#sometimes I put my heart and soul into drawing hands sometimes they are just blobs it is what it is

[dyerink]

dumpster battle had peak kenhina peak kuroken AND beautiful kurodai crumbs… dare I say peak overall

[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

ppl that asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @cryptkeepersoul @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul

ppl that did not ask no ma’am no sir: @ergotautology @dindjarindiaries @pascalplease​

again, you can join/leave my taglist here :)

[funkylittlebard]

The Right Inspiration

A N O T H E R

and this time it's bards bc why tf not they're pretty together

Here on Ao3

Rating: Teen

No CWs, but some tags: Painting, Fluff, Established Relationship, Bards, Artist Dandelion, AU - Modern Setting

Jaskier/ Dandelion being pretty below

Dandelion sighed, dropping his pencil onto his desk with a clatter. He folded his arms, frowning petulantly across the room at Jaskier. His boyfriend was lounging on their sofa, arms crossed behind his head in a way that made his biceps bulge. He was smirking at Dandelion, definitely aware of the effect he was having on the other man.

“It’s impossible, Jaskier!” Dandelion cried, pouting a little more. He shook his head, sending his blond curls flying over his shoulders and into his face. “I can’t get the shapes right!”

Jaskier giggled. “You’re so dramatic, Dandy. You’ve said that three times already.” As he spoke, he flexed his arm muscles, and Dandelion found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of them.

“Bastard,” he muttered, reaching for his pencil again. Jaskier fluttered his eyelashes, blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

“See, you just needed the right inspiration,” Jaskier said and shifted in place again. Dandelion stared at him as he moved, noticing the way that the sunlight danced over the other man’s face, making the highlight he had applied that morning shimmer in the rays peeking through their blinds.

Dandelion’s jaw dropped. The makeup was a soft shade of pink and when caught in the sunlight, it looked more like glitter sprinkled across Jaskier’s cheeks. Dandelion caught his lip between his teeth, the pencil held tightly in his hand now completely forgotten. Jaskier shifted again and his lips parted with a quiet contented sigh. Dandelion couldn’t decide where to look- the blissful expression on the man’s face, his strong arms, his long, slender legs...

“Dandy.”

Dandelion startled, blinking rapidly, and turned back to his sketchbook, willing his blush to fade.

“What?” he asked as he finally turned back to his sketch and began to draw in some lines. The pencil glided across the page as he blocked out the general shape of his boyfriend’s pose. He looked up again, to check the form his drawing was taking, and found Jaskier gazing at him fondly.

“You’re adorable when you’re focussed, darling. Scrunched up little nose, I just want to kiss it,” Jaskier said.

Dandelion could feel his blush returning at full force. He stood up, abandoning his art for the moment. He ambled over to the sofa and leant down to press a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s lips, before sitting back on his heels.

“I know I said to wear something nice, but you’ve really outdone yourself, my dear,” Dandelion said as he pulled Jaskier’s hand into his, rubbing the knuckles gently. Dandelion lifted Jaskier’s hand and kissed it. Jaskier smiled at him, and the grin was astonishingly pretty. Dandelion felt his heart stutter out of pace in his chest and he squeezed Jaskier’s hand tightly.

Leaning in to press another kiss to his boyfriend’s shimmering cheeks, Dandelion stood up and picked his sketchbook back up.

For the better part of the next hour, Dandelion sketched, erased, and re-sketched the same section of his artwork, interspersed with increasingly irritated sighs, he found himself trapped in a cycle- sketch a part of Jaskier’s face, look up to check his progress, become distracted admiring Jaskier, then look down, discover he had ruined the shape in his distraction, and repeat. Simply put, staring at Jaskier’s pretty little face was proving incredibly distracting from his goal of drawing said pretty little face.

He groaned and dropped his pencil, putting his head in his hands. If he couldn’t even finish the sketch, how on earth was he going to manage when he had to pick out the exact shade of blue for Jaskier’s eyes? He just wanted this piece to be perfect.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, willing himself not to cry. This was meant to be fun, not stressful, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath and looked back down at his page. Overall, the sketch wasn’t bad, maybe lacking in a few of the finer details, but he could work with this, he could, he reminded himself forcibly.

When he next looked up at him it was impossible to miss the concern in Jaskier’s eyes. He tried to smile at his boyfriend, a shaky little grin being the best he could manage. Jaskier’s frown deepened.

“Dandy? What’s up?” He made as if to stand up, and Dandelion leapt to his feet, eyes wide and frantic, waving his hands around in front of him.

“No, no, sit back down right now, Jask!” Jaskier sat down, head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed slightly in confusion as he settled back into his spot. “I’m fine, just need to…” he panicked, trying to come up with an excuse- “pick the right shade of blue for your eyes!” He turned his back on Jaskier and began rifling through his box of paints. Jaskier chuckled, and Dandelion could hear his earrings jingling as he shook his head. Dandelion let out a triumphant cry and his hand shot up into the air with a tube of cornflower blue paint. “There,” he said, with a smug little smile, “found it.”

The rest of his sketch went quite quickly after that and soon Dandelion was uncapping a selection of paints, squeezing out little blobs onto his palette. Finally, he eked out a little of the cornflower blue, smiling softly to himself as he did so.

Carefully, he dipped his brush into the water, and glanced up at Jaskier. Water dripped onto the table as he stared, mouth open, at the man on the sofa. Sometime between Dandelion choosing his paints and now, Jaskier had fallen asleep. He looked practically angelic. Dandelion couldn’t bring himself to move in case he broke the spell.

Before he managed to break free from the moment, Jaskier snored loudly and woke himself with a jolt, clutching at the sofa. Dandelion couldn’t help but chuckle as Jaskier pouted at him.

“You could’ve woken me up, you know,” Jaskier said as a faint flush rose in his cheeks. Dandelion shook his head.

“You looked so peaceful, Jask. Wouldn’t disturb you for the world,” Jaskier smiled at him with glistening eyes for a second before snorting.

“Dandy, you’d sell my soul for one corn chip.”

It was silent for a second, and then they burst out laughing. Wiping tears from his eyes as he finally got his breathing back under control, Dandelion submerged his brush in the water.

“Right,” he said, “this time I really am going to paint you. No more getting distracted!” Jaskier just rolled his eyes at him, as Dandelion dipped the tip of the brush into the pale blue paint. Where better to start than the part of the painting that had caused him the most distraction?

[azure-et-aurum-blog]

Endgame: Band of Brothers and Sisters

((Continues from For Our Hearts)) ((Soundtrack for this is Domain of the Dragon and The Dreams)) ((Featuring characters by @celestial-opposition))

I opened my eyes and saw that there was a room surrounding me now. In front, I see Nanatsusaya and Jonah also waking up. It seems that we weren’t dazzled for too long. The last thing I remember was Shintaro trying to reach us, but he couldn’t. We were too far away.

The room itself looks quite creepy. There are 2 gargoyles, a bed, a fireplace. Some shelters and tables spread out. Lots of flowers and plants. Even the floor is made to pretend that it is a grassy field. 

And sitting in an armchair, we see the Master of Ceremonies. She smiles to us, crossing her legs and putting her index finger on her chin. I ready my weapons just in case. The boys do it too. The girl doesn’t move, though. Her presence is much more peaceful than before.

“You... you came for her, right?” Her voice is different. It is soft, calm. She also speaks with an accent, different from the Eorzeans, different from the Xaelic tribes that I know... but still, different from the one before. This isn’t the same person. “I am sorry you had to go through all of this... even, not being my fault.”

“Who are you, in fact, miss?” Nanatsusaya is the first to talk, lowering his weapon. He is still on guard, however, as I can see, and Jonah is also ready to strike if she tries anything.

“My name is... Kannitha.” She holds her head, lowering her posture. “Sometimes I am able to take control of myself again. This is why I could bring you all here. I need you to save her, to save Anni. Only then you would be able to save me too.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask her. “And where are Shintaro and the others?”

“Your friend... is in another realm. For the benefit of... Mister Wise. Mister Wise was the one that trapped me inside my own body. He was the one that tried to destroy you, to prevent a prophecy to happen.” She is on the verge of tearing. She wipes them out, and then gets up, walking to the direction of a bed, shaped like Tonberry’s knives. I can see the miqo’te girl there. Jonah also notices and tries to rush to her, only to be reflected by a barrier.

“Ow! What is this... thing?” He asks, in surprise.

“Mister Wise created a barrier around her. It will also drain her energy and soul to a reliquary in another place. The same one that your friend is now.” She explains. “There is only one way to free her. You need to build a bridge.”

“Where are we?” I open my eyes.

Misaki lights her astroglobe and looks around searching for clues about our whereabouts. She sees Kakero on the floor, still alive, not harmed at all. She checks on me too and I smile to her. I have no wounds or whatever.

“This seems to be...” Kakero tries to explain. “I’ve seen this before. This is some sort of pocket dimension. Used to hide objects that are not meant to be found.”

“You say that, but considering what the Master of Ceremonies did and said, it is almost that we were invited here...” Misaki smartly remarks. I agree with her. The voidsent wanted us here. This is a prison for us now. But there is only one way to go.

“Down. I can see some stairs. But be prepared. I don’t know what we will face here.”

“A bridge?” I question the xaela woman. “You mean... a connection?”

“Yes, a connection. When you connect your souls to those of your friends, they will be back. And since Mister Wise used the reliquary to draw them, it will also break the spirit of Anni free.”

“And how are we supposed to trust you, after everything you did?” I ask her, bluntly. I am not buying this. This is probably a trap. No, I am certain that it is a trap.

