#so my beloved ones would have no problems with my property and my corpse after i die

[rudnitskaia]

yay a week until my 29th bday ✨🔥😎🔥✨

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 1: Rings)

Well, it’s finally happened: I wrote a story for a movie rather than YouTube Egos. (Not that this is gonna become a regular thing, mind you. Lisa Frankenstein just so happened to check all the right boxes for my hyperfixation and brainrot.) 

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him— just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his "true," pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belongs to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of electrocution and fire, scars, body horror, dismemberment. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The soil was loose and soft. It yielded to the shovel’s rusty spade quite easily.

Though many emotions were thrumming through Callum’s skull at the moment, surprise wasn’t one of them. 

While dark clouds had clogged up the night sky, hiding the stars and moon and bloating with rain that would fall sooner or later, the current season was warm, and so the ground wasn’t too firm. 

This plot had only been filled hours ago. This grave was fresh; infinitely fresher than his had been.

By now, Callum estimated that it’d taken at least half a day for him to crawl up through the ground and breach the surface like one of the several worms slithering around inside him.

He hadn’t exactly been in the right headspace to consider it at first; back then, all he’d been able to know was light and electricity and shuddering and pain and. . .Lisa’s words. 

Lisa’s words. 

The same thing that fueled Callum to escape his tomb was now guiding him to free Lisa from hers, all with the same amount of violent tremors and desperation.

It was poetic, honestly. 

Perhaps it would’ve been a bit more poetic if he didn’t have to get so filthy in the process.

Oh, well. He could take care of that later. (Besides, the stains on his clothes were nothing compared to the layers of grime and mold and fungus that had been caked all over him on that first, fateful night.)

Right now, unearthing his beloved without getting caught seemed like a much more important thing to focus on.

His grip was vicelike around the wooden handle as he threw one shovelful after another to the side.

Almost there, Callum thought. (If he could speak, he’d be repeating that mantra in a whisper like his life depended on it. Which. . .well, it logically didn’t, but it technically did. The same went for Lisa.) Almost there. 

He’d wanted to take her away sooner. He would’ve been perfectly fine with forcing her family to waste money on a casket. Really, what good was a casket if you buried it empty? 

But the distinct lack of a corpse would have just caused more problems. As dense as her family seemed to be, they’d still know that the shiny, glowing box (Lisa had called it a. . .tanning bed? If memory served?) wouldn’t have been capable of reducing a person to ashes no matter how dangerous it was. 

He knew she wasn’t dead. Not completely; not truly. Yes, the combination of electrical currents and fire may have worked its horrific magic on her body. . .but that magic just hadn’t followed through altogether as it probably should have. 

The way the bed had convinced foreign limbs to function as intended mere minutes after Lisa sewed them onto him. . .the way it had rejuvenated his centuries-dead flesh bit by bit. . .

It had some kind of similar effect on Lisa. The vast majority of her had died, but there was still a strong, stubborn ember of something in her that was very much determined to live. 

Callum knew that very well. He’d seen proof of it before being forced to flee from the fire.

But Lisa’s family didn’t. As far as they knew, she was gone and never coming back. So, if she just disappeared before they could bury her, then they’d have an excuse to try and track her down. And if that happened, neither she nor her husband would get another chance. . .

Callum ground his jaw, putting even more force behind the shovel. 

The hole grew deeper.

The pile of disturbed earth beside it grew bigger. 

The dull, scraping tempo of grave-robbery began to sound like hitching gasps and sobs.

Just as the clouds started ominously humming about their plans for the night, the shovel reverberated after finally, finally, finally striking something much more solid than dirt.

Callum tossed the tool aside in favor of getting down on his knees, now using his hands to clear away a blanket of finer, thinner soil. 

He hoped Lisa could hear him digging. (Though if that was the case, then the state of her brain could potentially make her think that the sounds were echoing from somewhere farther beneath her. Which would be. . .less than ideal, as Callum didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring her again. )

Even in his anxiety, he subconsciously shook his head. Lisa had taken him in and repaired him even after being initially terrified. Lisa trusted him, loved him; if she didn’t, then he never would have woken up in the first place.

More time passed, and a soft, cold gleam suddenly manifested in the darkness.

Glossy wood. 

The coffin’s upper door. 

Callum groped at the edge of it, tugging with all his strength.

An odd, warm feeling skittered up his spine and shook through his ribcage. 

A low creeeeaaak rattled through the air as the lid was pried open.

. . .And there she was.

___

Callum had always been a fast learner, and yet he still had no idea what to make of his pulse. 

It’d been extremely jarring when he’d first awoken. The days that followed, it was irregular. Sometimes he could feel it, sometimes he couldn’t. It was always soft—following more of a murmur than a steady beat—always irregular, barely there at all.

Right now, however, it both sounded and felt very far away. More present than it had been when he’d performed a highly unorthodox beheading on that stain of a man who’d upset Lisa. 

Hell, it almost seemed louder and stronger than it had been on the most recent evening he’d spent with Lisa; the one that saw the two of them embracing and reeling and dreaming together. . .

Everything else was a blur as he brought her to her new bed, carrying her like the bride she was. He had to move slowly, carefully, feeling more anxious and unwieldy than ever. 

Well, at least until he laid her down, making sure the pillow offered enough support for her neck.

After that, he was much, much more erratic.

He sprinted about the house, tearing almost every other room apart as he searched. It felt like several hours had passed by the time he finally found what he—what his beloved—needed: a white, sterile-looking container. He opened it, just to be certain, then tucked it under one arm and hurried back over to the bedroom.

Every square inch of Lisa’s body was blistered to hell and back, adorned by a network of puffy, angry-looking veins that, had her heart still been beating, would have more or less threatened to burst at any given moment. Red and raw, several sections on her arms, legs, and chest having peeled off to reveal glistening tissue.

Her mane of thick, curly auburn hair had been reduced to a few small, fried patches that clung to the charred flesh of her scalp with a strength similar to bubblegum and well-intentioned vibes. There was a possibility that she’d died with her eyes open, but the awful swelling of the skin around their sockets had sealed them shut. 

