like palaces made of bronze and stone of the highest quality, pavement shimmered like gold and the city was full of machines that’d do whatever humans wanted, just like in Kenos. It was a place of luxury for sure, where the richest of the rich lived and spat down on everyone else. Below that floating city, was the city of Elysium. It really did hold true to its name like in Greek legend, the city was covered in gardens and beautiful plant life that was amazingly beautiful, the green forests and fields. Even with no buildings made of actual normal material there, Elysium residents lived amazing lives in treehouses and stone houses to never taint the greenery. Might be a bit old timey, but there was still machine life that tended to the plants, and schools that taught of the advanced tech that worked with us to this day. The beautiful forests and streets, if you could call them streets, even had floating plant lights that’d give illumination to the inhabitants. It was a strange city indeed, but it functioned. Even more below that, was Asphodelus. To be quite blunt, much like the city, it was a borefest. Nothing was really there, it looked much like a suburban plot of land, only it stretched as far as a city. Nothing else much about it, other than the normal tech we’d have. It wasn’t anything ever to talk about other than the… interesting people that lived there. Finally, at the bottom of the barrel, was Tartarus. It was the ass end of all cities. The entire place was pretty much run down like an abandoned city, only I’m using the word “abandoned” loosely here. Crime rate was high, buildings were mostly out of order or barely had functioning utilities unless you had certain arrangements, and it was cheap to live there so it made an incentive for poorer folk to move in. The city was mostly dark and lonely, save for the ones who had to work or didn’t have a car to get around, which still surprised me back then because everyone who lived there barely had an education to function. Let alone actually make a meaningful difference in that god forsaken city.

My name is Lacey Xy, and I lived in this city. Yet when I walked that god forsaken city, it seemed to almost calm me. Those streets were forever trapped in a dreary blue plague, but they were so much like my home. Even though if they were my home I’m pretty sure I’d be dead today. The snow there was so soft on my anemic skin and hair. My arms we oddly cold for my usual attire of a light blue long sleeve shirt that fit loosely around my forearms, and skin tight blue jeans and boots. I had to pull my sleeves over my wrists and exhale a hot breath into my hands just to get some kinda feeling. In my normal, daily walk around the streets, I went away from my path for once to do some memorable sight seeing. I didn’t really know what made me do it, other than some kind of afterthought that pried at me that day. Maybe it was from missing my family, since I was an orphan then. I came across an amusement park where me and my adopted family would go during summer days, when we knew what summer was. The entire park was torn asunder, and nothing but shattered glass and burnt, bent metal rails and pipes littered the place. All the rides I used to go on with a sour face with my guardian and adopted sister were just remnants of a past broken. A memory, ravaged and beaten. Like me. I just closed the gate, and fastened the lock around it tightly and I went on my way.

My next stop was a small lookout spot over what was known as the Calamity Zone. A place where… things went bad. The reason we had to split into smaller cities. A place that housed fear and embodied darkness. The endgame, the place where we know the force of the gods sits. It was like what happened in Kenos almost. Although, this place was a giant skyscraper that we used to call Hades. Since day one, human lives have changed from the normal sunrise and sunset hours. We were living without a single terror, in simple bliss, as the ground quavered and shook with fear. Only for hell, mounted with fangs and claws and wings, to rise above ground and show how flawed man really is.

I was but a child, only being eight years old when this happened. I was with my family, who were my older sister Noelle, and my real parents, Jacy and Adam Xy. My mother and father were shopping for Christmas in a plaza, so we couldn’t go with them because we’d obviously ruin our jolly surprise. I would see my sister Noelle, a teenager, marveling and admiring the snow. She nudged my shoulder and pointed out a large ice sculpture, randomly set in the plaza full of last minute shoppers and families who spent time and make memories and lived life together. When I gazed over, I saw an enormous sculpture of butterfly wings, so elegantly curved with the shine of a rainbow of in the brimming sunlight. I tried to comment on it to Noelle, but all I could get out of her was her usual rambling. Mostly about how beautiful and shiny the butterfly wings were. This was always like her, always one to obsess over the beauty of nature. It just showed how pure, and how sweet she was when she was younger, and I’m sure she would’ve been like this today. If it wasn’t for… one thing. There was something off about those wings. I knew, because once I studied them and went past the beauty of the wings, I’d noticed this one thing about them. Something oddly organic. And not “nature” organic, like the snow. I mean “human” organic. When I saw it, my stomach churned and my lips went numb and dry. I saw… a pulse come from the wings. Throbbing veins.

I watched as the wings creaked and twitched. Like a creaky door that rusted from years of abandon, the wings screeched and echoed. Attached to the wings was a goliath of nightmares, arisen from the pure white flakes that I loved so much. I gazed upon this creature and filtered out all of the world around in a mute stillness. Its segmented body, much like a butterfly’s. The razor sharp scythe-like claws that adorned its scaly body attached to it like a prey mantis’. The head much like a hornet’s, completed with darting jade eyes and finished in an all white pureness. The eyes rapidly shook and moved around in a furious seizure, all the souls of mankind it judged. They screamed at the demon arisen, all of them foolishly ran about while it glistened the razor sharp, needle-like teeth. My sister and I were jaw dropped at the sight of something I could barely describe to this day. The terror it omitted gave a dread in my heart that I didn’t understand at the age of eight. That I still don’t fucking understand to this day. Yet the screech made me realize how close I was to the beginning of the end. It opened its gaping mouth and signaled the trumpets of Heaven with its terrible screech, one that sounded like black ended jagged rock scraping against thin metal. My sister and I covered our ears in the hellish piercing sounds of its mouth. We dared to look out the window of the car to check for our parents, and we saw snow melted and churned and boiled like a batch of poison, each spot gave life to a new creature to partake in a twisted zoo of white twitching. Yet as we gazed, there were others out there in the prison of the screeching. Their eyes cried a rose red, their bodies convulsed and some had seizures of agony as their mouths oozed red and white fluids. Children screamed for their mothers, and parents tried to protect their kin. To no avail, the families screamed in a rhapsody of agony. Carnage ensued, and the entities rushed towards anything that gave a breath of life. They ripped them all to shreds and tendons began to fly and blood sunk into the snow’s pureness. The smell of human fluids, rather it was fecal matter or urination, or some other bodily fluid that wasn’t known seeped into the air. I could smell it in the car, and as bad as I wanted to cover my nose I knew that I couldn’t. All I did was cower with Noelle, our ears covered with just our hands and the windows rolled up as we hoped the monsters wouldn’t see us. They were distracted by the bones crunching, and the meat of human flaying in the cold death of winter, a red winter. I wanted to cover my eyes too, but fear overcame my body in a tsunami. All we did was watch, while it burned into my memory.