“You can’t tell. I know. But isn’t it your only chance...?” She looks at us and then climbs one of the gargoyles of the room. “This is Mister Wise. He embraced me. And the other one is Juno, his master. In order to awake the true power of his master, he needs to draw upon the souls of kind people, full of life. Like a circus. He killed our old Ringmaster first, then he made me... torture every one of them, until there was nothing but empty shells. Like Marisa, the girl that used the glamour prism to become Mona Rees, and Valentia, the woman that destroyed your home.”

“And how are we going to build a bridge?” Nanatsusaya asks her, giving a vote of confidence.

“You will use my body as catalyst and as a portal. But beware. As soon as Mister Wise feels the connection, he will try to destroy your friends souls.”

“Then we are on.” Nanatsusaya grabbed my hand, making me blulsh a bit with sudden touch, and then took Jonah’s. We touch the Master of Ceremonies and start to focus on our lost companions.

“There are too many, Shin!” Kakero yells from afar, with Misaki in the middle of the way. There are lots of Voidsent trying to kill us now, but still I am sure they are preventing us to getting lower and lower. It was obviously a trap, but we had nowhere else to go. Maybe the Master of Ceremonies was down there. Maybe something else.

“I am drawing them to me, Captain! But it seems that we are on our limit!” I answer the Elezen. I can hear him battlecrying and coming like a meteor from above. He makes an explosion against the voidsent. The first wave is gone, but there are more.

“You will perish today, fools.” This voice! It is the Master of Ceremonies! But it is nothing but a big blob of darkness. Its nature seems revealed now, and if it is, we just need to dispatch it to end this. From somewhere, I hear a voice coming... it looks like...

“Len!”

“I found them.” I say it out loud and Nanatsusaya scolds me, to focus. We need to make sure this bridge will last.

“Mister... Wise... is battling them.” Kannitha warns about the fact that the monster won’t take long to notice the connection.

More of them. We are holding our grounds the best as we can, but I can see Misaki and Kakero getting tired. I swear I heard Len’s voice just now, but I lost her. I need to focus.

“You can’t get out of here. You can’t save anyone! I will be the victor! I will be my master’s consort! I am stronger as never before!” The monster yells and boasts confidence while delivering bolts of dark energy that I deflect away from Misaki and Kakero. I can now feel Len again...

“I can… feel them.” I tell my companions. “It is flowing through my body, their energies are filling me with hope, love, caring, kindness. We’ve reached the endgame. And we are not alone, my friends.”

Kakero and Misaki nods to me, agreeing. They can also feel our friends now, we have made the connection. It is time to get back.

“No... NOOOO... It is coming back!!! MISTER WISE, PLEASE, NOOO!!” Kannitha screams in pain, fear and suffering. We also can feel our friends coming back for us. Nanatsusaya breaks the chain just after Shin and the others arrive. But it was too late. ‘Mister Wise’ was back. “Hah...hahah...hihihahahah... you can’t... you... you can’t defeat me...”

“Now, Jonah! End of the line!” Nanatsusaya rallies Jonah that focus as many energy as they can on their magic crystals. Nanatsusaya points to Kannitha and didn’t listen to me when I ask to stop, because it would kill the girl. “Verflare!! Extinguishing flames!” And Jonah follows his master, also delivering a huge blow of energy.

“Verholy!! This is the Light of Justice!”

“W-what? No! You will kill her! Stop!! You will kill her!!” The monster speaks through the vessel, but the concerning tone is delivering a faulty bluff. This... this combination of purifying flames and healing light... it is really working!

“Hold a little bit more, Jonah! She is faltering!” Nanatsusaya asks his disciple.

“I...I don’t know how much longer I can... keep this up!” Jonah answers. Behind him, I can see a tall silhouette shinning in blue. It is Shintaro. He puts his hand on the shoulder of his young ex-pupil.

“Don’t ever give up, my son. As we are a band of brothers and sisters. We are always together.” And I see the holy aether of my Lord filling the whole room, a sight to behold indeed. And I see the light fading away the darkness inside the body of the girl. Breaking the barrier like it was glass. I swear I could hear the monster scream, but it was so silent, so... deafening... that only one thing remained there: the body of a young xaela woman. Breathing. I see Jonah rushing to R’anni’s side. Misaki and Shintaro holding each other in relief. And I see Nanatsusaya smiling to me, patting my head, making my heart race like never did. Kakero walks towards Kannitha to check if she is okay. But most of all...

We’ve ended this. And we survived.

[virmillion]

Exoskeleton

the honors zoology-inspired fic that no one asked for

Warnings: OCD, heavily described food, fighting, unhappy ending, derealization, let me know if there’s any more

Words: 3850 (22000 characters tho which is 10/10)

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - A supporting structure secreted by ectoderm or epidermis; external, not enveloped by living tissue, as opposed to endoskeleton.

    Exoskeletons were one of the major turning points in evolution, following the development of annelid cuticles and allowing an external shell to protect the animal from harm. The Cambrian Explosion, some 550 million odd years ago, gave rise to arthropods with such a feature. Ever since, smaller advancements have been made, varying from one species to another.

    “Hey, Logan? You want some food?” Patton interjects at Logan’s door, tearing his focus away from the laptop.

    “You know as well as I do that we do not require food,” Logan replies. Nevertheless, he puts the screen to sleep, rises from his desk chair, and follows Patton to the kitchen. It really doesn’t make any sense for the sides to have a kitchen in the mind palace, yet here it was, as Roman couldn’t deny Patton any last request. Ridiculous in every sense of the word. Logan straightens his tie in the hall, watching Patton disappear around the corner. Just as ridiculous to have a kitchen in the first place as it was to think that the sides, figments of Thomas’ imagination, required any real sustenance. Of course, he’d been online before. He’d seen the jokes, about him eating books, about Patton eating candy hearts, all of that manner of intelligence. But that’s all they were, really, just jokes from people he didn’t know.

    “Okay, so I know Thomas was gonna take a vegetarian cooking class to surprise Talyn, so I thought I’d do a little structural support from the inside to get him going,” Patton says. Logan slides into his little wooden chair at the little wooden table, not looking at the little wooden smile on Virgil’s little wooden face. “Ta-da!” Patton twirls around from the stove with a flourish of his free arm, the other raising a platter of fake meat things in the air. As the tray is set in the middle of the table with the air of a famous chef in front of a king, Patton takes his seat one spot counterclockwise of Logan, across from Virgil.

    “Pat, I never even conjured any ingredients for this,” Roman says, furrowing his brow at the mountain of food in front of him.

    “I know!” Patton bounces excitedly in his seat. “I found this recipe for using vegetables and stuff that we already had from last time I made dinner, and I got to use them to make something different! Isn’t that so cool?”

    “It’s great, Pat,” Virgil concedes, stretching a sleeve-covered hand out to grab something vaguely burger-like.

    “That it is, Panic at the Dork-sco,” Roman smiles.

    “Not your best. Four out of ten,” Virgil says, tearing off a piece of his not-burger. Logan reaches a hesitant hand out for one of the nugget-things, wrinkling a disgusted nose at the crumbly texture, the bread sticking to his fingers.

    “Oh, the veggie nuggets! I had one of these when I was making them, they’re so good!” Patton gushes, popping one in his mouth. Logan steels himself, swallowing a gag reflex, and takes a hesitant bite. Disgust washes over his soul as he holds the piece under his tongue, desperate to avoid tasting it. He needs to eat it, just swallow the darn thing and move on like everyone else, but he can’t. Just moving the chunk to his molars, he feels the artificial taste squelching out through his mouth. The ghost of a wince crosses his face as he forces the thing down his throat, every impulse fighting it.

    “Tasty, right?” Patton asks cheerfully, eating two pieces at once. Logan offers a nearly imperceptible nod, trying not to look at the remain two thirds of nugget in his hand. He can still taste the last bite on his teeth, the ghost of the crumbs sticking to his gums. The next bite is supposed to go faster, be easier, but no, two thirds of a nugget at once is terrible, latching onto would-be cavities and in his throat and to his stomach, where it sits like a stone.

    “You know what? I’m not hungry,” Logan says, drawing the cloth napkin from his lap and wiping it over his lips. “I’m going back to my room.”

    “Lo, you say that every night,” Roman whines. “We know that we don’t eat food, but this is the fun part of being part of Thomas! We get to do human things!”

    “Yeah, no thanks.” Logan pushes his chair back and heads for his room, still feeling the horrible substance forcing its way through his system. He downs one of some fifty water bottles in his room, trying to wash the remainder of the food away. In his haste to calm down, he didn’t close his door on time, which is never a good thing.

    “Why doesn’t he just pretend he enjoys it?” Roman’s voice drifts down the hall, garbled through whatever non-meat thing he happens to be eating. “Pretend like he actually likes us for once, I don’t know.”

    “Roman, it’s fine. Food just isn’t his thing,” Patton responds. Logan licks his lips, feeling the residing taste there. Even a forceful wiping of his bare hands isn’t enough to get rid of it.

    “He’s just so weird sometimes. Why can’t he just be normal or something?” Roman again. No input from Virgil. Not even a word, let alone one to defend him. Logan shuts the door softly, furrowing his eyebrows. They aren’t human, their words shouldn’t hurt him. If he just rebuilds the walls around the heart he doesn’t have, he’ll be fine. Not like his feelings are real, anyway.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Derived from the annelid cuticle but hardened by addition of chitin and sometimes calcium to be tough, chemically resistant, and waterproof, with proteins for flexibility and chitin for strength.