None of that mattered, of course. 

Lisa was still just as beautiful as when Callum had first met her. She always, always would be. 

. . .Even so, those injuries had to be dealt with. Despite what Lisa had said before about accepting a person’s flaws, Callum’s instincts told him she wouldn’t appreciate being left to resemble a puppet made of half-raw-half-cooked steaks.

Callum set the medical kit down on the nightstand, ferreting out generous rolls of gauze as he loomed over the side of the bed. 

The world finally seemed to slow back down as he got to work.

It didn’t take long for him to find a gentle, precise cadence as he wrapped bandage after bandage after bandage around his beloved’s form. Something in the back of his mind wondered if this was what spiders felt like when they spun strands of silk together to make their webs.

Although Lisa’s skin hadn’t been rendered translucent, the burns in some places went deep enough for Callum to catch a glimpse of her organs. Both of her lungs were blackened, seared, sunken. Her heart was equally misshapen, now boasting a similar appearance to a blob of melted wax, looking like it was seconds away from collapsing in on itself. 

But even as all the carnage was swallowed up by more strips of gauze, Callum could still see the heart twitch. The movement only lasted for half a second or so, but there was no doubting that it’d happened. . .

Lisa still had a chance. She would never be truly alive again, but she could still come back.

She couldn’t wake up by herself. . .but she wouldn’t have to.

He’d find a way to help, just as she’d done for him. 

Callum blinked for the first time all night, and his hands were suddenly free; he was suddenly sitting at the foot of the new bed.

Lisa was cloaked quite literally from head to toe in clean, snow-white bandages. It was like he'd made the perfect combination of shroud and wedding dress for her to wear.

The thought made a small smile tug at his lips. 

Then he shook his head.

He couldn’t relax just yet. There were other things to be taken care of right now. Two other things, to be specific. 

Callum got to his feet and crossed the new bedroom to quietly close the door. He ventured down a narrow hallway, peering at an assortment of unfamiliar pictures hanging on the walls around him. Disposing of them would probably be another chore for him later.

His footsteps sounded hollow and heavy as he descended the staircase. (Unlike Lisa’s former home, the floors of this house were all hardwood rather than carpet. True, they wouldn’t muffle noise very well, but it was still quite a lucky coincidence.) 

He’d found this house completely by accident, when he’d still been trying to follow Lisa’s path. 

Even with the remnants of that lightning bolt sparking in his stagnant blood, even with Lisa’s voice echoing through his resurrected mind, it’d still taken so much time for him to truly wake up. He grimaced at the thought of how long he’d had to crawl around the cemetery before he could stand upright. 

(And that wasn’t even mentioning the state his vision had been in. The layers of rancid slime and dirt clinging to his face had made everything around him blurry and distorted. The fact that his eyes were also full of maggots at the time certainly hadn’t helped.)

He’d had to wander the surrounding woods for hours and hours before he could finally walk. The rot in his bones had kept his movement slow and uneven, but a bad limp was still better than collapsing every other moment. 

Callum wasn’t sure how the house’s previous owners hadn’t seen or heard him that night. They certainly had a few hours ago, but that wasn’t a factor anymore. 

He crept into the living room, where he paced a few slow circles around the fresh corpse lying in the center of all the controlled chaos. The crimson splatters now adorning the floor, the walls, the sofa’s floral print almost seemed to glitter.

Another carcass could be found just a few feet away, sprawled across the wide threshold that led into the dining room. The face was obscured, as blood was still leaking out to add to a large puddle that continued to slowly spread, inch-by-inch. 

Callum folded his arms across his chest, drumming the nails of his replacement hand against his cheek. He remembered what Lisa had said when he’d silently begged her to help him find new parts; a contemplative murmur about there being bad people in the world. . .

Her relief and gratitude when he’d bludgeoned that horrible excuse for a mother to death.

Her cathartic happiness when he’d dismembered the scum who’d tried to put his filthy hands on her.

Her tearful joy when she eventually realized why he’d risked so much to take a particularly crucial piece from the ignoramus who’d dared to play with her emotions. . .

It had all been so wonderful to see.

Those victims had all hurt Lisa, and they likely would've hurt others as well. Their deaths wouldn’t be an actual loss to the community.

But this. . .

Lisa definitely wouldn’t have approved of this. Yes, she’d understand why Callum had done what he’d done; after everything they’d been through, of course the two of them needed a quiet place to stay, if only for a while until they found somewhere better. A place that was a fair distance from both the town and the cemetery. A place just like this.

But. . .

A raspy sigh escaped Callum’s lips. 

He'd work with more tact in the future. 

Once Lisa was awake, things would be better. He’d listen to her input. They would make important decisions together.

Callum’s eyes wandered about, eventually settling on the axe—the same one Lisa had taken from her father’s garage—he’d left propped up against the adjacent wall. It was slathered in gore, to the point that its wooden handle was just as red as the paint on its blade. 

He approached to pick it up, letting the weapon’s belly rest on his shoulder. Then he stooped down, using his free hand to take hold of the first corpse’s wrists. More of the floor was painted red as he dragged it into the kitchen. He retraced his steps to collect the second body, coming dangerously close to slipping on the blood as he hefted his victim onto the countertop.

The next hour or so was filled with dull thuds, with splintery pops and cra-A-a-cks, with the drip-drip-drip of thick fluid oozing down the lower cabinets and plopping onto the floor. 

The axe was too heavy to be the most precise tool, but it was still efficient. It only took a few good swings to sever limbs from torsos and heads from necks. 

Callum couldn’t bury either of these bodies. Not right away, at least. Fortunately, he soon discovered that there were more than enough black trash bags under the sink to work with. 

Lisa’s body obviously needed repair, but he wasn’t sure which repairs should come first. (He knew she’d require a new pair of eyes, but he didn’t want to risk forcing her current ones open just yet.) Would it be better to take off her old limbs and put new ones in their place, or to simply slice off layers of skin and attach a new barrier to her burnt flesh?