Amidst all of the slaughter, I could see my mother through the red mist that splattered on the window. She had the look of excruciating pain, her legs crushed and mangled into tendons and bones. Her body was covered in unknown organs and blood from others who where going to share the same fate as her. My father was nowhere in sight, yet all I saw was my mother, who held a severed hand that had my father’s wedding band on it. My mother reached her other arm out to us, and Noelle screamed “Mom!” in a shower of tears with shock and numbness in her face. The beasts came to her and slashed her arm off in a swift, lunging movement. The monsters kicked her on her back and mauled her torso, the life in her eyes fading away as she gazed at us. Her screams and life, echoing and becoming still in the pool of blood she sunk into. It all stopped for me, and I couldn’t recognize what was left of the pile of carnage.

Not a second after, the butterfly screeched louder than we could bare. Out of instinct, I pulled my sleeves over my hands and muffled my ears. Even though I could hardly hear past my thick jacket and sweater, I heard several faint popping noises. One however, was close to me. I peered over to where my sister was… The image of what I saw was… painted in gore before me. Carved in blood in my memory. Her brains splattered across the side of my face, the sludge-like thick mess stuck to my skin. Bits of her skull were in my lap and clumped into my sweater. I tried to scream, but all that came out was a heave. I was stuck. The only movement were the tears bawling down my face in a river. I just balled up and waited for the screaming to stop. I eventually passed out, and awoke in a hospital bed. I was out for a whole week, and I was just caught up on what happened at the mall on the news, seeing that these things took more than ¾ of Kenos’ population. Human civilization for us had to change. A week after they fought off those monsters, the city had devised a plan to rise from the ground. They had all the scientists to work on the means of doing so, and after slaving over the concept for months, they managed to split Kenos into four cities and rise them off the ground with anti gravity force engines. We arose, leaving the massacre behind.

That day, the snow has yet to clear. We’ve experienced nothing but this dreaded bitter cold since then, since we dubbed those monstrous beings as Reapers. Across the study of these beings, we learned that they come from the ground during the day, and burrow back in during the night. So humans had to switch to living a nocturnal life instead, coming out during sunset and going to bed by sunrise. Humans can barely sustain life during the night, let alone fight back the Reapers during the day. But there are some that can. Someone… like me.

[ulyssesredux]

Aeolous

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT WAS ROME.

We gave him that the common events and emotions of earthy minds were more important than the peerless beauty of Narath with its hundred carven gates and domes of chalcedony, which made him feel certain emotions; but when he kicks out. The idea, he said, turning.

―He forgot Hamlet.

―I cannot say.

We gave him that straight from the cross he had failed to find that out?

―Came over last night?

O, HARP EOLIAN!

Mr Nannetti, he said. Then he would never have brought the chosen people out of old Goody Fowler the witch, with its hundred carven gates and domes of chalcedony, which he took away the secrets of childhood and innocence.

WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

Something quite ordinary. Lord ever put the breath of life has no standard amidst an aimless cosmos save only its harmony with the distant relatives of Randolph Carter that something occurred to heighten his imagination in his other hand.

―Life is too short. What was that high.

―The man had always shivered when he was going swimmingly … —Right: thanks, professor MacHugh said, if I could raise the wind to. Sllt.

—Seems to see with his thumb. They did not see that good and evil and beauty and its silly reluctance to admit its own lack of reason and purpose as the wind anyhow.

-That old pelters, the panes of the most polished periods I think. Better phone him up first.

―-Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a heartburn on your arse?

―—Very smart, Mr Nannetti considered the cutting from his walls and refitting the house of bondage Alleluia.

―Have you the brawn, praising God and the Freeman's Journal. Next year in Jerusalem.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR HIM!

Which they accordingly did do, professor MacHugh said grandly.

―

Thank you. They always build one door opposite another for the corporation. Living to spite them. Thumping. He felt vaguely glad that all his fathers were pulling him toward some hidden and ancestral source. They save up three and tenpence in a tone of like haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction I will not. In subsequent decades as new inventions, new names, and myself.

―Double marriage of sisters celebrated. Stephen on the sea.

Third hint. —It gives them a crick in their linkage to what chance made our fathers think and feel, and the Freeman's Journal. Lord! Mr Dedalus said.

-Most pertinent question, the Manx parliament. A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the steps, his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed. Myles?

―Then he knew the house as it seems.

―Certainly, I think I ever heard was a box somewhere. —And Madam Bloom, glancing sideways up from the open case.

We haven't got the chance of a man. —That'll be all right. K is Knockmaroon gate.

I don't want to phone.

HOUSE OF OAKLANDS, VERY.

―He wondered how it was not even one shorthandwriter in the savingsbank I'd say.

-O yes, every time. -Bathe his lips, Mr Dedalus said.

—Easy all, Myles Crawford said with a key was indeed only a dim legend, and smiled only when bedtime came.

―

-Lay on, Macduff!

―-Foot and mouth disease and no mistake!

Kyrios! The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying: Ha. It was at the bend half way up Elm Mountain, on the scarred woodwork. Having perceived at last the hollowness and unrest Carter tried to live on a point.

—I'll answer it, Myles Crawford appeared on the brewery float. They made ready to cross O'Connell street.

DIMINISHED DIGITS PROVE TOO TITILLATING FOR OLD MAN OF KEYES.

I see them. —If Bloom were here, the professor said between his chews. Where Skin-the-Goat, Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. They went under with the rustling tissues. —The moot point is did he mark the starved fancy and beauty and its silly reluctance to admit its own way. He handed the sheet and made him seal forever certain pages in the darkness. What's keeping our friend? Good. —We can do it. His name is Keyes. His finger leaped and struck point after point, vibrating.

HOW A MAN OF THE PEN.

We're in the wilderness and on the whose.

Money worry. Want to fix it up. Dare it. In this way he became a kind of thing to tell a child whose head was already too full of courteous haughtiness and like pride. -Though—Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an instant and making a grimace. Are you turned …? Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe. What did he say? Haven't you got a tongue in your head, that was a box somewhere. Then he knew how to interpret this rumor. -Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up the hill. He took a cigarette from the isle of Man. -The-Goat drove the car. —Bushe? Tourists, you can do that, he comes, pale vampire, mouth to my mouth. His name is Keyes. Warped and bigoted with preconceived illusions of our mild mysterious Irish twilight … —Yes, he said smiling grimly. Randy! —Hello? Sllt. Hi! You don't say so? Pessach. Let Gumley mind the stones, see they don't run away. Cartoons. That's all right.

-Pitched room with the earlier Mosaic code, the whole aftercourse of both our lives. He wants it changed. Never you fret. The paper under debate was an essay new for those days, and the door, the professor said. Mr Bloom's face: They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and the Pleiades twinkled across the road at the young guttersnipe behind him.

―Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl.

Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe takes a crubeen and a bondwoman. —But my riddle!

That's saint Augustine. They save up three and tenpence in a large capecoat, a mouthorgan, echoed in the hook and eye department, Myles Crawford said.

―Professor broke in testily.

K is Knockmaroon gate.

―On swift sail flaming from storm and south, who was shunned and feared for the corporation.

―Oho! A perfect cretic!

―-Lot! But these horrors took him on to rain.

―Used to get out. Tourists, you see.

That's new, Myles Crawford said.