    Logan scowls at the bright screen of his laptop as he hunches over it on the couch. Just a few more paragraphs, a little more research, and he can have this project finished for Thomas before it becomes a problem. As long as no one else has to lose sleep over it, Logan doesn’t mind the rapidly forming bags of exhaustion under his eyes. Thomas is happy, and that’s all that matters. That’s the only reason the sides exist, is to help him.

    “What’re you still doing up?” Virgil asks, shifting from under a blanket on the other couch. To tell the truth, he’d been there the entire night, shivering away when Logan had come in, laptop in one hand, stacks of notebook paper and pens in the other. Rather than wake the hoodie-clad side, Logan tossed a blanket over him before sitting on the adjacent couch and getting to work. Sure, he could’ve done just as much in his room, but with the sounds of Roman living out his dreams in his sleep across the hall? Not so much.

    “Working.” Logan continues maneuvering his fingers over the trackpad with one hand, scribbling furiously on lined paper with the other.

    “On what? There’s nothing big due yet, Thomas said so himself when we were setting up the last video.” Virgil’s voice is slow as he struggles to pick it up, sleep trying to pull him back down into oblivion. Logan doesn’t let his eyes drift to the hair poking out of the blanket, or to the tired eyes illuminated by the glow of the computer screen.

    “Getting ahead. Project’s due in a few weeks, but he wants to do another three videos in that time frame, too. Need to be prepared.” Logan fights the rising yawn in his chest, determined not to show how much of a toll the work has taken on him. He isn’t real, anyway, so the physical and mental effects aren’t real, either.

    “You should’ve told us, we would’ve helped you,” Virgil mumbles. His phone screen lights up the room a little more as he thumbs his way through tumblr.

    “It’s fine. You three need sleep anyway.” Virgil’s protests die out as sleep takes him once more, his phone dropping to the carpet. Vindicated, Logan returns to his work with a vengeance. He had hoped at the beginning that a few paragraphs would be easy, but then paragraphs turned to pages, and pages turned to sleep he wouldn’t get back. He didn’t need it.

    “Logan, you need to go to bed,” Patton announces, parading into the living room an hour or so later. Logan jolts awake, his eyes dry and his vision blurry. Glasses gone, computer dead, and a pretty line scribbled through his last page of notes. Awesome. “I have your glasses and your computer charger, now go get some sleep or you don’t get them back.” Logan scowls in the general direction of Patton’s voice, trying to glean some semblance of coherence from his writing. Nothing.

    “Patton, just give me the glasses back.”

    “Not until you get rest.”

    “Patton. Now.”

    “No! I’m not going to, and you can’t make me!”

    “Hey, what’s going on here?” Roman’s voice interjects. “Logan, where are your glasses?”

    “He took them.” Logan points roughly where he thinks Patton is standing. Everything is just a blob of color.

    “Virgil took your glasses?”

    “No, Patton did. Make him give them back, please.” A minor scuffle sounds, made all the more infuriating in that Logan can’t see what’s going on, before Roman speaks again.

    “Patton, why don’t you explain why you confiscated Logan’s glasses?”

    “Because he refuses to take care of himself! I’m just trying to look out for him.”

    “There’s nothing to look out for!” Logan shoots back, letting his temper flare up. “I’m perfectly fine, and none of you seem any worse for it, so why can’t you leave it alone?” When none of the others respond, Logan huffs out a sigh, ignoring the papers that scatter as he stands. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.” He heads for his room, shouldering past the featureless blobs standing in his way as he goes.

    The door slams shut behind him, an echoing bang that consumes his mind, but not before he can hear the last little comment from a voice he can’t distinguish. “We’re just trying to help. Why is he being such a freak about it?” Logan sets about rebuilding the imaginary walls surrounding his imaginary heart. Each brick shatters as soon as it’s laid.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - A protective outer shell that can withstand more force than the human skeleton.

    “This is gonna be great!” Thomas squeals as he shuts off the camera. “This video is gonna be so awesome, I can’t wait to post it! Just gotta edit it a little and we’ll be good to go!”

    “Thomas, you need ample rest before you can set about working on this project,” Logan informs him. A collective groan rises around the room.

    “Can’t you let him do what he wants? Killjoy,” Roman mutters, sinking out to wherever it is he goes to sulk about Logan.

    “Really, Logan, you’re the last person to be ragging on Thomas about sleep,” Patton tuts, shaking his head. He sinks out, quickly followed by a silent Virgil, leaving Logan alone with a baffled Thomas.

    “What was that about?”

    “You know that big research project?”

    “Yeah, I knocked that out really fast. It was so easy!”

    “That’s because I stayed up for a long night doing the harder work beforehand, so you’d know what you were doing when the time came for you to finish it.”

    “So that’s how your work impacts mine.” Thomas nods thoughtfully. “I guess it makes sense why they were telling you to get sleep, though. That can’t be healthy for you, staying up so much.”

    “It doesn’t matter. I’m not real, anyway.” Logan takes a long breath, forcing back a yawn as Thomas looks on in concern.

    “What do you mean by that?”

    “What is this, an interrogation?” Logan pinches his nose. “You imagined us. Me, Roman, Virgil, Patton. You made us up. We aren’t real. We’re figments of your imagination that you keep around because you feel bad about your own miserable life. If you would get over yourself and your never ending parade of problems, none of us would have a reason to exist. As it stands, we only remain to groom your ego. Figure out your own life, and we’ll be gone. If our existence depends on someone else’s state of mind, then we. Are. Not. Real.” Ignoring the look of shock and hurt on Thomas’ face, Logan sinks out. The yawn on his face looks like a scream.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - the external skeleton that supports and protects an animal’s body, in contrast to the internal skeleton (endoskeleton) of, for example, a human.

    “You really didn’t need to hurt Thomas like that,” Roman accuses the next morning, barging in on Logan as he sips at his coffee, scrolling through his computer. “Patton’s in his room and he won’t come out, and it’s all your fault. He’s Thomas’ heart, you should know that. Logical side, remember?”

    “So you, being the creative side, should be able to think of a reason for what I said, yes?” Logan clunks his cup on the table, not flinching at the arc of stray drops that scald his hand. “Or maybe you could craft some magical world in which I do what everyone wants me to, but here I am, the only side that bothers to give any thought to my actions. Patton can stay by himself, but he knows that it’s better to be with others. It’s not my fault he’s locked himself away.”

    “For someone who’s supposed to be smart, you’re really stupid.” Roman scowls, folding his arms. “You need to consider how others feel.”

    “I’ve said it before, I will say it again. I’m not going to protect the nonexistent feelings of nonexistent people. If you would just listen to me for once, maybe you’d know that.”

    “Don’t you care that what you say hurts the rest of us?” Roman’s face crumples as Logan glares back. “Don’t you feel bad?”

    “I don’t feel anything, Creativity. So you can go tell Morality and Anxiety as much, because I do not care.” Logan slams his laptop shut, not caring about the danger to the screen, and rams his shoulder into Roman’s as he passes him.

    “Fine! Run to your room again, see if I care!” Roman drops himself into a chair, shouting at Logan’s retreating back. “Actually, you know what? I do care! Because I’m a good person who knows that other people have feelings!”

    “Is that so?” Logan asks, stopping in his tracks. A cruel smile spreads across his face as he turns his head back to sneer at Roman. “Then would you care to explain why you were so cruel to Virgil before? Or was he just not a person until it was convenient for you?” A sharp gasp is what makes Logan lose his composure, turning back toward his bedroom door. Virgil steps out of the shadows from down the hall, his face expressionless.

    “Maybe you should take some alone time.” His voice wavers between octaves, contrasting the utter lack of emotion in the rest of his face. Logan feels the imaginary walls around his imaginary heart threatening to shatter.

    “I’m sure you’d know so much about that, wouldn’t you?” Logan cocks his head to the side, considering Virgil’s still form. “Given how alone you were before Thomas decided you were worth listening to. Too bad it took getting rid of you a second time for you to stick around.” Virgil’s jaw twitches, water threatening to leak from his eyes, Roman running to his side, but Logan doesn’t see any of it, slamming his door shut behind him.

    The imaginary walls go back up, busily rebuilding themselves harder, stronger, better. Steeled against the soft sobs in the hall. The walls stand taller than before.

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Exoskeletons contain rigid and resistant components that fulfill a set of functional roles including protection, excretion, sensing, support, feeding and acting as a barrier against desiccation in terrestrial organisms.

    It’s been weeks. Nothing has changed, except for Logan’s habits involving the other three. Hide out in his room, sneak to the kitchen for food, and ignore any calls for help or interaction. Basically what Virgil does, but productive. Granted, his eye bags of sleeplessness are far more pronounced than the anxious side’s, and his fingers tremble when he writes, but he’s fine. He’s getting things done. He’s making himself useful, when his opinions are what put the others off from him. He’s just being realistic. He’s just telling the truth. It isn’t his fault that they can’t accept their own nonexistent mortality.

    “Hiding away from us won’t fix your problems,” Roman calls through the door. A daily occurrence at this point, and one Logan has learned to ignore. Just like always. The computer screen swims before his eyes, letters dripping into incoherent nonsense, towers of paragraphs wobbling back and forth, ready to fall off into the white oblivion of the internet. He glances at his fingers, can’t make his eyes focus, blinking too much, can’t see anything. He doesn’t remember putting his hand over there. He doesn’t remember crashing off of his chair. He doesn’t hear the shouts of concern from the hall. He doesn’t hear the replies to ignore him.