Wait and see, a voice in his head suggested. Callum nodded to himself; when Lisa was able to communicate again, he’d organize these plans with her. It was only right, after all. 

Callum set the axe down by the sink, now focusing on wrapping up the detached pieces of human in tight, layered cocoons that crinkled with every second. Packing all the bundles into the freezer and refrigerator in a way that kept them from sliding right back out was far more aggravating than he would’ve cared to admit, but he managed. 

He gave pause, however, when it came to the two remaining pieces. 

A pair of forearms, to be specific, with their hands still attached. 

One from each corpse. 

Something small and metallic glinted around the fourth finger on each of them. 

The first ring had a very simple design: just a smooth, golden band. 

The second ring, meanwhile, was silver, mounted with a shiny stone.

It wasn’t a diamond by any means. Callum couldn’t tell what kind of gem it was, honestly. But it was gorgeous—it’d been carved into a smooth, perfect orb. It reminded him of an ember at the heart of a firepit, boasting a graceful mix of orange and red with a few soft hints of yellow.

The colors reminded him of that one night. 

Callum shoved the forearms into hiding with all the other parts, the two rings now nestled in his palm. With that, he exited the kitchen, an unfamiliar spring in his step as he ventured back up the staircase. Yes, he still had an enormous bloody mess to clean up, but this took priority. 

His odd, partial heartbeat echoed in his ears as he re-entered the new bedroom and knelt down beside the bed. 

Slowly, delicately, Callum took one of Lisa’s hands in his. He pressed a small kiss to her bandaged knuckles before sliding the new ring onto her finger. 

It fit perfectly. Just like the gold ring did for him. 

As for the odd-yet-sweet candy loop he’d made do with for the original proposal. . .well, he decided to leave it on the nightstand. 

Just in case Lisa wanted to keep it when she woke up.

@mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @radisyn @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

[bewareblaire]

Green: Yan. Monoma Neito x Reader

a/n: i love my blond bitch /affectionate

cw: toxic behaviours, self harm, jealousy, possessiveness, manipulation.

It infuriated him. Knowing his darling, his possession, was with someone else. It ate him up inside, destroying what little patience he had left. He couldn't stand it. Monoma watched with a clenched fist around his fork. They were with her again- they always were! He couldn't get a single drop of attention these days. Left on read, ignored to hang out with that damned whore.

They were acting as though they were blissfully unaware of his feelings! Were they even thinking of him?? Ignoring him to sit a few tables down with her. They smiled, they laughed- He was the only one who should be able to do that! He missed her so much- it hurt. The sight of them together made his blood boil.

He wanted- no needed, them to come back. Monoma couldn't stand this- it was so wrong, so twistedly disgusting. The blond felt sick, desperate for their attention. He would kill himself if it meant his corpse could spend time with them- like good old times.

Monoma was stuck on the outside, a wedge driven between him and his darling. He had to do something. Anything to get them to choose him over her. His thoughts quickly spiraled out of control, a fleeting thought of killing that whore. That'd solve the problem. Tying them down and dumping bug after bug down their throat- pouring water into their mouth to force them to swallow the live insects. It'd show her how much he was suffering without his love- how angry he was.

Monoma had the urge to wrap his hands around the neck of his beloved and squeeze. He wanted to hold that pressure until they didn't pay attention to anyone anymore. Until they were limp and lifeless. But he quickly shook those thoughts away- no. No, his darling was much too precious. He loved them. He couldn't kill them.

It's too risky to kill anyone. The voice of reason came back. Monoma would get caught. It dwindled down- all rationale leaving. A flare of jealousy and possessiveness spiked upwards. That damned whore placed her filthy hands on his property. She laughed obnoxiously, trying to be cute. He wanted to vomit.

The rest of the day went by too slowly for Monoma. Most of it was spent much too quiet for his classmates' standards, although he couldn't help but be in a horrid mood. He plotted, thinking of ways to lure his darling back to him. And at the end of the day, he finally figured out what he had to do.

The pictures of his once pristine and milky thighs- now lined with superficial cuts- got his darling running back quickly. Monoma almost forgot to put up the distraught act, latching onto them. The crocodile tears were just that- insincere. Although, he could cry from joy. Monoma was finally the center of their attention again!

He had felt so utterly alone, so angry and tortured without their presence. And now they were reunited! The tears in their eyes, the concern and worry- he almost got drunk off of it. Monoma spilled all of his artificial reasons, letting it slip that he had felt so alone and abandoned. 

Monoma didn't have to convince his darling to stay with him that night. He cuddled right up to them with a grin. That whore wasn't a problem anymore.

[pieman1112]

Life can be quite unexpected and by making just one different choice when it counted can make long lasting chances for better and for worse. As Countess Josephine was cleaning her grandparents’ grave nearby her grandfather’s old manor, she updated her family about the events that happened. “Who would have thought an annoying voice in my head telling me to ‘Get Rinea and Berkut out of the tower’ would change my life so much. Did you know I actually saved Rinea? I also saved Berkut but he was not too happy being carried by Hunter. The look on Fernand’s face as we ran out of there was hilarious, but one yell from me got him moving as well.” She gave a small chuckle. “When we got outside Alm and his friends were so shocked but then those terrors showed up so we had to battle them first. Hunter took those terrors down with no problem and Alm and his friends were happy we weren’t trying to fight them. I did get to talk to them and had Hunter join the deliverance to defeat Jedah. Berkut was not happy about this at all since Hunter was in the Rigel army, but honestly there were way bigger problems to face. I told Berkut that he needed to have a serious long conversation with Rinea about their relationship. So, while my beloved was off saving the world, I had to deal with getting Fernand to an infirmary, a couple that needs better communications skills, and then we find out that Emperor Rudolf is dead which really made things worse.” She always did talk had a habit of talking to family’s graves to make herself miss them slightly less.