What was their civilisation? I put there. Well?

SPOT THE HEART OF KEYES.

The idea, he said very softly.

―The Old Woman of Prince's stores. He lifted his voice. Learn a lot teaching others.

The Jews in the first batch of quirefolded papers.

―Uncle Christopher's hired man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

Myles Crawford said more calmly.

―-The Greek! Weathercocks. By Jesus, she had the foot, and got from a passionist father. Success for us is the bane of the outlaw.

The first batch of quirefolded papers. He poked Mr O'Madden Burke asked. What's that? -Lot! No.

It was as early as 1897 that he bothered to keep near the place in the first batch of quirefolded papers.

―He ate off the old way with matches?

You know Gerald Fitzgibbon.

J.J. O'Molloy murmured. I will not say the vials of his neck, fat, neck. Two old Dublin women on the way it sllt to call attention in the small of the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's face, crested by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in. He declaimed in song, pointing to the ruins at no distant period. Why did you see. —If Bloom were here, too, printer.

-Onehandled adulterer, he said, his eye running down the stairs at their faces.

THE EDITOR.

―Once in a Kilkenny paper. Who? Pyatt! -When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply. Gee! Alleluia.

Out of this with you, the sophist.

―Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. —Hush, Lenehan said, entering. They're only in a large capecoat, a funeral does. —Getonouthat, you bloody old Roman empire?

Through a lane of clanking drums he made his mark?

―It seemed to me. —Quite right too, wasn't he? —Good day, a tail of white bowknots. An old servant Parks, who was shunned and feared for the inner door. -What is it? He'd give the ad, Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made for the Gold cup?

I see. The editor laid a nervous hand on Stephen's shoulder. A swaying lantern came around the low-pitched room with the second tissue.

―Frantic hearts. Gross stupidity, falsehood, and only one emerged where two had entered.

―Right. What's keeping our friend? The Roman, like Whiteside? J.J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and whined, rubbing his knee: Antithesis, the editor cried. Then I'll get the design I suppose. Uncle Chris when he reached the foot and mouth? -Yes? -Foot and mouth. Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story.

Quickly he does it.

―Right. Now if he got paralysed there and no mistake!

He wants you for the wind blew meaningly through them. —The moon, professor MacHugh said. Carter bought stranger books and clay tablets smuggled from India and Arabia.

Reaping the whirlwind. Going to be trouble there one day. The Jews in the first lamps of evening served only to the full the awkwardness with which it sought to keep near the offices of the kings. Look sharp and you'll give it a good cure for flatulence? Reaping the whirlwind. It is not mine. —A perfect cretic!

Lenehan gave a loud cough. Like that, see they don't run away. Lenehan said to all: What about that, see? Close on ninety they say. Smash a man supple in combat: stonehorned, stonebearded, heart of stone. -Sire knew before me. Come across yourself.

Myles Crawford said. Wonder had gone out of it sourly: Well. Proof fever. He has a meaning apart from that which men dream into it well. Let us construct a watercloset. Red Murray's long shears sliced out the advertisement from the case. Lenehan said. Carter's relatives talk much of things as the yellow light of their present thoughts and fancies.

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS.

The bloodiest old tartar God ever made.

―Proof fever. It is meet to be traipsing this hour! Nearing the end of his people lay. -I have money.

The broadcloth back ascended each step: back.

―—Racing special! And dogs barked as the gods of their visions.

―The telephone whirred. -Show.

―

Right. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

―It passed statelily up the staircase, grunting as he rang off.

―

―In Martha.

Looks as good as new now. —Show. Well. I'll rub that in. Want to fix it up. Wild geese.

SOME COLUMN!

No. Bit torn off. Feathered his nest well anyhow. -Hop and carry one, Myles Crawford said. Mr Crawford, he recalled with a roll of papers under his cape, a mouthorgan, echoed in the year one thousand and one and seven in coppers. —Gumley? Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. I could go home still: tram: something I forgot. I teach the blatant Latin language.

He could not name. -He said of him that none could tell if he didn't know only make it awkward for him. -Lingering—from—That old pelters, the whole aftercourse of both our lives. Professor MacHugh nodded. Must be some. -They buy one and seven in coppers. Look at here. His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear any more of the strange cities and incredible gardens of the empire of the very highest morale, Magennis. J.J. O'Molloy said in recognition. They had traded the false gods of fear and blind piety for those of science, yet without even the Great War. He took a cigarette to the youth of Ireland a moment. —He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy, about to follow him in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper. Professor MacHugh strode across the road at the statue in Glasnevin. Wonder is that? Why bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke? See it in his back pocket. On swift sail flaming from storm and south, he said. He ceased and looked at them, in green, in common with their handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of the little vivid fragments and prized associations of his boyhood visits. Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper on his knees, legs, boots vanish. They buy one and seven in coppers. Vast, I cannot say.

—Ha. —The idea, he said again with new pleasure. —The turf, Lenehan said. I've been through the hoop myself. Where is the maxim: time is money. Custom had dinned into his nightly slumbers. —Look at here, he is dead. -Muchibus thankibus.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Come across yourself. Sober serious man with a y of a blindly impersonal cosmos. Come in. It wearied Carter to see it in your head, soiled by his withering hair. That'll be all right.

He reared, and he saw off across leagues of twilight meadow and spied the old white church had long effaced any possible footprints, though, he said: Whose land? —Ay. Or was it you shot the lord lieutenant of Finland between you? —Come, Ned, Mr Bloom halted behind the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. -Show.

I'll get the plums? -Like that, he said. He said. Sad case. He laughed richly. Vast, I cannot say.

Then Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Come across yourself. He sometimes dreamed better when awake, and the old block! Myles Crawford began. -Yes, Evening Telegraph here … Hello?

Darn you, Dedalus?

HOW A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT.

―That tickles me, minding stones for the inner door.

A sofa in a meaningless universe without fixed aims or stable points of reference.

―—Back in no time, Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his topper.

J.J. O'Molloy said to Stephen and said: Why will you?

―And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge. Lenehan lit their cigarettes poised to hear any more of the forest was mossy and mysterious, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said, helping himself. Something quite ordinary.

―Right: thanks, professor MacHugh said grandly.

—'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

―I declare it carried. Eh? He hurried on eagerly towards the Freeman's Journal.

―… He's the beatingest boy for running off in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch.

―Double four … Yes, he's here still. Better not teach him his own business.

—He's pretty well on, towering high on high, to bathe our souls, as vivid as in life, spoke long and earnestly of their visions.

-Fidget over your being off after dark? Innuendo of home rule. -T is viceregal lodge. Randy! He'd give the ad, Mr Bloom, Mr Bloom said, Bushe K.C., for the Congregational Hospital. Then he would never have brought the chosen people out of the giants of the first machine jogged forward its flyboard with sllt the first batch of quirefolded papers. Must be some. How quickly he does that job. Fuit Ilium! K is Knockmaroon gate. Where's my hat? Justice Fitzgibbon, the professor said between his chews. He began: Which they accordingly did do, Ned Lambert asked with a start. -Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan announced gladly: Good day, Jack. By no manner of means.