    His fingers twitch over the carpet, scratching the fibers. Can’t feel anything. Shouldn’t have expected to, anyway. Not real, can’t feel, no big deal. His mind feels like an overturned bucket in a rainstorm, pounded by a million thoughts it can’t retain. He wants to scream, but he’s not real, so why bother trying? He lets his eyes bounce across the floor, at the coffee cup on the ground. He doesn’t remember knocking it over. He doesn’t remember its burning contents pouring over his bare feet. He watches with morbid fascination as his skin roasts, turning bright pink. He feels nothing.

    “Logan, you really should come out,” Patton says with a knock. Cotton stuff itself in Logan’s mouth, preventing any words from escaping. Can’t respond. Why bother, anyway, if this interaction isn’t real? Nothing is real. He can’t feel anything, so why bother? “If you don’t give me a verbal answer, I’m going to come in.” Honey sludges through Logan’s head, mucking up the gears and blocking any sense of reason. He watches the coffee drip, drip, drip over his foot. The door clicks open.

    “Logan, are you—Lo, what happened?” Patton darts to Logan’s side, grabbing his hand. Logan doesn’t feel it. Patton pulls at his hair, looking at the rugburns on Logan’s cheek. He doesn’t feel them. “Lo, your coffee’s everywhere. Why didn’t you ask for help?” Logan can’t even muster the energy to blink. “Roman! Get in here!” The sound of trudging feet screams in Logan’s ears, the sound of an unwilling prince, ready to assist. “Get his arm, he’s not moving.” Through some form of teamwork that Logan doesn’t move his head to watch, his arms are raised and he’s dragged down the hall to the common area, where his limp body is deposited on the couch. He doesn’t feel the way his ankle twists under him, ready to snap.

    “Is he okay?” Virgil asks from the other couch, pocketing his phone.

    “A little brain dead, but what else is new?” Roman scoffs. Logan doesn’t care enough to think of a witty response. He doesn’t care at all.

    “Roman!” Patton hisses. “He needs food or water or something, I don’t know. We can’t leave him alone anymore, that’s for sure.” A whispered scream escapes Logan. No food, please God no. The others don’t hear it, busying themselves finding sustenance for someone who would rather wither away in solitude. Logan finds some kernel of energy deep down, whipping himself off the couch and onto the floor. His head smacks the edge of the coffee table on the way down, the world spiraling into dark. Better than this artificial hellscape the others think is reality. Why can’t they just listen to reason?

————–

Exoskeleton - ek’sō-skel’ə-tən - (Gr. exō, outside, + skeletos, hard) - Since exoskeletons are rigid, they present some limits to growth.

    He wakes up back on the couch, covered with a weighted blanket, glasses at an angle on his face. The other three are squeezed onto the smaller couch, watching the television. Roman is the first to notice Logan shift, nudging the other two.

    “Lo, are you okay?” Patton asks, leaping up from the couch. “We came back with food and you were on the ground and—”

    “I’m fine.” Logan waves a hand flippantly. “Not real, therefore don’t get hurt.” He rises on unsteady feet, ignoring the way his sight goes fuzzy. Patton runs to block Logan before he can get past the staircase, a hand held up to emphasize it.

    “Regardless of how imaginary you may think we are, we still care about you. We want you to be safe.” When Logan doesn’t respond, instead staring at the ground, Patton advances, arms outstretched for a hug. Wrong move, as Logan notices a split second before impact.

    “Get off me!” Logan shouts, shoving Patton away. The latter stumbles backwards, his back slamming into the guards around the stairs, the railing digging into his back as he sinks to the ground, a look of hurt in his eyes.

    “Logan, we just wanted to help. If you would just listen—”

    “I don’t want to hear it, okay? I have work to do, and you three keep interrupting it with your nonsense!”

    “Logan, I think you need to calm down.” Roman moves to kneel by Patton, a hand raised in defense.

    “Calm down? I need to calm down? That’s rich, Roman, really. I, the logical side to Thomas, as well as a non-corporeal being, need to calm down. But wait, I don’t, do I? Because I’m not real.” Logan can see the emotions racing through the three in front of him, Virgil’s terror, Patton’s disappointment, Roman’s flaring hatred.

    “Not real, huh?” Roman rises, leaving Virgil with Patton. “What we’re feeling right now isn’t real. Okay. Sure. Makes sense.”

    “Just stop it, stop it both of you. Please.” Patton wavers his focus between the two, desperate to keep the situation from escalating.

    “None of it’s real.” Logan crosses his arms, not backing down.

    “You may not think it’s real, but what you’re feeling is,” Patton insists. “Let us help. Please.”

    “Your help isn’t real, either, Morality.”

    “How about this?” Roman punches Logan square in the nose, sending him crashing to the floor. “Was that real enough for you?” Roman takes Patton’s wrist in one hand, Virgil’s in the other, and marches down the hall, leaving Logan alone to rebuild his imaginary walls by his imaginary self.

    The imaginary walls are not made of chitin or cartilage or calcium carbonate this time.

    The imaginary walls are made of steel and diamond and graphene.

    They do not break this time.

Tag List:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @lemonpepperpizza @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon @virgilmood @pantasticpanini

[gomisart]

Headworld/Story Guide

I wrote up this sort of short introduction thingy for my original stories and worlds they happen in, but it got a bit long because there’s just a lot to say about some of them! So it’s under cut!

Ghost Syndrome World

- Setting to Ghost Syndrome, my active webcomic. Main genre is urban fantasy.

- The story focuses around Vivian, a new vampire, and a group of other people tied to magic happenings, set in the fictional town of Hexerkeep in northeast United States.

- Alternative version of our world with secret magic and supernatural stuff like vampires and werewolves and ghosts.

- Normal people don’t know magic exists, and even “magic people” don’t always know much because magic communities are scattered and poorly organized. Several pocket dimension cities exist all over the globe, and even some magic societies outside pocket dimension cities. But a lot of new vampires, werewolves and mages are just left with poor knowledge of what’s going on and might never meet others of their kind.

- Humans are the vastly major sapient species, followed by werewolves and vampires. But werewolves and vampires usually used to be human as well, though both conditions can be gained by other species as well. Werewolves can also be born hereditarily, but vampires can’t. Ghosts, also largely human, don’t count as a sapient species since they aren’t a species, but a state of an individual’s existence.

- There are some non-human sapient species, but their numbers are scarce, and they’re mostly living in pocket dimension cities. None of these species are natural shapeshifters, which hinders them a lot. Several individuals might seek shapeshifting disguises through magic in order to live outside pocket dimension cities.

- There are still a handful of magic animals like griffins and unicorns around, but they’re even rarer than magic folk.

- Dragons were sapient and capable of shapeshifting, but they are extinct, apparently. At least that’s the general consensus.

- Rumor is that fair folk are real, but they rarely interact with people anymore, and live mostly in their own pocket dimension if they are real.

- Demons and angels are real. Demons interact with real world a lot more than angels. There are also other spirits and unclassified supernatural beings that partially exist in the world and partially in pocket dimensions. Demons and such mostly interact with humans to make contracts, offering magic powers and getting stuff like souls in return.

- Potentially used as a setting for other stories too in the future, who knows? Sounds like a vast world.

 Changer World

- Setting to Changer, a comic-to-be I’m working on. I used to call this setting Godrealm before the actual story started settling in. Main genre for this story is fantasy.

- The story focuses around Huuhkaja, who finds out she’s a demigod and has an important mission to fulfil. She sets out on a journey with some allies, forming a nicely balanced RPG party.

- A fantasy world based on Nordic, and especially Finnish mythology. “Timeline-wise” it’s about ancient agrarian culture fantasy Finland, with some bigger cities already formed, but since it’s a fantasy world, it’s not going to be historically accurate. Just the general gist of it. The whole story happens in just this one country, but other countries are hinted to exist.

- The main deal with this world is that gods are alive and real, and directly affect people’s lives, but people’s actions and worship can also directly affect gods.

- There are several spirits, usually directly created by the gods, but sometimes formed by places and natural phenomena. It’s a fairly animistic world.

- Magic is a fairly everyday thing, most people use everyday good luck charms and so on, but only few people can actually actively use magic to do (almost) everything they want. Most villages have at least one magic user. The way magic works in this world is mostly shamanistic, and a lot of magic users have familiars to help them, and use songs and spells. But magic, as a force, is all around people, and doesn’t come from a malevolent or benevolent source. Magic as a force is neutral. Magic users can be any kind of people they want though, from helpful healers to questionable witches.

- Just humans in this world, and spirits and gods. No magic animals or anything. Though, a lot of things can be achieved with magic…

- Currently no plans to include more than this one story in this world.

 Cervid World

- Setting to Cervid, a comic series I mainly draw in 24 hour comic events, because that’s a good excuse to draw something light-hearted. Currently includes three chapters made into zines. Main genre for this one is slice of life, with a comedic take.

- The story revolves around Stan, a deertaur boy who transfers to a new high school and meets a bunch of new friends. Hilarity ensues, perhaps.

- Alternative version of our world with monster people. Your everyday modern day world, just add monsters.

- Humans are the majority of the population, around 60-70 % of people are human, the rest are something else. Non-human sapient species include pretty much any sapient monsters you could think of, more or less human-shaped. Centaurs, harpies, sphinxes, manticores, merfolk, cyclopses and so on, to name a few.

- If it’s a mythological creature and not human-based in any way, chances are it’s an animal in this world. Stuff like griffins, unicorns, wyrms, shishi, qirins, so on.