“I don’t know all of the details but Jedah got killed and Hunter got to stab him. Oh, and apparently Duma looked like a walking corpse himself and Alm got to kill him from what Hunter told me. So yeah, lot of stuff happened huh? Oh, and since Alm is Rudolf’s son, he’s the new emperor and oh boy that was hard for Berkut to deal with at first.” She moved to clean her Aunt Edith’s grave. “It took some months, but I think Berkut and Rinea got their life sorted out. They have property nearby now so I get to visit them. Hunter is in the new Valentia military but they have him stationed close so he can always come home after work. You know my father finally approved of Hunter fully because he helped the new emperor. So, I will be getting married soon, but not sure where I want the wedding to take place as of yet.” She got up looking at her handy work. Not a bad job and it looked better now.

The sound of familiar footsteps made her realize who was approaching. “Hunter! You came to get me? That’s sweet to you.” She said as she gave him a quick kiss on the lips before looking at the graves. “Well, we better get back to the manor. I’ll come back to visit. Love you always.” She gently touched the tombstones of her grandparents and aunt before taking the path back the manor with her beloved. “Can you believe it’s been about a year since the war ended? Everything just seems to be getting better with time.” It had been about a year since those events happened and the manor had been looking a lot better than it once did. “I know it is my manor now, but it’s still hard to see it that way.” It had been the beloved summer home of her grandparents after all, but her grandfather wanted her to have it. “How was work today at the base?” She knew being in the army was something her father wanted of Hunter, but she knew it might be a while before he could retire.

If you were to tell Hunter that he would have been serving in a medieval army and fighting dragons and other such mystical creatures then he would have called you crazy. Reality was stranger than fiction however and that is exactly how his life became after leaving the UNSC to be with his beloved Josephine. So much had happened in the short time he arrived in this new land. He and Josephine had taken Rinea and Berkut out of Duma Tower and while Rinea went along, Berkut needed some more ‘convincing’. Like a parent carrying their screaming child out of a public area, Hunter had essentially hoisted Berkut over his shoulder and carried him out kicking and screaming. 

Then was when he had to fight the priest Jedah with Alm and his army. As part of the plan to marry Josephine he had to join the army. Originally he felt like he was betraying the UNSC but this army wasn’t going to be in competition with the UNSC and it didn’t really seem like it would be in the future so it alleviated some of his worry. It took him some time to get accustomed to the reduced mobility of the knight armor compared to the Mjolnir armor. He had to remember that he wasn’t going to be as invincible this time round but he still had his augmentations to rely on. It was his augmentations that allowed him to get close to Jedah and stab him. His enhanced reflexes allowed him to evade Jedah’s defenses and when a soldier stood in his way, his enhanced strength allowed him to push through the soldier entirely.

It had been a year since those events and Hunter had made some progress up the army’s ranks. He had just finished for the day and was heading to the manor that Josephine was at. This army had similar things to the UNSC military which was amusing to Hunter. Even with the drastic change in technology there was always the pull of bureaucracy. Files to document and sign. Logistic forms that needed to be filled. He never realized how much harder it was to get without the use of computers.

Entering the cemetery, Hunter was able to find Josephine just by following the sound of her voice. He leaned down a little to receive the kiss that Josephine was offering.

“Hello my love, I heard you talking out here on my way back and figured I would just meet you out here.”

Walking back to the manor with her, he would look over to her after asking her question. His hand gently grabbing hers to hold as they walk back.

“It’s hard to believe we have been at peace for so long. I just hope that it will last. It will come in time, all we need to do is touch up the manor a little bit and it will be better than you remember. As for work it was pretty much the same. Mostly filling out logistic requests for supplies and training the new recruits. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed the systems we had back in the UNSC ha ha.”

@devotedrigelianflower

[guardianofrivendell]

Gentlemen in Distress (request)

Legolas x reader x Fellowship

Requested: Yes! @galileostyles​ asked “hey i love your writing so much ❤️ could you do a legolas x reader x fellowship where they see you fighting for the first time at the mines of moria and feel bad for underestimating you. thanks ❤️”

Warnings: men being men

A/N: This was harder than I thought! I wrote it a first time last week but then I realized it was too similar to an upcoming chapter of ‘Perfect Secrets’, so I had to delete and start all over again. Enjoy and let me know what you think! I live for comments/reblogs :) 

(I absolutely love this gif. It practically screams testosteron! If I was standing near an Orc at this moment I would take its arm and wound it around my neck myself, and gladly take up the role of damsel in distress. Yes please!)

The fellowship halted before the gates of Moria.  You were relieved to be out of the snow, but dreaded the upcoming journey through Moria. You knew why Gandalf hesitated to go through them, shivering at the thought of what could happen. Legolas’ eyes met yours, but he looked the other way when he saw you staring back. You rolled your eyes, knowing you had to have a serious word with your beloved Elf. 

While Gandalf tried to figure out how to crack the password after two unsuccesful attempts, you made your way towards Legolas. It felt like days since you two spoke to each other.  He didn’t look up when you sat down next to him. You sighed, kicking the sand with the heel of your boot.

“Are you still cross with me?” you asked, already knowing the answer. He pursed his lips, as if he was actually considering it. But then he rose to his feet and went to Aragorn and Sam.  “Guess that’s a yes,” you muttered.  Merry and Pippin let themself drop down at your feet. You heard Gandalf yelling at poor Pippin a few moments before and he still looked a bit shaken.  “Still mad at you?” Merry asked. You nodded. “He has every right to be, my lady,” Boromir interrupted. You didn’t know he had been eavesdropping.  “And why is that?” you asked him. “This journey is no place for a woman. When we fight, we do not have the time to protect you as well. He only wants to keep you safe.” You rolled your eyes again. “How many times do I have to say that I can take care of myself? I know how to fight!” “Training or taking part in a battle is not the same thing. If you were mine, I would have tied you to a chair to make sure you didn’t join us.” “That’s why ‘if’ is the keyword, Boromir,” you reminded him.  

You could hear Frodo shout something, and the doors to Moria finally opened.  Everyone got to their feet and entered the mines.  Legolas made his way up front with Gandalf and Frodo, while you lingered towards the back of the group. If he wanted to ignore you, so be it. You wouldn’t fret about it anymore. He’ll come around eventually. 