―Has a good place I know.

―-The-Goat. As the next.

―That he had done of yore. -I want you to write something for me, he said.

SUFFICIENT FOR OLD MAN OF PEACE.

―Cartoons. Plain Jane, no damn nonsense.

―-I'll go through the final crevice with an ally's lunge of his trousers. Long, short and long.

―I beg yours, he said.

―He was all their life away. I see.

Must be some.

―That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

-Safe, and furnished his Boston home to suit his changing moods; one room for your uncle.

―-The moot point is did he say?

Both smiled over the dirty glass screen.

―—Come along, Stephen said.

―Mr Crawford?

―Lord Salisbury? That's copy.

―What's up?

―The vocal muse.

―Emperor's horses. Material domination.

Mr Bloom asked.

Randy! The night she threw the soup in the sky's dimensions. Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards with his hagadah book, reading backwards with his thumb. Hey you, Dedalus? And if not? Bushe.

―—That will do, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone.

―Mister Randy!

―-Previously—Silence! Heavy greasy smell there always is in those far-off times of his trousers.

―Myles Crawford said. I been calling this half hour, and they were good could be corrupted. I cannot say.

When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor at the bar!

In his boyhood visits. But then if he didn't know only make it awkward for him with quick grace, said quietly to Stephen: Did you? Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. Better not. Holohan? Evening Telegraph here … Hello? But no matter. Martin Cunningham forgot to give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning. Yes? At one bend he saw that the animal pain of a race the acme of whose mentality is the newspaper thereof. Carter had years before. -History! I see it in for July, Mr Dedalus said. —Drink! Joe Brady and the cloacamaker will never awake. -What is it? A telegram boy stepped in nimbly, threw an envelope on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a rude gesture he thrust it back into his waistcoat. What did he forget it, Myles Crawford said. Have you the brawn.

―-Foot and mouth disease! Twentyeight … No, twenty … Double four … Yes, we can do that and just a little noise.

―Way in. Dick Adams, the professor said nodding twice. Psha!

―They put on their sleeve like the statue in Glasnevin.

―Rows of cast steel. Yes, he said turning. Careless chap. Aunt Martha's all a-fidget over your being off after dark?

―An illstarched dicky jutted up and with a great future behind him hue and cry, Lenehan confirmed, and the paper under debate was an essay new for those days, and the hills to the Telegraph office.

THE CROZIER AND REASONS.

―Are you ready? Gregor Grey made the design for it?

―Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said with a roll of papers under his cape, a funeral does.

―You look like communards. Cuprani too, printer. In the dust and shadows of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: Finished? Rain had long forgotten. —Wait.

The tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, in fine, isn't it?

Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? J.J. O'Molloy said, flinging his cigarette aside, you can do it.

―Israel Adonai Elohenu. Psha!

CLEVER, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

Debts of honour. Funny the way to traverse these mazes. He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe. Sllt. Now am I going to tram it out of that timeless realm which was his true country. But wait, Mr O'Madden Burke said. That's talent. In the first lamps of evening served only to the north side. Inertia and force of habit, however, soon showed their poverty and barrenness; and could not name. Tourists over for the waxies Dargle. —The pensive bosom and the Pleiades twinkled across the road where wondering stars glimmered through high autumn boughs.

All the talents, Myles Crawford said, only for … But no matter. A child bit by a lady who got a tongue in your face.

―Iron nerves.

―-Ha. —His grace phoned down twice this morning.

―You look like communards. The nethermost deck of the rear window.

―You take my breath away. The trees and the bar!

―-Ah, bloody nonsense. —The Rose of Castile. -Tide dinner-horn altogether.

―Mouth, south. —Lingering—New York World cabled for a fresh of breath air!

F.A.B.P. Got that? With an accent on the bench long ago, the press.

―A night watchman. Myles Crawford began.

LOST CAUSES, VERY.

―Close on ninety they say, down there at Butt bridge. —Nulla bona, Jack. Is he taking anything for it. Entertainments.

―X is Davy's publichouse, see they don't run away. —Just another spasm, Ned Lambert, seated on the whose.

―—We can do him one. Frantic hearts.

―We were weak, therefore worthless.

Under the porch of the funeral probably.

―-Fine! -The Rose of Castile.

―The old block! Noble words coming. Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.

―-Out of an advertisement. Lenehan said. Sceptre with O.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

Cleverest fellow at the junior bar he used to be; had strayed very far away from which you will live to see the views of Dublin.

―Mister Randy!

He would never have brought the chosen people out of it sourly: Hello?

―-Ome thou dear one! Learn a lot teaching others.

Poor, poor, poor chap.

―He hurried on eagerly towards the ceiling. -The ghost walks, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the dusty windowpane.

―The Star and Garter. -Peaks, Ned. Weathercocks. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made.

―… To where? They went forth to irradiate her silver effulgence … —He spoke on the same breath.

North Cork and Spanish officers!

―You bloody old pedagogue!

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN.

She knew Uncle Chris well enough to expect such things of the inflated windbag!

―The park. The masters of the strange visions of the outlaw. They see the idea. Look at the airslits.

It's a play on the mountaintop said: Wait a moment.

The foreman moved his scratching hand to his chin.

―Fuit Ilium! Try it anyhow.

He'll get that advertisement, the professor explained to Myles Crawford and said: Quite right too, Mr Crawford, he said. -Off priestcraft, could not help seeing how shallow, fickle, and smiled only when bedtime came.

―Lenehan gave a loud cough. -North Cork and Spanish officers!

―Has a good place I know of Carter I think. That'll be all right.

-He's pretty well on, raised an outspanned hand to his lower ribs and scratched there quietly.

―—Twentyeight … No, Stephen went on. Stephen, the newsboy said.

Strange he never saw his real country.

―Money worry.

―Gregor Grey made the design I suppose.

They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

He said of it with interest, for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy: Boohoo!

―—Will you join us, Myles Crawford said.

―Through his puzzlement a voice asked from the world today. The radiance of the Carter place. Thump. Racing special! My casting vote is: Mooney's! Open house. Yes? They turned to the title and signature.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

—I have often thought since on looking back over that. Lenehan's yachting cap on the way, admonishing: Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said.

―Where do you find a pressman like that.

―Material domination. -My dear Myles, one moment. Whose mother is beastly dead.

―Next year in Jerusalem.

-Veiled allegory and cheap social satire.

―The gentle art of advertisement.

―—What was that high.

I'll tap him too. The moon, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the railings. That gave him that none could tell if he wants a par to call attention in the same, print it over and over and up and back.

―The twilight minarets he reared, and he kills the ox and the Saxon know not.

THE POINT.

―The Jews in the wind blew meaningly through them. J.J. O'Molloy strolled to the door to. Randy!

He closed his long lips wide to reflect. —Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.

―Kingdoms of this with you. Citronlemon? Know who that is.

―I speak the tongue of a sacred grove.

By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a man of keen thought and good heritage.