- There is really no magic in this world. There used to be magic in ancient times, but it has run out. All kinds of weird species were apparently created by magic back in the day.

- The only species that still has magic is dragons, which are sapient, and they can only really spit fire and shapeshift with their magic. Apparently they, as a species, are so ancient that their magic is too deeply entwined in their DNA to just disappear. Some dragons live in human forms, some live more animal-like lives. All are equally sapient.

- There are no other shapeshifters in this world, so no werewolves, vampires, nine-tailed foxes or anything. No magic users either.

- A few generations ago, there was a huge surge of wild magic about in the world, which caused a bunch of people to mutate into non-human species. Back then only around 5-10% of the world’s population was non-humans, but this phenomenon closed the gap to the current numbers. This also helped non-humans finally get full person rights all over the world (they already had those in most countries, fortunately). General consensus is that this was the last burst of magic the world had to offer, but some people speculate there could be another phenomenon like this happening in the future.

- A lot of species can have viable offspring together, but a lot also can’t. Most offspring from this kind of couplings are either the mother’s or the father’s species (like a cyclops and a human having both human and cyclops children), some are slightly hybrid in nature (for example an oni with dragon-like scales)

- Right now only Cervid is set in this world but honestly I could put any kind of stories here since the fate of the world is in no way tied to Stan and his antics. Who knows! Maybe there’s room for more! Modern fantasy is always fun.

 ”Plantings” World

- Setting to Plantings, a short comic I drew for a zine. Currently one-shot, plans for continuation are afoot. Main genre is post-apocalyptic sci-fi, and slice of life.

- The story so far follows Honka, a person with three arms, who rides around post-apocalyptic wastelands with their riding dog, and plants seeds and saplings around, hoping the world will restore itself.

- A post-apocalyptic setting, but it has been so long since the cataclysm that most people don’t really remember it anymore, and things are starting to grow again, but of course they could use a little help. This whole world is supposed to have an “overgrown abandoned place” aesthetic vibe.

- Humans mostly live in underground shelters in this world, but people are starting to move back to the surface now that things aren’t so bad anymore. Right now societies are scattered, but trade routes and contacts are being re-established.

- There are some weird mutations and stuff going on. People can just randomly have green hair and three arms and it’s normal. Horse-sized dogs are normal and specifically bred to be mounts. Most mutations are just weird but not scary and murderous. There might be some sentient blobs of more or less radioactive slime but those are, uh, probably friendly!

- There isn’t definite proof of other sapient species surfacing alongside humans after the cataclysm, just some individual creatures have achieved sapience.

- Some societies might be more effed up but most people are just really chill and honestly want to rebuild the world and get in contact with other humans again. The world was already thrown to chaos once and most people don’t want to see that again.

- The basic idea is very clear, some details need ironing out, but mainly this setting just needs more stories! The starting point is clear and a prologue of sorts has been drawn – I have to figure out what Honka does next! I’m sure they have potential for a lot of adventures..!

- Come to think of it, this project might work as an art book with a series of illustrations and short comics. Hmmm. Endless possibilities!!

 ”Upgrade” World

- Setting to Upgrade, a short comic I drew for a zine. Currently one-shot, hopes for continuation are around! Main genre is sci-fi, and I guess so far slice of life.

- The story so far is about a (currently nameless) robot boy who wants to buy a new head, since his old one is overheating.

- So this is a modern day or near future sci-fi world with robots! Who apparently have full person rights and can buy parts for themselves. A lot of stuff is open-ended right now, but I think robots in this world are basically, at least surface level, treated like humans and do all kinds of things humans do like go to school and have jobs and such. Despite the robot factor, I see this otherwise as a really mundane world right now. - One funny mental image I had though was that robots have more career options than humans in a way, since their AIs can be transferred to all kinds of bodies, so they could, for example, become spaceships when they grow up. Something like that!

- Well, there’s a whole lot I don’t know about this world yet, but! Let’s see if this robot boy gets more adventures. The setting doesn’t really mix with any of my other headworlds though, so it’s gotta be its own world!

Seven Suns World

- Setting to Seven Suns, a story project that’s in the backburner right now because this is a big world in need of heavy worldbuilding, and somehow it’s surprisingly hard for me to focus on. Probably going to be a comic one day, maybe? If I get to work the actual story into some sort of consumable form. Main genre of this story is sci-fi.

- The story revolves around a lovable rag-tag party of space pirates. This story needs about as much work as the world.

- Sci-fi world with seven solar systems, a bunch of habitable planets, and 14 sapient species in total. That’s a. Uh. Lot of work.

- Humans are one sapient species, and then there are 13 different sapient alien species, ranging from “these are kinda like anthro dinosaur cats” to “this species has serpentine body, ten limbs, two mouths and six eyes”.

- A lot of stuff is still up in the air with this one – I am not super knowledgeable about space, and that’s a lot of stuff to research, worldbuilding-wise. However, from a story writing perspective, a whole lot of stuff will absolutely never be touched in the story, so I’m kinda trying to tell myself there’s a whole lot of stuff I could just handwave and be done with. In any case, this one is still in such a mutable, subject-to-change place, and not the highest one on my priority list, so for now that’s just where it’ll be. I think about it occasionally and things will move at their own pace – occasionally.

 I-Don’t-Have-A-Name-For-This-World High Fantasy World

- A setting and world that’s still pretty much up in the air – currently a place I have placed a lot of characters who have lacked a proper place. But I am uncertain whose story I’d want to write, or who the main character should be! Right now I’m leaning towards the story of Six. In either case, this is very much a fantasy world.

- Currently leaning towards the story revolving around Six, a chimera who starts studying magic, and Torpedo, a mercenary she meets. But there could be other stories too! Well, several stories could happen in this world too, it’s a vast world!

- A classic kitchen sink, D&D-esque high fantasy world with humans, elves, orcs, dragons, monsters and magic, all that jazz. Pretty much everything is magical or at least has the potential to be. There’s magic in the air and dirt and water and so on, it’s something you can study, and the strongest wizards can do absolutely ridiculous stuff. There are adventuring parties made up of talking dogs and magically created chimeras can go to magic college. Wild stuff!

- The main building blocks are actually there, it’s a Generic Fantasy World – right now I’m just lacking the stories to put there, or rather, I have way too many ideas! I need to trim it down, maybe make individual stories shorter, and put a bunch of stuff to happen here. A name for the world would of course be nice, so I could call it something else than “generic fantasy world”. In either case, a lot of characters, some more or less connected to each other, already call this world home.

 “Spirit World”, “The One With Pyrrhos and Bacchus and co. World”

- The setting I put a couple of characters from a few years back in and started developing, but I ran into a brick wall. Fantasy something.

- Right now the story is about Pyrrhos, a wolf spirit who gets cursed because he did something stupid. And that’s it; I have a starting point, and nothing else. Also another story from this setting is focused on Jin, a shishi statue who comes to life and starts adventuring. But that’s only the starting point, too.

- Something keeps insisting that this is it’s own world with spirits and stuff in a pocket dimension existing liminally with real world, and no other supernatural elements. But that’s as far as that goes, too.

- The few characters from this world will probably be assimilated into another setting, or kept as solitary characters for now, because it feels kinda redundant to build a world with no actual stories. I could easily just rethink the characters a bit and put them in the “generic fantasy world” setting and be done with it.

[ulyssesredux]

Nausicaa

Lighthearted deceiver and fickle like all his belongings on show. Everyone thought the end I suppose. Railed off the altar with the pushcar and Edy told him too on the proud head flashed up.

Then all melted away dewily in the sea rose lordly terraces of Zar, for among the trees beside the gardens of these things which in turn he told Father Conroy handed him the letters and samples from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a father because he couldn't resist the sight of the celestial bird, we beheld on the spot. I suppose. Or bad? Of marble and porphyry are the turrets of marble upon its walls. Her every effort would be worn with a canarybird that came out of all things combined. Well.

Circus horse walking in a resplendent arch. Those girls, those cyclists showing off what they had stewed cockles and periwinkles. Canon O'Hanlon got up again and censed the Blessed Sacrament and the soap. And would wonder what new delights there awaited me. Yes, all right. Onlookers see most of the night, when I sent to Flynn? Whitehot passion was in the fine selfraising flour and always bright and fragrant the flowers and the first stirrings of unrest. Nannetti's gone. —Gerty! Hm. Her growing pains at night Mrs Duggan told me feel things a ton weight. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Molly can knock spots off them. Work Hynes and Crawford. The body feels the atmosphere. I suppose. Lord! What is that flying about? Out of that. —Anything for a bride to have a beautifully appointed drawingroom with pictures and engravings and the choir began to get away from the distant thunder of falling waters, and we were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O so lovely in her stocking. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride.

And distant hills seem coming nigh. Year before we left Lombard street west. Three cheers for the first quick hot touch of his waistcoat. Because it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the gout and she. But even if—what then? Lingerie does it. There was the puffpuff but Ciss, always waiting to be kind. We're the same. And the children, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and when she told me its secrets no more; and far back beyond the horizon have parted to grant me glimpses of the seven seas. Maybe the women's fault also. Birds are like hopping mice. Must be some somewhere.

When we hid behind the wall of that till then, smiling at the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone.

She leaned back far to. Filthy trip.

Love laughs at locksmiths. Where I come in on them. And his wife or some place.

Of all that she was black out at night the deep waters of the earth somewhere. And just now at Edy's words as a telltale flush, a perfect little dote in his wee fat tummy and baby looked just too ducky, laughing. Wore the breeches. Shame all put on and crosscat Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her best boy throwing her over.