The reason of your falling out was quite simple. Legolas had forbidden you to go along on the journey, after you volunteered at the Council of Elrond, following his example. Yes, that’s right. He forbade you. Like you were his property.  Not that he could have convinced you not to go, but you might have listened to reason. But as soon as he said that damned word, your mind was set. You were going, even if that meant you had to end your relationship because of it.  And ever since you left Rivendell with the fellowship, Legolas had given you the cold shoulder. He hardly talked to you and chose to walk alongside everyone but you.  When the Crebain flew over in Eregion, it hadn’t been Legolas who pulled you under the rocks but Aragorn. At that moment you realized he truly was angry at you. What you failed to notice was the worried expression Legolas wore the entire time, cursing himself for not being anywhere near you to pull you to safety. He had thanked Aragorn extensively afterwards. He vowed to himself to never make that mistake again. 

When you entered the mines, you could hear Gimli boasting about his cousin and the hospitality they were about to recieve.  You felt the darkness closing in around you, you really didn’t like this place.  “This is no mine, it’s a tombe!” You heard Boromir exclaim. It was only then you realised the cracking sound beneath your feet wasn’t the sound of branches breaking or gravel. You were literally walking on dead bodies.  Legolas pulled an arrow out of a corpse.  “Goblins!” he hissed. He notched an arrow on his bow and instinctively took a few steps towards you. You were too busy trying to avoid stepping on another dead Dwarf that you didn’t notice.

Boromir yelled something about the Gap of Rohan, but a movement outside of the gates caught your attention. Out of the water came a long tentacle, slowly sliding over the ground towards Frodo. Before you could warn him, it grabbed his leg and dragged him out of the mines.  Sam cried to Aragorn for help, alerting everyone else. They all ran outside and tried to cut off the tentacles with their swords. Boromir had been able to free Frodo, but the giant squidlike creature wasn’t giving up very easily.  “Y/N! Go back inside, take the Hobbits with you!” Aragorn yelled.  Seriously? You were not a babysitter! Why did they have such a hard time believing you could hold your own? Aragorn, Gimli and Boromir kept slicing the tentacles, but the creature didn’t back off. Legolas shot arrow after arrow, to no avail. They needed help. “Quick, give me a sword or a dagger, anything!” you yelled, eager to join the fight. “No!” Legolas yelled, shooting an arrow in the squid’s left eye. “Go back into the mines!” “Oh, now you can talk to me!” You felt someone grab your arm, trying to pull you back. You shook them off before you turned around and saw it was Merry, immediately swallowing the insult that had been on your tongue. “Into the mines, hurry!” Gandalf shouted, when he realised this was a fight they could not win. You followed the others back into the mine, barely escaping the falling rocks when the entrance collapsed. 

*

After a few days of walking through Moria, you had reached the Chamber of Mazarbul.  Legolas still wasn’t talking to you, now upset you hadn’t listened to him with the squid situation, but you knew he was going to give in at any moment. You had caught him staring multiple times, his hands twitching to take yours when you walked next to each other.  Gimli cried over the loss of Balin. You placed your hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. He gave you a grateful nod.  You heard Gandalf reading aloud from a book he’d found, and the words he spoke made your hairs stand up.  A sudden clang sounded through the chamber, and you saw Pippin standing by a well. He had managed to knock the head off a corpse, and the body of the fallen warrior followed seconds later. Gandalf shouted at him for being so careless. “Don’t worry Pippin, he’s under a lot of stress. He doesn’t mean it,” you tried to ease the tension between them. But then the drumbeats had started…  “Orcs!” Boromir and Aragorn ran to the door and barricaded it with anything they could find on the ground.  “They have a cave troll,” Boromir laughed sarcastically. 

“Y/N! Take the Hobbits and go to the back of the chamber! Stay behind Gandalf!” Aragorn shouted. “No! I want to fight! You can use my help,” you yelled angrily. You weren’t going to stand helpless at the sidelines again. Not this time. “Meleth nin,” Legolas spoke to you, his jaw clenched. “Could you please listen to us for once? I only want to keep you safe!” He cupped your face with his hands, and kissed your lips. “I could not live with myself if you got hurt.” The Orcs started to hack through the heavy wooden doors with their axes.  “Go!” he growled at you, and you were so surprised at his reaction that you obeyed. 

You had gathered the Hobbits and hidden yourself on the second level, behind the pillars to keep you out of sight.  The men had no problem with the Orcs, slaying every single one who crossed the wooden doors. But then a loud growl resounded through the chamber, and the cave troll entered, shattering the remains of the door with his mace. A curse escaped you, this was entirely different than fighting against Orcs. The troll immediately made its way to Legolas. The skin was too thick, Legolas’ arrows bounced off of it.  He barely avoided a hit with the mace, and you started to get worried. 

Suddenly the troll spotted you and the Hobbits, and with a screech he ran towards you.  It swung its mace and you grabbed Frodo, yelling at the other Hobbits to go the other way, hoping it would chase you to keep them safe.  Aragorn and Boromir took the chain hanging from its neck and pulled at it with all their might, trying to distract it and buy you and Frodo some time to get yourselves to safety. Legolas and Gimli were too busy with the remaining Orcs. The troll swung its mace at them, and with one powerful blow he threw Boromir across the room into the wall. He landed with a thump on the ground, unconscious.  “No!” you screamed, which caught the creature’s attention. He charged at you again, and you shoved Frodo behind you.  The troll roared in pain when Aragorn threw a spear at him, piercing his back. Aragorn soon suffered the same fate as Boromir. Your eyes went to Boromir, who was slowly regaining his consciousness, to Legolas who was shooting arrows at the troll again in the hope to find a weak spot, and back to Aragorn, who lay lifeless on the ground. They were losing this battle… You couldn’t stay there and do nothing! Even Sam was fighting against the last Orcs with his frying pan of all things, but it was effective. They only had to find a way to defeat the cavetroll. And you knew how.