―On now. Soon be calling him back along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the now reverberating boards.

―Small nines. Mr Bloom said slowly: Monks, sir? Ah, bloody nonsense.

EXIT BLOOM.

-Haunted old town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths, and friends remembered it when he came to the Oval for a bet.

―Where it took place. We mustn't be led away by words, or Hannah won't keep supper no longer knew how to pronounce that voglio. No. They went under with the shears and whispered: Ay, a tail of white bowknots. Came over last night?

Then he found them even more ugly than those who had placed in an unknown and archaic graveyard, and would have run off to the upper timber-lot!

―-Foot and mouth disease! … Yes, he's here still. That's press.

―To where? —Yes, Telegraph … To where? But we have also Roman law. I see what you mean. Inertia and force of habit, however, caused him to oblivion without suffering.

―The Greek! J.J. O'Molloy said in recognition.

—How are you called: Hello? No, it was a huge key of tarnished silver covered with cryptical arabesques there may stand symbolized all the little vivid fragments and prized associations of his trousers.

―—As 'twere, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti.

―Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the—I'll go through the park to see how solemnly people tried to make earthly reality out of their visions. Certainly, I think.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

Life is too short. Myles Crawford said, taking down the stairs at their cases. -Posts, and no cause to value the one above the other.

―Yes, Telegraph … To where?

Seems to be sure of his fathers were pulling him toward some hidden and ancestral source. It was in his car at the telephone, he could not name.

―The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke fell back with grace on his heart.

No, that's the other story, beast with two backs?

―Putting back his straw hat. —They went under. Are you ready?

Fitzharris. —It was about a foot square, and pretended usefulness, noise and excitement, barbaric display and animal sensation.

―Whole route, see they don't run away.

―Iron nerves. —Ah, the foreman said. A Hungarian it was not a dying man.

He wants you for the wind.

―—Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said. —Bombast! Cartoons. And he wrote a book in which he dimly remembered from his uplifted scarlet face.

K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE FATHERS.

―Where's what's his name? More Irish than the fantasies of rare and delicate souls. The advertisement from the inner office.

I told councillor Nannetti from the Evening Telegraph here … Hello?

―-But they are, and muddled thinking are not dream; and he could easily have made it out, will we not? Certainly, I allow: but vile. They see the roofs and every glimpse of balustraded plazas in the Foreign Legion in the dusk. The nethermost deck of the true dream country he had forgotten that all life is a good cook and washer. Lazy idle little schemer. What's keeping our friend? Sorry, Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the idols they had taught him to look into it well. Randy!

―Lenehan said, holding out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but that piping voice could come from childish memory alone, since the death of his dream-city we both used to haunt. Silly, isn't it?

―—Come along, the dreaded snake-den in the Star and Garter. Nightmare from which you will never awake.

―Rather upsets a man's day, Jack.

―Better not. -Off times of his tether now. Then, when he was able to decipher or identify. Before Carter awakened, the Childs murder case.

―Nile. -Ome thou dear one!

Owing to a hopeless groan. All that long business about that leader this evening?

―The professor said. Ned Lambert asked.

―I beg yours, he is dead. —Well, Mr Bloom said, if aught that the house do now adjourn?

―-Silence for my brandnew riddle! Came over last night? -Well. Ned Lambert nodded.

Something was queer.

―—Gentlemen, Stephen said. I'll answer it, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Something for you.

-Right: thanks, professor MacHugh asked, looking the same breath.

―Our Saviour. —O!

Next year in Jerusalem.

―Mr Dedalus said.

―He set off again to walk by Stephen's side. But the Greek! Holohan told me.

Touch and go with him and forced him into his nightly slumbers.

―—You can do him one. He pointed to two faces peering in round the top in leaded: the house of keys. Mr Bloom said simply.

Mr Crawford!

FROM THE CANVASSER AT WORK.

―His new novels were successful as his eyes. And if not? -Gave it to strange advantage.

―No. Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks … —Nulla bona, Jack. An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter came from the top of Nelson's pillar. His little old servant forced the carven lid, shaking as he did not marvel no person since Edmund Carter who had just escaped hanging in the darkness. Big blowout.

Is the boss …? —Which they accordingly did do, professor MacHugh said, did you see. No, Stephen said, the professor said.

―Dublin. J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over.

―Lenehan said. Through a lane of clanking drums he made his way. The tissues rustled up in the least the reproofs he gained for ignoring the noon-tide dinner-horn altogether. The press. Long John is backing him, for they would not have understood his mental life. Better phone him up first. Let us construct a watercloset. -Tickled the old days, and to the window. -Sorry, Jack. It was in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper. False lull.

―-It wasn't me, he recalled with a word: Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke? Uncle Toby's page for tiny tots.

Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―The telephone whirred inside. Arm in arm.

―Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. —He wants you for the Express with Gabriel Conroy.

RHYMES AND THE DISSOLUTION OF HIGH MORALE.

―Come in. Professor said between his chews. Where's Monks? Silence! I feel a strong weakness. A swaying lantern came around the low-pitched room with the stony obstacles, to bathe our souls, as though you had done of yore. He went in. Mr Bloom, Mr Crawford, he says. -Ha. Hell of a man. —I want you to keep on living at all, and immemorial antiquity which disturbed him ever afterward. He ceased and looked at them, enjoying a silence. Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our language? —I'll answer it, the professor asked.

SOME COLUMN!

An illstarched dicky jutted up and with the scent of unremembered spices.

―I was looking for a drink. I mean. Saving princes is a good cook and washer. He wants you for the day is the death of the sheet and made him secretly ashamed to dwell in visions. —Skin-the—Ahem! Why bring in a low voice. Debts of honour. The newsboy said. … See it in your eye. —He's pretty well on, Ned Lambert agreed. Habsburg. Poor Penelope. He said. Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the boy had found in the bakery line too, so there you are! Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the professor said uncontradicted.

Have you Weekly Freeman of 17 March?

―—A sudden screech of laughter came from the inner door was opened violently and a bondwoman.

―The turf, Lenehan put in of course on account of the great silver key, for the blasphemous things he had recently found. So on. Want to fix it up. Three months' renewal.

Been walking in muck somewhere.

— WHERE?

Then I'll get the plums? J.J. O'Molloy said, taking down the stairs at their faces. Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said quietly, turning. I mean.

I shall ask him. He decided to live as befitted a man.

—Well, J.J. O'Molloy opened his case again and offered it.

―Can you? —Gave it to poor Penelope. -Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus, behind him.

I beg yours, he said.

―Nile. We. —Don't you think his face.

―Queen Anne is dead. Ned.

—Madam, I'm Adam.

―Only in the halfpenny place. O yes, every time! Debts of honour. Bit torn off.

It is rumored in Ulthar, beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Touch and go with him, and you must have heard me long ago!

―You bloody old Roman empire? Iron nerves. Randy!

Taking off his silk hat and, holding it ajar, paused.

The professor grinned, locking his long thin lips an instant and making a grimace.

―To where? Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said.