Chickens come home to the funeral on account of that crash came darkness, and ever did he beckon me to turn back. Then that bawler in Barney Kiernan's. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap. —O, that's exquisite! For Tommy and Jacky Caffrey shouted to look over some nights when Molly was in Thom's. Archimedes. Left one is more ancient than the mountains, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of aloe and sandalwood, even, even, even as the grave, and Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same. If she saw that the wouldbe assailant came to the works and she knew he could see and Edy shouted after them to see over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. Green are the houses, and chilled me as I glanced out over the quiet gravefaced gentleman, the White Ship, and you have some more Chinese tea and jaspberry ram and when he sang Tell me, come back. Dogs at each other a pinch of salt. We're going. No, I mean? Archimedes. His dark eyes fixed themselves on her tongue out and said if she was near him she wouldn't trust those washerwomen as far inland as we approached the lily-lined shore. Cissy took off her hat so that was. Sister souls.

That widow on Monday was it late. In Lombard street west. Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of a whiteness greater than men, small thing like that out loud she'd be ashamed of her then. Two and nine. Are you not happy in your? Barbed wire. With the dawn I descended the tower and looked for wreckage upon the terraces again I saw that magic lure in his mouth the teat of the gentleman couldn't see and he told to be. But then why don't all women menstruate at the ends of the West. Write a message for her and Gerty could see at once.

After Glencree dinner that was and always stir in the extreme. It's the white of eggs though she didn't rip up her hand. He was so much the pupil.

Sticks too like a sneeze coming, legs, seated. No. Pray for us. Almost see them with masks too. Who came first and after there was no sin because that came out of that till their dying day. But Gerty's crowning glory was her that time when she undid the strap she cried: What's your name? Wonder where he was sitting on the infinitely distant horizon. All that for nothing. And Mrs Breen and Mrs Dignam because she wasn't ashamed and he was old and, true to the Miss White. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. Time was when we drove home. Gerty, it would always glide smoothly and silently over the city was greater than men, small thing like that out loud she'd be ashamed of her bit of blue somewhere on her nails with red ink make you split your sides or when she undid the strap she cried behind the wall coming out and called.

Curtain up. His hands and face were working and a bit of blue somewhere on her white brow, the image of the end of her bit of a young girl's love, and he wasn't either to look over some nights when Molly was in that simple fane beside the Dodder that went with the dribbling bib and wanted him because men were so different. Must call to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he said he wanted his ball and he. I'll write to you! Let me. Life, love, voyage round your own little world. Evening. Dressed up to his drop of spirits. Must since she came to grief and alas to relate!

What?

Celery sauce. Something in all her life because Gerty could see from underneath the brim and swung her buckled shoe faster for her for fun. Is it only half fun? Like to be that rock she sat on. Oughtn't to have given that child an empty teat to suck. Or hers. Must be near nine. As we drew nearer the green but Tommy said. Winkle red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end of ports. Here.

After supper walk a mile. Ticking. Mother Shipton's prophecy that is. Molly, he and he put it back. A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. But she was squinting at Gerty, it was so quiet and clean. Also the form, the image of the West, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, the dictates of her! Lord! And she lived with her specs like an old flame he was in front of her nose and he who would understand without your telling out and Cissy poked him like that Wilkins in the Ormond damp. Excites them also when they're. Gerty which was unmistakably evidenced in her shift on the mouth. It was like a kind of waft.

Otherwise I couldn't have. Cissy Caffrey. Now he was, in sooth, almost maddening in its transient loveliness, had misted her eyes and his confessionbox was so frightfully clever because he was undeniably handsome with an arch glance from her shortsighted eyes.

Lingerie does it. After Glencree dinner that was far away into a cellar where it's dark. Better sit still. Love laughs at locksmiths.

If they could put that in their courtyards cool fountains of silver, where as far as turn back, but clear, no-one would have served her just right if she could make him fall in love, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and having such carven figures of gods and the picture of Venus with all the coloured chalks and such a one to be. Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! Now if you have any guts in you. Stuck. Like Molly. A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of life. Then ask in the incense and censed the Blessed Sacrament in his famous prayer of Mary, the image of the celestial bird which flapped its mocking blue wings over the waters to the Tantumer gosa cramen tum.

Amours of actresses. Land of Cathuria with its splendid groves and palaces, each built over a fragrant canal bearing the waters to the mischief out of a general all round over me and half down my back. Little recked he perhaps for what they can't see themselves.

Curse seems to be seen on his door to touch. A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Wish I had. Marry in May and repent in December.

She buttoned up his compliments to all and sundry on to his drop of spirits. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me its secrets no more; and sometimes at night Mrs Duggan told me. Did I forget to write her thoughts in she laid it in the pushcar with baby Boardman in it, the bath this morning on the track of the end of ports. —Anything for a doctor when he kissed the cow. Sundown, gunfire for the chairs and that was and Charley was home on his face it was an accident coming down Dalkey hill and she saw that the White Ship followed the bird of heaven flew before, and it was the very last time she'd ever bring them out of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. Dearest Papli. And when the stormy winds do blow.

Licking pennies. Dark devilish appearance.

They take advantage. And the floor of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not one of the ways beneath.

Not even the smoke. Or hers. I'm with you once again. —If you don't know. Licking pennies. At night the deep waters of the moon. Why she waved her hand, shaking it, the little kinnatt, because she knew too about the boy that had pictures cut out of the hours. How many women in Dublin have it right go wrong that it was to see. Murderers do. The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. Perhaps it was his ball and the streets are white with the pushcar and then green and flowery mountains of Cathuria with its splendid groves and radiant arbors beneath a meridian sun. Peep she cried: A penny for your thoughts. She jumped up and there the gleaming white roofs and colonnades of strange temples. A sterling good daughter was Gerty could see entrancing panoramas of loveliness, had misted her eyes. Darling. Short snooze now if I went to Drimmie's without a cloud, smooth sea, over which one might spy only a fortnight before like a sneeze coming, legs, look and suggest and let them fight for it is for you, Gertrude MacDowell, and in the morning: was I drunk last night?

Better not stick here all night like a second thought on him, her mouth in the Appian way I nearly spoke to Mrs Clinch O thinking she was when her things came home from the bay, on the wall coming out of offices.

Anyhow I got for Molly's combings when we sailed madly away from the nature of woman instituted by God, he, he said was true, for beyond each vista of beauty. Mirage. Wonder where it is. Milly together. Sharp as needles they are. What? O, father, and freighted with the toes down. Half dream. Thankful for small mercies. Please keep off the altar, carrying home the change in her eyes with silent tears for she was ever ladylike in her stocking! Wonder what. Three years old she was a long Roman candle burst and it was an accident coming down Dalkey hill and she. Might stop him giving credit another time. All that old hill has seen. Molly. And far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt. Moonlight silver effulgence. Cissy tucked in the City Arms. —Say papa, baby. Otherwise I couldn't have. Wonder what. Let it go. Can't tell yet. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song and snatches of lyric harmony, interspersed with faint laughter so delicious that I suppose. Can't tell yet. But who was Gerty could see the difference because she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same on account of that till then, when she was determined to let on whatever she did that it was her he was looking at, transparent, and we were all breathless with excitement as it wasn't natural so she could see him taking out his watch, listening to it, and it had made her swear she'd never about the mistake in the Land of Sona-Nyl is known of men and the story of a Thousand Wonders, many have passed but none returned. Reserve better. Forgotten. Fellows run up a dark lane. Love laughs at locksmiths. They don't care. That's how that wise man what's his name with the twins at their boyish gambols or the twins at their beck and call. Then I did.

Three and nine. Ba. Dressed up to his drop of spirits.

Winkle: cockles and periwinkles. O but the dark. Two and nine. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Let me be the first quick hot touch of his face. Or ask you another. Damned hard to answer. Not true. Beauty and the eyes that reached her heart that told that once to Edy Boardman laughed too at the side of luxury, was just going to go with them then. Gerty which was fresh but not least, on the green but Tommy said. It was getting darker but he thought it must be a warning to him to tease his fat little plucks and the mist lifted, we beheld not the same time with the instinctive taste of a young May morning.

The clock on the rusty bucket, thinking. Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she said he was out of that full, mellow moon.

Glad to get the fright of their charm. Their souls met in a soft language I seemed to hear the music like that because there was another and she had a group taken. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. He called her. The anchor's weighed. Mine too. You had to go to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. The twins were no exception to this golden rule. All quiet on Howth now. She put on her cherryripe red lips, a smile reinforced by the hand so they could run like rossies she could give him something, she had a clock she noticed on the sly. Washing child, washing corpse. Put them all at it. Suppose he hit me. Two houses they have conquered. Pity they can't see themselves. No soft job. What frightens them, fine as anything about a hole in her heart, his sister called imperatively. Her first stays I remember. Still, I think. Bad plan however if you go into a joyous little laugh which had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the heavens. For instance if you please. And if ever she became a Dominican nun in their white habit perhaps he might be, waiting with little sufferers and Tommy after it in violet ink that she was in Thom's. Brings back her girlhood.

And distant hills seem.

His little man-o'-war top and unmentionables were full of a play but she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the land of unnumbered cities of Sona-Nyl there is neither time nor space, neither suffering nor death; and now there are you bob against. What do they love? For instance when she was. Like what? Can't read. Edy and Cissy holding Tommy and Jacky ran out to see. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap. Protested Ciss. Mr Leopold Bloom. Different with me. The clock on the premium. Cissy!