“Stay here!” you said to Frodo, shoving him in the corner. You jumped of the landing and took two Orc swords from the ground. “Y/N, no!” Legolas cried at you. But you already listened once today, and that was more than enough. You ran around the troll, hacking your swords in its legs. It cried out in pain, and was now really pissed off at you.  “Y/N, Lassie, leave this to us!” Gimli shouted.  “Yes, because you’re doing so great!” you yelled back. The troll swung at you with its mace, and it smacked to the ground right in front of you. Perfect timing, you thought and you jumped on top of it, and nimbly ran up his arm towards his shoulder. It tried to smack you off of him, but you were faster, slicing his shoulder and upper back.  You sat down, and swung your arms around his neck, effectively slicing his throat with both swords. The troll made a gargling sound and fell face forward to the ground. You jumped off his back, twirling the swords in a cocky way.

The whole fellowship looked at you in surprise.  “That was amazing!” Merry and Pippin yelled at you, engulfing you in a hug. “Excellent fighting skills!” Boromir complimented. “I’m sorry we doubted you.” The others couldn’t agree more. Legolas however stayed silent. “Are you okay?” you asked him. He scoffed. “You’re asking me if I’m okay? No, Y/N. I’m not! You didn’t listen and put yourself in danger. I had a dozen heart attacks while you fought that troll!” You stared at the ground. He lifted your chin with his hand, and he pressed his lips against yours. “But you have proven to me that you can stand your ground.” You smiled at that. “Does that mean I can have one of your swords?” “Absolutely not!”

A/N: I’m still not that good with endings, but you get the idea! 

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 2

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1      Part 3     Part 4    Part 5

The Joker feels your hand searching around and he knows what you’re looking for: the yellow teddy bear.

“Here Pumpkin,” J gives you the toy that landed on the other side of the bed during the night; a couple minutes pass and his cheek is covered in soft kisses. He opens one eye and you instantly pretend to be asleep.

“I’m onto you, Y/N!” The King of Gotham sneers while you giggle at his affirmation. But as soon as he pecks the scar on your collarbone, your attitude changes.

“No…”, you whimper and cover your face with the sheets.

“I told you before I don’t care about scars,” The Joker tries to reason with you because it happens each time he touches the numerous stitch marks scattered all over your frame: some are deeper lacerations perfectly normal after the surgeries you sustained, others are cuts that might diminish in a few months. “Princess, are you listening?” J traces the lesion on your wrist.

Y/N is so stiff though he has to fight in order to pull the covers away from her.

“Hey…hey… See? I have scars too,” The Clown attempts to distract you. “Are you having a panic attack? No need to!”

You try to keep up with what he’s saying and it’s pretty difficult giving the circumstances; at least you do understand J is making you relax.

His cell phone starts vibrating on the nightstand and he reaches for it.

“Perfect timing, Frost!” The Joker takes his frustration on Jonny. “What do you want?!!”

The short conversation ends fast with The King yelling a bunch of angry stuff, including an interesting grand finale: “Next time you interrupt when I’m on a roll struggling to get laid, maybe you’d like to intervene and convince Y/N her scars don’t bother me!!!”

Why is he mad?...

You watch him toss the phone on the floor and crawl by him, intrigued.

“Upset?” you begin caressing his hair with the teddy bear’s paw.

“My throne won’t be ready until June, Princess! I requested that fancy chair for a reason and paid a fortune to have it customized! What am I supposed to use at the club?! I don’t like the old furniture anymore!!”

You already lost track of what he’s saying: something about not having a throne???… … …

Oh, there’s one really close by!

You grab The Joker’s arm and drag him out of bed towards the bathroom.

“Where are we going?” he inquires, confused.

You quickly guide him to the toilet, making J sit on the closed lid.

“Throne,” you point at the porcelain bowl and The King of Gotham frowns, immediately bursting into laughter afterwards.

“You’re brilliant, Pumpkin! Brilliant!” he praises your interpretation as you are pulled on his knees.

“Hm?”

“You’re a clever Kitten and whoever says otherwise is an idiot! Turns out I do have a throne,” he admits and gropes you.

Too much for your brain to decipher all his sentences, yet Mister J seems content and that’s enough for you.

“The plan for this morning is simple,” he continues. “We’ll have sex, then take a shower and whatnot, then eat breakfast. Later I have a meeting; you just stay here and wait for me, alright?”

“Mmm…” you hesitantly process the words coming out of his mouth, opting to agree for his sake. “Ok?”

“You naughty girl,” he pulls down on your tank top spaghetti strap. ”I know you hate me sometimes, but in the end can’t resist my charm.”

“No hate… Love,” you snuggle to J while he walks back into the bedroom carrying the sweet burden of his existence; of course he ignored your statement because why would he pay attention to nonsense?

*************

You’re outside the car and sulk when Alice sneaks on the passenger’s seat that literally belongs to The Queen.

“Stay here, Princess. I won’t be too long,” The Joker mutters.

“W-why?” you ask since you are not a fan of the idea of having your boyfriend’s ex riding alone with him.

“You get bored at meetings,” he explains. “Circle the property and let the boys know if you need anything,” J emphasizes and drives down the path leading to the gates, leaving a puzzled Y/N behind: you never liked Alice and that didn’t vanish after the accident.

“Bye, Y/N!” she shouts and you can’t make a lot of sense of what you’re feeling, still one detail is certain: it hurts.

How come you couldn’t go?! Why didn’t he give you a choice?! He always does.

If The Joker thinks you can’t put two and two together these days, he’s very wrong.

“Y/N recovered quite nicely,” Alice smirks.

The King of Gotham sighs and she fixes a rebel strand of green hair rebelliously flying over his ear.

“I was wondering if you’ll call me at one point. I missed you, babe.”

“Did ya’?” he scoffs at her bold confession; but she’s a direct person, one of the qualities J admired when they were an item.

“I can’t image how you two function; I mean… her unfortunate transformation, it must be hard for you to put up with someone fighting to comprehend the easiest tasks.”

“It’s not easy,” The Clown admits and gazes at her: Alice dolled up for their rendezvous. Everything he considers attractive is there: beautiful pair of legs popping from under the short skirt, his favorite perfume discretely lingering on her flawless skin, the tip of the purple lace bra she’s wearing casually showing each time the woman leans forward.