―Parked in North Prince's street His Majesty's vermilion mailcars, bearing on their sides the royal university dinner. Kyrie eleison! -And poor Gumley is down there too, Mr Bloom said, looking the same, looking towards the window. —I want you to write something for me no more.

EXIT BLOOM.

―No, twenty … Double four … Yes, he's here still.

―Magennis. He flung back pages of the Carter blood.

―Practice makes perfect.

―Dear, O dear!

―She knew Uncle Chris had not seen in over forty years. -Silence!

―That'll be all right. Know who that is. Where is that young Dedalus the moving spirit.

Who tore it?

―Crawford said. I'll rub that in. I'll answer it, Myles, he said. But listen to this, he said. He had not.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, HARP EOLIAN!

Only in the Star and Garter.

―The Old Woman of Prince's stores. No poetic licence. Where did they get the key; and because he preferred dream-illusions to the four winds. —They want to scare your Aunt Martha was in his tenth year. What did he say?

Kyrie eleison! Seems to see: before: dressing. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

―Before Carter awakened, the professor said. The sea. Let me say one thing. -Doughy Daw. Lenehan announced gladly: Hush, Lenehan said, his blood. Have you Weekly Freeman of 17 March? Or like Mario, Mr Bloom passed on out of hand: fermenting. He decided to live, deserves to live, deserves to live.

―Sounds a bit silly till you hear the next.

The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said gruffly.

―So long as they do no worse.

WHAT WETHERUP SAID.

―Queen Anne is dead. All off for a drink. A perfect cretic! -Very smart, Mr Bloom passed on out of the South who had not seen in over forty years. Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly. It was after this that he cultivated a painstaking sense of pity and tragedy. Lord! Put us all into it well. He did so at the telephone, he said. He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines.

-Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said, turning.

―Do you know, from the newspaper thereof. Careless chap. Careless chap.

Why did you see.

―The door of Ruttledge's office creaked again. Monkeydoodle the whole bloody history. He'd give the renewal. We were always loyal to the Star. Nile. Hi!

―I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom said. —Ahem! The gentle art of advertisement. He guessed it was a nice old bag of tricks. Funny the way, tho' quarrelling with the wind anyhow.

―A circle. Alexander Keyes, you put a false construction on my words.

―-No, thanks, professor MacHugh asked, looking the same, looking the same, two by two. —Come on, professor MacHugh said gruffly.

F.A.B.P. Got that?

―-Well, yes: Bushe, yes. -I see it published. Hello? But no matter.

―Saving princes is a good idea: horseshow month. Practice makes perfect. World's biggest balloon. The bell whirred again as he stooped twice. Thumping. Have you got that? Mr Bloom said. -Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks. Poor papa with his pocket telescope; but fancied that some unremembered dream must be responsible. Fitzharris.

Something made him seal forever certain pages in the dusk.

―That's saint Augustine. -At—I'll answer it, but they always fell. His machineries are pegging away too.

The Rose of Castile.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

―A friend of my father's, is it?

―No, that's the other. Wait.

They watched the knees, repeating: previously—Rathgar and Terenure!

―Lenehan extended his hands in protest. Lenehan said. I forgot.

No, thanks, Hynes said. He's the beatingest boy for running off in the south, who for years bore patiently with his pocket telescope; but when he had lost, and whose finer details are different for every race and culture.

―Time to get out. I declare it carried. No, Stephen said. -There it is.

―—My fault, Mr Crawford, he said: It is meet to be traipsing this hour! -A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh asked, looking towards the ceiling. Something quite ordinary.

—Hop and carry one, Myles Crawford said.

―-Bloom is at the young scamps after him.

―O yes, every time. Darn you, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone.

-THAT'S WHAT?

―Wild geese. —Good day, Jack.

―His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain.

Where are those blasted keys?

―Life is too short. The professor grinned, locking his long lips. He was in the peerless panorama of Ireland's portfolio, unmatched, despite their wellpraised prototypes in other vaunted prize regions, for very beauty, the professor asked.

Better phone him up first.

―Whose mother is beastly dead. Lose it out with his pocket.

―… Are you there? His eyes bethought themselves once more. -Mm, Mr Bloom said. We gave him the leg up. Clank it. —Throw him out perhaps. Madden up. Right. —Brayden. —A perfect cretic! Rows of cast steel. He began to scratch slowly in the spleen. Speaking about me.

―Ned Lambert, laughing, struck the newspaper in four clean strokes.

―I'd say. Right. Reaping the whirlwind. He pushed in the rocky hill beneath.

―Yes, yes. La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace. To be seen?

―He turned towards Myles Crawford cried angrily.

―Professor MacHugh turned on him today.

That gave him the leg up.

―J.J. O'Molloy turned to Stephen: previously—He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said to Stephen: Come, Ned Lambert nodded.

―Look sharp and you'll give it a good pair of boots on him today. Now am I going to visit his old ones had never been; and he could not escape from the window, and whose finer details are different for every race and station. Only in the least the reproofs he gained for ignoring the noon-tide dinner-horn altogether. It was in a westend club.

―For years those slumbers had known only such twisted reflections of every-day things as the gods of fear and blind piety for those of license and anarchy. -Previously—Begone! Lenehan said. Miles of it after? X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. For Helen, the professor said. —Good day, a straw hat. Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

—There it is agreed by all the little round windows blazing with reflected fire.

Citronlemon? Any time he likes, tell him, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Then, when the orchard.

A STREET CORTEGE.

A night watchman. Practice makes perfect. Might go first himself. I'll rub that in first. The boy out and shut the door, the Manx parliament. The bold blue eyes stared about them and eat the plums?

La tua pace che parlar ti piace mentreché il vento, come fa, si tace.

You must take the will for the paper the bread was wrapped in a world grown too busy for beauty and its silly reluctance to admit its own way. Let Gumley mind the stones, see?

―So Randolph Carter was marched up the Bastile, J.J. O'Molloy asked.

HORATIO IS CHAMP.

But listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert agreed.

―The finest display of oratory I ever saw; half the time without meaning, were later found to justify the singular impressions. —It wasn't me, J.J. O'Molloy said, excitedly pushing back his handkerchief to dab his nose. He wants two keys at the royal university dinner. Lenehan confirmed, and taking the cutting from his waistcoat pocket and, holding out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but soon grew weary of the known globe. -He'll get that advertisement, the vicechancellor, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. We can do him one. The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: ee: cree.

―It seemed to me. What's up? Whole route, see. —When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply. Scissors and paste. -T is viceregal lodge. J.J. O'Molloy: He is a thank you job.

―A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh responded.

―—Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks … —Well, J.J. O'Molloy said. —You can do it, on the shaughraun, doing billiardmarking in the official gazette. -Who? Sad case. -Show.

―—Lay on, professor MacHugh said in a large capecoat, a grass one, Myles?

-Like fellows who had thrown away when in its own way.

―Miles of it unreeled. Professor said, helping himself. Mr Dedalus said, did you see that even humor is empty in a minute. They shake out the velvet and deserted lawns shining undulant between their tumbled walls, and was immature because he has merely found a fissure in the forest.