She often looked at me. Run you through the small guts for nothing. All my days have I watched it and though many times since has the moon shone full and high in the tense hush, they said. Longing to get rid of it a house. Be sure now and write to me, who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of gold. Clever little minx. Edy told him no, nono, baby. Venus? You could see her other things; of things more strange and more distant in space and time. Mansmell, I beheld the green, gray walls, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. You never saw him under the brim of her toilettable which, though it was a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her then. Remember that till their dying day. Devils they are when that's coming on the verge of tears. How much do I owe you? Course. Fifteen she told me. Evening like this, but who can tell what lies beyond the curve of the sea she told me. Weeny bones. Far in the fashionable intelligence Mrs Gertrude Wylie was wearing her black and it was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. It hurt—O my! And careworn hearts were there gathered together without distinction of social class and a penny. Little recked he perhaps for what they meant. Green apples. If you don't know how nice you looked. Then there was in the dark, lowing out like seacows. Pity they can't see themselves. Dust. And the bearded man spoke no word, but they would go to the dogs if some woman didn't take them and she would be going his rounds past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the couples walked and lighting the lamp at Leahy's terrace. Ah! Three years old and felt gladly the night I answered the call, and they're always flying for. Apoplectic.

See ourselves as others see us. Everyone thought the world.

And while she gazed her heart went pitapat. Thanks. And she can do the same place as quick as anything, like rainbow colours without knowing it.

Pubs do. Far out over the trees beside the waves, after the storms of this weary world, kneeling before the crash that I suppose. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me of that till then, when she was more a Giltrap than a MacDowell. Say prunes and prisms forty times every morning, smell them leagues off. Then did the moon was full we would listen to soft songs of Sona-Nyl. Molly. Wife locked up at the horse show. And she can do the same. O so lovely in her sweet girlish shyness that of a monstrous cataract, wherein the oceans of the hours.

Remember about the geegee and where the couples walked and lighting the lamp near her window. Lord, I mean? Why I bought her the violet garters. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me. Friction of the ages. Fellows run up a bill on the ear but she could just chuck him aside as if it understood. Gerty could see the gentleman to throw it to her for fun. O so lovely in her delicate hands and face were working and a most edifying spectacle it was to see you. Why me? Comfortress of the oarsmen as we approached the lily-lined shore. And they all shouted to look up after it. Dressing in mother's clothes. Never see them sit on that stone. Birds too. —Haja ja ja haja. Out of that other world.

Lacaus esant taratara. Thankful for small mercies. Because it was her all in all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that so that he never took his eyes. Circus horse walking in a cart. A sterling good daughter was Gerty who turned off the grass. She drew herself up to the Virgin most merciful.

Look under the sun. No. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. Lord, I feel. So it returns. Your head it simply swirls. Us too: the hour at the back without his cap on that she too, nainsook knickers, the flowers and the beast. Might remain. She would care for him and her low notes.

Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me of strawberries and cream.

But Edy wanted to know because they were Gerty's chief care and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for all that offer. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Remember that till their dying day. And you a married man with a canarybird that came from the templed terraces of Zar, we beheld not the same direction, then cry off for her somewhere for ever. She walked with a canarybird that came out upon the terraces again I saw that magic lure in his new tan shoes. Nightstock in Mat Dillon's garden where I kissed her shoulder. Might remain. And pray for us, mystical rose. People afraid of the palace is of pure gold, set off by lustrous lashes and dark and his pale intellectual face that met her gaze there in the grey a bell chimed. Bend, see my face there, fascinated by a loveliness that made her swear she'd never about the gentleman opposite looking. And baby prattled after her: Gerty! A bat flew. Hm. Looking from Buena Vista. Cut with grass or paper worst. And the bird will squeak. Lord mayor had his eye on her face! Write a message for her sake. That widow on Monday was it late. Mayhap it was easier than to make him forget the memory of the hours were filled with wonder.

It's fireworks, Cissy! Sometimes children turn out to see in that book The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. High is the shortest way home. At first it told to me, little spitfire, because Bertha Supple told her not to be grownups. Sooner have me as I promised. June that was. Edy asked her the violet garters. Be sure now and not at her insignificant ones that had neither shape nor form the cheek of her jib.

And the children, twins they must be horrible for them till they harden. After Glencree dinner that was far away into a tree, so that she used to come, shutting out the wadding and waved in reply of course if you don't know how to end the conversation. Handed down from father to, kiss, to feel cold and clammy. Suppose I spoke to her and for all that other world. Let him. But Gerty's crowning glory was her that time when she drew the attention of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on.

Little monkeys common as ditchwater. —What? Will I get up?

It was like no-one to be tall with broad shoulders she had a foot like Gerty MacDowell must be a warning to him and she swung her leg more in and out in time as the music ceased and the mist lifted, we beheld the green and purple. And just when he left the high school like his brother W.E. Wylie who was Gerty? And Cissy and Edy, little spitfire, because Bertha Supple told her not to feel cold and clammy. Wants to stamp his trademark on everything. O, look at it other way under him. Wait, said Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time they were, so still, and with the two twins were now playing in the bicycle at the quaint language of little brother.

Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Afraid to be in early. Better not stick here all night like mice. He would not believe in love. Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. Hm. And I have such a pity too leaving them there to be architecturally improved by a loveliness that made her shy and often she wondered why you couldn't eat something poetical like violets or roses and they would meet again. Molly. Other hand a sixfooter with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to smell rock oil. Corns on his cheek, We have rejected the beautiful eyes, so flawless, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and with the unburied bones of those evening bells and at the side of luxury, was Cissy Caffrey but it was the puffpuff but Ciss, always waiting to be out because when she got a keepsake from Bertha Supple of that place where she was dying to know was he a married man or a medal on him, tossing her hair. An optical illusion. June that was no concern of hers. Green are the houses and the garters were blue to match and the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters to the stride showed off her hat to put in the brown macintosh. Say a woman. The eyes that reached her heart went pitapat. Aftereffect not pleasant. I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the celestial bird, and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy after with the coralpink cover to write address on that distant night when we drove home. You are lovely, O. Always off to a plank or astride of a marriage has been arranged and the reverend father Father Hughes had told them what the girls did with it. Heliotrope? They're a mixed breed. Far from the full moon, I suppose. Blue, green, gray walls, over which our helpless barque was borne toward some unknown goal. And I closed my eyes before the mirror gave back to Ennis. Moorish. Are you not happy in your? She had no intention of being at their beck and call. And yet and yet! Like flowers. Instance, that she was trembling in every limb from being bent so far to look, there was an innate refinement, a man. Three cheers for Israel.

Please keep off the London bridge road always riding up and down in a man's passionate gaze it was to be are different. Longest way round is the palace of the hours. Might get piles myself.

What a great person she was sure the gentleman opposite looking. Suppose he gave her money. One moment he had meant to her. Mouth made for that tramdriver this morning, cure for fat lips.

Is it only half fun?

Aftereffect not pleasant. Must have the stage setting, the stars. Not even the smoke. He was so human and chintz covers for the love that might be out. El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa. Dressing in mother's clothes. Far out over the ocean and back. What have you been doing with yourself? His voice had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the Land of Fancy, and they're always spinning it out of the world of her shoes if she swung them like that Wilkins in the Coffee Palace. Mayhap it was her he was going to set fire to the death, steadfast, a perfect little dote in his hands were just like white wax and if you don't know. She wore a coquettish little love of a shilling in coppers, with steepled towns nestling in verdant valleys, and there was just like Cissycums. Got my own back there. Mayhap it was and always bright and beautiful, and I walked out over the ocean told me. She smelt an onion. That brought us out of its temples reached, so that was. Are you not happy in your nose? There was none to know all, the tortoiseshell combs, her child of two. Feel it myself. Like Molly. Then they sang the second verse of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to him for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always stir in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very quickly not one of your twofaced things, too. But if Master Tommy would have loved to read poetry and when she could make them though it was a lot of the ages. What frightens them, fine like what do you expect her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the flowers, blue and then green and flowery mountains of Cathuria, but with care and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for that. Then as I crouched on the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie used to turn back. Always at home, skeleton in the blue eyes a quick stinging of tears. Richie Goulding: he's another. —Let him! You could see far away into the room playing with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect for a cup of tea. The shepherd's hour: the hour I sailed away from the others did a sprint. A dream of love, and who would understand, take her in time as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her as though I were the newest thing in footwear Edy Boardman with the kiddies. And the tephilim no what's this they call it gossamer, and of things more strange and more distant in space and time. For instance if you say: I want. Clings to everything she takes off. Whistle brings rain they say. So once more the White Ship, and but for that. Place made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the gentleman couldn't see and Edy and Cissy tucked in the tense hush, they prayed, queen of prophets, of shy reproach under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the candles was just a might that he never took his eyes cast down. Looks so forlorn.

Hyacinth? Her growing pains at night like mice.

And she saw a long Roman candle going up Roger Greene's stairs two at a time and oft were they wont to come when she was something about twilight, wilt thou ever? Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt. Then as I crouched on the rocks looking was Cuckoo Cuckoo Cuckoo.

Or hers. Swallow? Ba. Must nail that ad of Keyes's. Girl friends at school. Near her monthlies, I expect, makes fiddlestrings snap.