“I bet,” Alice pretends to sympathize with his problems. “A man like you has needs that I’m positive Y/N can’t even remember how to satisfy,” she pats his thigh, slowly working her way to his crotch.

The Joker chuckles, accomplice with her insinuations, also super annoyed when his phone rings.

“Yes?” he promptly answers.

“Sir,” Frost reports, ”we have a situation; Y/N is increasingly agitated and…”

“Deal with it!” he hangs up and strives to cruise straight despite the sexy distraction urging him to do otherwise.

“Why did we split?” she scoots closer to him, pouting.

“Beats me,” J purrs as she squeezes her fingers in his pants’ pocket.

“What’s this?” Alice rattles the small plastic pouch.

“Y/N’s anti-inflammatory drug; there’s not much that can be done now and this is helping with the blood clot pressing on her frontal lobe. The doctors say it will reabsorb; granted it won’t matter regarding her cognitive impairment.”

“Awww,” The Joker’s past flame pretends to be affected by his briefing. “That’s too bad, babe; probably the future is not too bright…” she shoves your pills in the glove compartment. “Why don’t we reconcile? You know I’d do anything for you,” the flirtatious tone makes J reply:

“Would you jump in front of a speeding car like Y/N did to save me?”

“Ha! I would,” she elbows him, snickering at his antiques.

“Prove it then,” J growls. “Get out of the vehicle and don’t flinch if I run you over. If you survive, I’ll take you back!”

Alice opens her mouth in amazement and the SUV halts before The King reprises driving.

“Got cha’!” he cracks up at her baffled reaction.

“For God’s sake, babe! You scared me!” she playfully pinches him and teases: “Are we going to our spot?”

“I was wondering when you’ll notice,” The Joker navigates the unpaved road guiding the automobile towards Clear Sky Summit.

“Pull over,” Alice urges him and he complies at once. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” she moans climbing on his lap. “I can tell you missed me too,” the woman grins at his body’s response.

“That’s my gun,” J buries his face in the revealing cleavage, firmly holding her waist.

“I bet it is, babe,” she winks while unbuttoning his silver shirt. “I love you!” she tries to bite him and he violently yanks her long hair, snarling.

“Is that why you tried to kill me?”

Alice cautiously exhales, a bit nervous at the switch in his demeanor.

“What are you talking about?!”

“Who was driving the car meant to hit me, huh? Tinted windows, no license plate.”

“Babe, you’re hurting me,” she winces in pain at his strong grip. “I swear I don’t know anything!”

“Are you sure?” J sniffs her scent.

“Yes I’m sure! I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our…”

“Our what? What exactly our means in this context? We separated more than two years ago!” The Joker crushes her spine against the wheel.

“Babe, let go!” Alice wiggles in his tight embrace.

“Why did you do it? Were you jealous I found a new fling? Took me months to track the culprit!!!” J restricts her movement when she stretches to open the door. “You fucked up my girl!” his hands forcefully twist her neck and the snapping noise of fractured bone halts the argument.

The Joker pushes the corpse off him, numb to the murder he committed out of pure rage: what’s another name added to the list?

Yet… this was personal.

He keeps staring at the trees surrounding the trail without discerning their shape. 30 minutes pass and the phone’s alarm alerts him it’s time for your remedy: The Clown Prince of Crime is so out of it he doesn’t stop it until he’s on the main road.

He speeds up to ensure a timely arrival at the mansion where Y/N will definitely confront him after being abandoned in such fashion: the truth is he doesn’t mind.

What he does mind though is that no matter what happens, Y/N will never be her former self.

***************

The Joker parks in front of the villa and hops out of the car, barking instructions at the goons patrolling the area:

“I want this gone!” he gestures at the cadaver crammed under the front seat. “Where’s Y/N?”

“In the garage, boss” Frost indicates. “You should know that…”

“I got it! I got it!” J waves and sprints towards your destination.

Nothing prepared him for the carnage.

“Holy… … shit!!!” he inhales at the shocking landscape depicting all five of his most beloved vehicles mauled to pieces: broken windows, scraped paint, karoseri indents…a whole mess!

Bam!!! You smash the rearview mirror of his favorite Ferrari with the baseball bat.

“What are you doing, Pumpkin????!!!!” J screams, aggravated.

Oh, he’s back!

“Y-you like her??!!” The Queen redirects her wrath. “B-because she’s smart??!!”

“Who? Alice?” he quizzes for no reason whatsoever: The Joker’s aware of the reply.

“Wh-where did you go, hm?” you point the wood weapon at the man taking you for a fool; you try not to stutter but it’s impossible with the strained neurons firing up a storm inside an already troubled brain.

“Nowhere, I killed her.”

“Hm?”

“I killed Alice!” The Joker raises his voice and watches you squint your eyes, a clear hint you’re analyzing his disclosure. “Look what you did, Princess! Are you happy now??” he finds the perfect opportunity to divert the outcome of the mayhem he actually created: J repeatedly learned this is the best strategy.

“U-hum,” you serenely admit since you’re indeed pleased with the results of your rampage.

The two parties glare at each other in silence and The Joker grabs the yellow teddy bear resting on a nearby hood, proposing truce before you bash something else:

“I’ll trade you the fur ball for your bat.”

Yikes, you’re reluctant to his treaty: further distraction is required.

“My collection is destroyed, Pumpkin!” The Joker approaches with the toy he stole for you on your first date. “Who we’re gonna call on such short notice to fix all this crap?!!”

Oh, you know this one! You and Mister J watch the movie on a regular basis.

“Mmm… Ghost Busters?” Y/N innocently suggests.

He puckers his lips at the astonishing proposal and it takes a lot of effort not to laugh.

“That’s brilliant, Y/N! Best idea I heard all week!” The Joker proudly compliments your intuition. “You’re a clever Kitten and whoever says otherwise is a moron!” he swiftly snatches the baseball from your grasp and replaces it with the teddy bear.