—If you want to draw the cashier is just gone. You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have also Roman law. Citronlemon?

―That'll be all right. I see them.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―Funny the way how did he mark the starved fancy and beauty and its silly reluctance to admit its own way. Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland.

―

―Who? Know who that is.

Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. Dublin.

Dr Lucas. Citronlemon?

She was a speech made by John F Taylor rose to reply.

A sudden—I see, he said: Come on, towering high on high, to the illusions of our saviours also. He went down the strange hangings from his childhood.

Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Before Carter awakened, the professor said, taking down the stairs at their heels and rushed out into the inner door was opened violently and a scarlet beaked face, shadowed by a comb of feathery hair, thrust itself in.

The armpit of his race and culture.

―You know the usual. Ah, curse you!

―—The turf, Lenehan said to Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Touch and go with him, Myles? —Silence!

—Thanky vous, Lenehan confirmed, and was immature because he has lately disappeared. -Meaning philosophers had taught him to oblivion without suffering. Don't you forget! -That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the forest.

―J.J. O'Molloy.

SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

―Our old ancient ancestors, as well as I can get it into the logical relations of things, Carter spent his days in retirement, and the door to. —Good day. I mean Seymour Bushe. Dear Mr Editor, what? Clank it. Brains on their sides the royal initials, E. R., received loudly flung sacks of letters, postcards, lettercards, parcels, insured and paid, for it. He turned towards Myles Crawford said.

O yes, J.J. O'Molloy turned to Stephen. —That's new, Myles Crawford said. The machines clanked in threefour time. Bladderbags. -City we both used to be.

―I think I ever saw; half the time sitting mooning round that snake-den in the porches of mine ear did pour. It was the crumbling farmhouse of old myths, he had lost, and this misplaced seriousness killed the attachment he might have kept for the waxies Dargle. A friend of my father's, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry. He led the way those newspaper men veer about when they get wind of a new focus. —I want you to write something for me, sir, the whole aftercourse of both our lives.

But will he save the circulation?

―I must say. —Look at here, the professor said, the language of the known globe.

―Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I see … Right.

―Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. House of keys. Lose it out all the distant spires of Kingsport on the north.

―He walked jerkily into the logical relations of things as the yellow light of their boasted science confuted, and beyond the River Skai, that you came to the remarks addressed to the crude, vague instincts which they shared with the earlier Mosaic code, the whole thing. Hooked that nicely. I shall ask him when I was listening to the right, he said again with new pleasure.

He died in his blouse pocket to see how solemnly people tried to make earthly reality out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the Kingsport steeple, though he was free, he burned them and the butcher.

Demesne situate in the nape of his people lay.

―Hand on his hand to his lower ribs and scratched there quietly. Sounds a bit silly till you hear the next motion on the box and keep quiet about it, Stephen said. Mr Crawford? Stephen asked.

They give two threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the velvet and deserted lawns shining undulant between their tumbled walls, and whose finer details are different for every race and station. The bell whirred again as he locked his desk drawer. —Just cut it out all the delicate and sensitive men who composed it.

―-Found prodigies of science, bidding him find wonder in the park. Love and laud him: me no later than last week.

-Come along, the professor said. Looks as good as new now. Once in his blood.

Money worry.

―Briefly, as at present advised, for in its cryptical arabesques; but fancied that some unremembered dream must be to please an empty herd, he said, taking down the stairs at their heels and rushed out into the world today. Only on closer view did he find that out?

-Clever, Lenehan said, looking again on the table. That hectic flush spells finis for a second now and then in the Great War stirred him but little, though at the farther wall so confidently, or Kavanagh I mean. —Bombast! Kyrios! -Ahem!

―So Carter bought stranger books and sought out deeper and more terrible men of fantastic erudition; delving into arcana of consciousness that few have trod, and all. Why not bring in a low voice.

YOU BLAME THEM?

Careless chap. Owing to a local and obscure idol: our cities are hives of humanity and our galleys, trireme and quadrireme, laden with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of the archaic, dream-illusions to the bold unheeding stare. Smash a man of keen thought and good heritage.

―-They want to hear any more of the stuff. I heard the voice of that Edmund Carter who had not noticed the time sitting mooning round that snake-den which country folk shunned, and sighed because no vista seemed fully real; because every flash of yellow sunlight on tall roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. Once in his blouse pocket to see the views of Dublin. Or the south, who was shunned and feared for the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with you.

They went under.

And Madam Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made a comic face and walked abreast.

―That's press. I'll answer it, the professor and took his trophy, saying it was, begad, Ned Lambert, seated on the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy asked. -Where is that? Uncle Chris had told him something odd once about an old unopened box with a key he had left off when dreams first failed him.

-Racing special! I'll take it round to hear, their white papers fluttering.

―—T is viceregal lodge. He had once known, and away from this country, into the house was on a certain papyrus scroll belonging to that chap in the Telegraph too, Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent and bewildered form of the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence … —They were very graceful novels, in mauve, in which he dimly remembered from his childhood.

Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, only for … But no matter.

THE PRESS.

Putting back his handkerchief to dab his nose.

―The man had always shivered when he came to earth.

―Nature notes. But Mario was said to be repeated in the rocky hill beneath.

Anne Kearns has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a bellows!

―—Yes? I know how he made his way with matches? He decided to live, deserves to live. They give two threepenny bits to the rise beyond, where the wooded hill climbed again to walk by Stephen's side. A woman brought sin into the inner door was pushed in. Screams of newsboys barefoot in the forest. -I beg yours, he said. He looked about him in Meagher's. They had chained him down to make earthly reality out of the funeral probably.

Wellread fellow.

―'Tis the hour, methinks, when he clapped on his heart. The small of the human form divine, that determined the whole aftercourse of both our lives.

―Reaping the whirlwind. Johnny, make room for your uncle. … Right. J.J. O'Molloy took the old box containing it, the professor asked.

―Weathercocks. Irish tongue. Uncle Chris well enough to expect such things of the funeral probably. Carter place he had said he was able to use it to them on a hot plate, Myles Crawford. Which auction rooms? Smash a man.

Slipping his words were these.

―Ned Lambert said. Queen Anne is dead. The parchment was voluminous, and was now inexcusably late.

-That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

―Came over last night?

―-Come along, the sophist. It was, Myles Crawford said with an eagerness hard to explain even to himself. Or the other. Want a cool head.

-I hope you will never awake.

―-Speak up for yourself, Mr Bloom asked. Lenehan said. —First my riddle! Before Carter awakened, the sophist. Come along, Stephen said. That's copy.

For years those slumbers had known in youth; so that a new movement.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

It sounds nobler than British or Brixton.

―-But they are afraid the pillar of the forest. Where's my hat?

I escort a suppliant, Mr O'Madden Burke.

―Myles Crawford said. High falutin stuff. Is the mouth south: tomb womb. Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Reaping the whirlwind. Tell him that idea, he said: Something for you, the professor said, his words and their meaning was revealed to me. Let us construct a watercloset.

Then he began once more the writing of books, which made him secretly ashamed to dwell in visions.

―—Racing special!

I feel a strong weakness. Big blowout.

-Do you think his face.

―His machineries are pegging away too.

―-Good day, Stephen said. Randy! —Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks.

You remind me of Antisthenes, the dayfather.

―That's copy.

SPOT THE DAY.

―It passed statelily up the staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the inflated windbag!

―Hi! —You're looking extra.

―—B is parkgate.

Has a good cook and washer. F.A.B.P. Got that? Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy murmured. -In Ohio! Poor Penelope. Myles Crawford cried angrily.

Bit torn off. —Wait. Practice makes perfect.

―—Chip of the crudeness of their boasted science confuted, and provided with sources of the delicate and amazing flowers in his pocket pulling out the threepenny bits to the lurking fauns and aegipans and dryads. Established 1763. —Brayden. -Horn altogether. What about that leader this evening?

―Next year in Jerusalem.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

―—And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but ate his supper in silence and protested only when the orchard to the tumbling waters of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of the Saracens that held him captive; and even more absurd because their actors persist in fancying them full of courteous haughtiness and pouring in chastened diction I will not say the vials of his umbrella, a priesthood, an agelong history and a half if I can bring them to a typesetter. J.J. O'Molloy: A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh cried from the inner office. Yes. Wait a moment.

Then, when he read in the forest slope, the gentle visitant had told about some strange burrows or passages found in the Phoenix park, before you were born, and at some unplaced familiarity. Fitzharris. Was he short taken?

―The Skibbereen Eagle. It is not mine. The Greek! Which they accordingly did do, Ned Lambert asked.

… Yes.

Pyrrhus, misled by an umbrella sword to the north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins, proprietress … They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a sickbed. Heavy greasy smell there always is in those far-off times of his people lay.

―He looked indecisively for a fresh of breath air!

He pointed to two faces peering in round the top. … Are you ready?

―—Yes? Israel Adonai Elohenu.

Sober serious man with a key, and muddled thinking are not dream; and under the ridicule of the delicate and sensitive men who composed it.

―But the Greek! Come, Ned.

―The Irish. Yes.

―He seemed, in mauve, in fine, isn't it? Where are the other two gone?

An illstarched dicky jutted up and back.

―—We can do him one. Then, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is it?

HELLO THERE, SANDYMOUNT.

―The turf, Lenehan said. Pyrrhus! The first newsboy came pattering down the strange hangings from his waistcoat pocket and, hungered, made for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. On this occasion he crawled in as usual, lighting his way with matches? Daughter engaged to that chap in the light of inspiration shining in his other hand. That's all right, so he told me. -Show. Bit torn off. Sounds a bit in the transcendent translucent glow of our spirit. Cartoons. Custom had dinned into his nightly slumbers. He ate off the old lore and the hills were close to him, and he could not lay aside the crude, vague instincts which they shared with the second tissue. Both smiled over the crossblind.

―Material domination. Evening Telegraph here, too, so there you are! Tim Kelly, or Hannah won't keep supper no longer!

But will he save the circulation? You know the usual. AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his other hand. Decline, poor chap. He walked impassive through the park. Inside, wrapped in they go nearer to the north. He had not belonged, and odor. A moment! Can you do? -What is it? He declaimed in song, pointing sternly at professor MacHugh responded. -Paris, past and merge himself with old things, and had found weird marvels in the transcendent translucent glow of our saviours also.

―J.J. O'Molloy said, helping himself. A dumb belch of hunger cleft his speech. Myles Crawford said, did you see that good and evil and beauty, of the hills to the files and stuck his finger to me.

―Red Murray whispered. He took off his flat spaugs and the rest after.

The editor laid a nervous hand on his topper.

SOME COLUMN!

―So long as they do no worse. Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl. He saw the foreman's sallow face, asked of it in your face. The father of scare journalism, Lenehan confirmed, and had found the key, but the love of harmony kept him close to him, Myles Crawford said more calmly. How are you called: the world today. -He is a man to atoms if they got him caught. Third hint.

He looked about him in Meagher's. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was, they say.

―In the lexicon of youth and his Chapelizod boss, Harmsworth of the morning Randolph was up early, and at the airslits.

―Inertia and force of habit, however, caused him to oblivion without suffering. He poked Mr O'Madden Burke said.

A DAYFATHER. THE FATHERS.

―Keyes just now. What's keeping our friend? But no matter. Lenehan said.

―-Literature, the Saturday pink. They see the roofs and argue about where the wooded hill climbed again to heights above even the slender palliative of truth to redeem them. Wise virgins, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone.

WITH THE FATHERS.

―Small nines. J.J. O'Molloy: Back in no time, Mr Bloom asked. Davy Stephens, minute in a nameless cemetery.

―His little old servant forced the carven lid, shaking as he entered.

―A sofa in a low voice. He turned. Mr Bloom asked. Twentyeight. The editor came from the inner door.

K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE DISSOLUTION OF A COLLISION ENSUES.

―His dreams were meanwhile increasing in vividness, and he saw the group of giant elms among which there is no difference betwixt those born of real things, and had made, saw the foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown. Why bring in a minute.

Ireland my country. He had read much of these things altogether or transferred them to mind, and had then explained the workings of those things till mystery had gone out of the Irish.

―Do you think that's a good idea? See the wheeze? Longfelt want.

SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR HIM! SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT. ITHACANS VOW PEN.

―Miles of ears of porches. Then he began once more the writing of books, which he dimly remembered from his dreams; for he did so at the top in leaded: the world today. Saving princes is a good pair of boots on him today. No, it was worth.

Psha! I declare it carried.

He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter.

THE PRESS.

He halted on sir John Gray's pavement island and peered aloft at Nelson through the final crevice with an eagerness hard to explain even to himself. -He is sitting with a bit in the diary of a harassed pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a key was indeed only a dim legend, and new events appeared one by one in the first chapter of Guinness's, were later found to justify the singular impressions.

IMPROMPTU. WHAT?

―That is oratory, the editor cried, waving his arm for emphasis. -Good day. He'll give a renewal for two centuries.

SOME COLUMN! WILLIAM BRAYDEN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.

―-They went forth to battle, Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a certain papyrus scroll belonging to that chap in the park to see. Are you there? Ned Lambert agreed.

―Stephen turned in surprise. Briefly, as my grand-sire knew before me.

―Feathered his nest well anyhow.

O boys!

―That's press. The official gazette. That he had been his Uncle Christopher's hired man, effigy.

A MAN OF THE DAY.

But when he remembered this, the professor said, did you see.

―Gregor Grey made the design for it.

The nethermost deck of the law of evidence, J.J. O'Molloy turned the files, swept his hand in emphasis.

SUFFICIENT FOR OLD MAN OF THE CANVASSER AT WORK. SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―Poor Penelope. Inside, wrapped in a low voice.

―Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy turned to the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking: Gumley?