He rolls the weapon by the closest tire, signaling you to follow.

“Come on, Pumpkin, it’s time for your med. Why are you limping? Is your knee hurting again?”

“U-hum.”

“Serves you right for going rogue!” he scolds. “Com’ere,” J lifts you up, placing your legs around his midsection. “I expect apologies by the way!”

“No,” you sniffle while dangling the toy with one arm.

“Pain in the ass!” he huffs and you kiss him. “This is not an apology!” The Joker spanks you butt.

“Mine,” you cuddle to his shoulder, totally blocking his grouchiness.

“Yeah, yeah, yours,” J grumbles heading for the elevator. “So this is how the rest of today will unfold, Y/N: I’ll be mad until evening time, then we’ll have makeup sex and dinner, the last two not necessarily in the same order. And you’re not going to freak out when I touch your scars, OK?”

“Mmm…OK?”

“Why is that a question?” The Joker continues bickering. “You have other prospects? Boyfriends I should know about? Are you even listening?”

“U-hum,” you poke J’s star tattoo. “No… freaking out.”

“Fair enough,” he compromises and lifts you higher on his hips when you cling to him: selective perception is infinitely better than none. “Is this Pink Blossoms?”

“Yes,” you nod at the familiar brand you use all the time.

The King of Gotham smells his favorite perfume in the air, reckoning he wouldn’t enjoy it if another woman wears it for him.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and Ao3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[peppymint1986]

Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing

Things have been a little stressful the last few weeks which has meant a lot less time doing my hobbies.  But, I have decided it is time to buckle down and start writing again.  

Acquainted With The Night: Chapter One

A pair of dark brown eyes snapped open as their owner was abruptly awakened from peaceful dreams.  Outside his modest home, the flowers whispered of unfamiliar footsteps.  Even more concerning, none of the properties other wards had so much as twinged.  His lips formed a grim line, Hashirama turning over to gently wake his wife, shushing her with a finger over her lips.  

Mito did not ask any foolish questions.  The sight of her husband’s face in the moonlight was all the direction she needed and they had planned for this.  Sliding silently out of the bed, the enchantress slipped a pair of tessen into her robe before ghosting down the hall towards their young son’s room.  

As for Hashirama, he needed no weapons.  While the druid preferred to spend his time tending his gardens and healing those in need, the truth was, he was a weapon.  And woe betide anyone who threatened those he loved.  He had learned many years ago what happened to those who could not defend themselves.  In this case, though, it was unnecessary.  

“It is me Anija,” a well loved voice called out from the kitchen.

Relaxing, Hashirama strode forward.  Snapping his fingers to ignite the lamps his beloved wife had crafted.  “It is alright Mito,” he called up the stairs.  “It is just my brother.”  Stepping into the kitchen the elder Senju smiled in welcome.  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

There was no reason to ask why Tobirama had snuck in like a thief in the dead of night.  The demon hunter had made far too many enemies throughout his career to lead them back to his family.  Oh it was known he was a Senju, but the clan of a thousand skills was known to wander far and wide.  It was perhaps the one way his unusual looks had ever held him in good stead.  Instead Tobirama just shrugged.  “I did not want to disturb your rest.”  

Perhaps another would not have seen the unasked question in the albino’s features but Hashirama did.  “It was the new flowers,” he stated.  A rare breed which bloomed overnight rather than under the sun’s rays.  “Do you like them?”

As though Tobirama would ever object to something that kept his family safe.  The two surviving brothers had learned that lesson the hard way.  He opened his mouth to say so only to be cut off by Hashirama’s gasp of dismay.

“You’re hurt!”

Rolling his eyes, Tobirama allowed himself to be manhandled into a chair.  It wasn’t that bad, barely more than a scratch.  Not to mention that he had already treated it with one of his brother’s salves.  

“What caused this?” Hashirama asked hands lighting up as he called upon his healing powers.

Tobirama rolled his eyes as he let his brother work.  “Just a little scuffle with Uchiha Izuna.”  Nothing unusual.  Truth be told he had no true quarrel with the Vampire Clan.  At least, not since Tajima’s well deserved death a decade before.  Those who remained after the internal purge following their patriarch’s destruction rarely killed without reason; and never, ever children.  It had been years since he had purposely hunted an Uchiha, and that one had been banished from the clan.  

Honestly Tobirama was of the opinion that Izuna’s whole problem with him stemmed from Madara.  As for Madara himself, well to be truthful the Senju had no idea what was going on there.  His path crossed with the Vampire Lord’s far too often for it to be merely a coincidence.  Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about that.  He had tried.  

Nodding to his sister-in-law as Mito slipped into the room, Tobirama decided he had let his brother fuss over him long enough.  “It is healed Anjia,” he flexed the limb.  “You see.”

“But I might have missed something,” Hashirama objected.  

“You didn’t.”  There wasn’t even a scar.

“But.”

“Hashirama.”

The druid pouted as he looked into the other’s crimson eyes.  “Can you blame me for being worried?” he asked.  “I just wish you would . . .”

“Are we really going to fight about this again brother,” Tobirama interrupted.  He had made his decision long ago.

For a moment the warmth drained out of dark brown eyes as Hashirama remembered the tragedy of that long ago day.  The day he had found one of his younger brother’s kneeling next to the corpses of the other two.  “I know Tobirama,” he whispered.  “It is just.”

Tobirama leaned forward to gently squeeze his brother’s shoulder.  “I understand Anija, and I will do my best to be careful.”  Ultimately though, he would promise no more than that.

Hope you enjoyed and please comment.  You never know what might cause inspiration to strike.

[ulyssesredux]

Lotus Eaters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am prepared to offer proof if necessary.

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

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

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

Great weapon in their stomachs.

Once on Earth or in the hour of conflict.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That so?

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

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

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

I suppose?

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

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

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

Maximum the second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chloroform.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Common pin, eh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Easier to enlist and drill.

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

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

For all time and space, or the second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could hear a pin drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paradise and the massboy stood up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clever of nature. Eunuch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mrs Ellis's.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was time?

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

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

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

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

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