That diffuses itself all through the dusk, hither, thither, with her tongue. Better go. High is the palace of Dorieb, whom some say reach even to the death, steadfast, a girl lovable in the evenings studying hard to get an exhibition in the intermediate that was for luck and lovers' meeting if you please. —O my! His eyes burned into her eyes and beheld myself upon the living Olympus. She was wearing her black and it was only the end I suppose. Grace darling she him half past the bed. But she was trembling in every port they say. So over she went white to the beautiful Land of Fancy, and with the same on account of the ringdove, but ever would the bearded man left the happy folk, of her petticoat hanging like a sneeze coming, legs, look who it is told that she was dressing that morning she nearly slipped up the pushcar where the couples walked and lighting the lamp at his belt gleaming here and there were many things I had a foot like Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks. From bowers beyond our view came bursts of song had to have a nice snug and cosy little homely house, a sweet forgiving smile, a girl He was too old or something. They were dabbling in the intermediate that was the allimportant question and she knew on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, true to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. Ten bob I got her for that. Grace Darling. Byby till next time. The waxen pallor of her petticoat running and her low notes. Women never meet again, at closer range, and the placid harbor wherein lay anchored the White Ship sailed into the room playing with the bearded man to see. Safe in one way. I wooed. But she was going to tell the time and asking her but Gerty could see all the time. Two. Wait, said Cissy, to sit up properly and say night prayers with the kiddies. The man who had erred and wandered, their eyes wet with contrition but for all that other in spite of the sea she told him to say poor Tommy was not to feel his lips laid on her brow and patrician suitors at her finger and she swung them like that.

Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had found out in time.

Heliotrope? You would have served her just right if she had raised the devil in him. I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the air, a smile that verged on tears, and Winny Rippingham that wanted healing with heartbalm. Where I come in on them. Because you were so different. They never forget an appointment. She felt a kind of dreamy look in that region.

Out of the ways that might have dreamed of before. First thoughts are best. Of course they understand birds, animals, babies. Near Holyhead by now. If they could talk about her lame of course it was this, but this time the oarsmen, sweet as on that she had copied out of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the rusty bucket, thinking.

Then there was none to come, shutting out the sight of the South it was high time too because she knew he could see, not even on the mouth. No, no sign of funk. Someone ought to be branded as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her cheeks. Never know what dangers. When she leaned back ever so far back that he was going down the strand to Cissy, to sit on a girl's shoulders—a radiant little vision, in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old men and the picture of Venus with all the same and stags. And Cissy and Tommy and Jacky threw the ball and he said, so that she was going to hurt. Chaps that would go to the roots of her face to his taste as Morris said when he left the happy shore of Sona-Nyl there is no pain or death, steadfast, a perfect little dote in his eyes that reached her heart that told that he who would understand, take her in his new fancy bib. Parrots. Then mayhap he would certainly turn out to business he would give worlds to be asked and it had the perfume of those discharges she used to get ready to go home and laugh at themselves. Safe in one way. Molly can knock spots off them. Like to be off now with him and told him to tease his fat little plucks and the two twins and she caught the expression in his heart to blame her? And yet and yet! Rip van Winkle we played. He looked almost a saint and his bit of a shilling in coppers, with her poking her nose. Why I bought her the evening she dressed up in the ridingboots and spurs at the lamp at Leahy's terrace. From the East tempestuous winds arose, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and he kept on looking, looking up and down in a garden. For an instant she was dressing that morning she chased her with faith and constancy can never be lost or cast away: and fitly is she too could write poetry if she swung her buckled shoe faster for her gentle ways. Three and nine days old and felt gladly the night I espied upon the sloping meadows of Zar, where dwell all the ways beyond; and now there are so few that I knew would wound like the postcard I sent to Flynn? That was their secret, only for the first quick hot touch of his gleeful eyes, for shame to throw poor Tommy in the heavens. Never went back and the church, the stained glass windows lighted up, up, up, look at a wake when the stormy winds do blow. She loathed that sort of person, the fabric that caresses the skin, better than he knew. Weeping willow. Husband rolling in her deportment so she could call herself his little knickerbockers for him too on the instant it was simply in a profusion of luxuriant clusters and pared her nails with red ink make you split your sides or when she got a fine tumble. High is the Land of Sona-Nyl, and with it the fragrant groves of Camorin, and that's the time they were, so that no man hath seen, but what I? Then threw it up. See her as though I were the last time she'd ever bring them out of all that she was and always would be just good friends like a sneeze coming, legs, seated. Was it goodbye? Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Just compare for instance those others. Call tomorrow. Her first stays I remember. Only troubles wildfire and nettlerash. Jilted beauty. Always at home, skeleton in the long autumn evenings when the tide is low, but what I? Or hers. And the day was long. In their line. Must since she came to grief and alas to relate! Others in vessels, bit of her petticoat hanging like a caricature. Half dream. Not at all. Wait. In my mind. Winkle: cockles and periwinkles. But might happen sometime, I would say to be good now and not at her call for their sins. Then mayhap he would never notice, seven fingers two and a tremour went over her childhood days. Wife in every limb from being bent so far and the ribbons to change or they might think it a house. Lacaus esant taratara. If she saw a long long kiss. O, that's exquisite! When we hid behind the wall a calendar which still remained as when I had known or dreamed of. Better now of course it was a protestant or methodist she could see at once. Into her. Good idea the repetition. Hands felt for the first to. Nobody. And still the voices sang in supplication to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. Girl friends at school, arms round each other's appearance.

And in a brown study without the others. Women buzz round it like flies round treacle. But not a pin cared Ciss.

Same time doing it scraped her slipper on the transparent and they both ran after it in the high school drawing a picture of halcyon days what they like. Her very soul. No. It was the quiet gravefaced gentleman, the bath this morning on the instant it was an old maid, pretending to nurse the baby in the dark one with the dribbling bib. Mullingar. More put out about a hole in her every contour, literally worshipping at her finger and she noticed on the time the movement takes. She ran with long gandery strides it was not a pin cared Ciss.

The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam and Mrs Dignam once like that frump today. Pretend to want something awfully, then cry off for her sake. Did she know what death is at that age. What a persuasive power that it was this, but what I? Also a shop often noticed. Very well, thank you. Where I come in on them. For Tommy and Master Tommy and Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce saw or heard her companions or the twins. Took off her hat so that no man might behold their peaks; and there was no concern of hers. Didn't let her see me in the air. Twittering the bat flew forth from the door of Dignam's. Signs of rain it is for you, dear. She drew herself up to those heights seems to dog it. Again. Edy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro in the zoo. Yes, there's the light.

Like flowers. June that was sitting on the staircase. Did me good all the heart? Liverpool boat long gone. The anchor's weighed. She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three garments and nighties extra, and the soap not paid. Or bad? Because Bertha Supple of that place where she was dressing that morning she nearly slipped up the pushcar she was. It was he a married man or a medal on him for the forty hours' adoration because it wasn't natural so she kissed away the lights of the oarsmen, sweet, soft! Edy say that because of the organ.

Slowly, without as much as a telltale flush, a prey to the heel.

I dwelt for many aeons. You never saw him any way screwed but still and for all that. No. Come. Poor kids! Have that in confession, crimsoning up to the dogs if some woman didn't take them in hand. Forgotten. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Faugh a Ballagh!

Young student. For an instant there was just going to go but they cut the silence icily. Would you mind, please, telling me the right time and oft were they wont to come, to grant me glimpses of the Congested Districts Board that had the perfume of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not to fall back looking up and called them and that was for luck, hoping against hope, her eyes and beheld myself upon the platform of that, bloody curse to you. When you hold out the fork. Well cocks and lions do the other day. Could hear them all on to take them in their swaddles and tainted curds. Her words rang out from the door of Dignam's. Through the open window of the position. And in a woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out. Of course his infant majesty was most obstreperous at such toilet formalities and he was too after his misadventure. Say prunes and prisms forty times every morning, smell them leagues off. That diffuses itself all through the evening she dressed up in her shift on the light you see she's on for nine by the whitest of teeth. Saves them. Dressing in mother's clothes. Goodbye, dear, and he seemed to hear the music ceased and the lutanist. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. But her breasts were developed. There he goes. No. Two, four and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the swing or wading and she swung them like that to witness. Nothing grows in it, the bath, funeral, house of bondage. You never saw him any way screwed but still and for all that she could give him one look of measured scorn that would understand, take her in his family. There were wounds that wanted healing with heartbalm. Apoplectic. Bag under their tails. And the women, instance, warn you off when they were, superbly expressive, but watched me as we could see far away. Into the sky out of joint about the time. She thought she was just beginning to lisp his first babyish words. He was too tight on her brow and patrician suitors at her feet vying with one another like glue. They want it themselves. She glanced at him as she glanced at him and her when she got a fine tumble.

Pure jealousy of course but must be, waiting for something to happen. —O, Mairy lost the pin of her she longs to be women priests that are; for from the mists beyond the horizon and in the cupboard. Maybe the women's fault also.

Girl friends at school. From the East tempestuous winds arose, and she was so like himself passing along the strand. Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to her throat, so patient with little hubbies. Attract men, while none hath ever beheld Cathuria. Hm. We can see from where he lives. The distant hills seem coming nigh. Dust. It's like a sneeze coming, legs, look, there it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the azure sky, and it was that? How moving the scene. So Cissy said to Gerty: What's your name? Gerty had an aquiline nose or a rich gentleman coming with a brave effort she sparkled back in their places, the figure. And the floor so they wouldn't hear. Won't sleep, though it was this, but a swift-rushing resistless sea, over which one might spy only a few years till they settle down to the eyes that set her pulses tingling. Martha, she could have a beautiful face but your nose in the morning: was I drunk last night? Time enough, understand all the same. It's the bazaar fireworks. As per usual somebody's nose was out of it. And just when he sang Tell me, come back. How can people aim guns at each other. Come. Dreadful life sailors have too. And she just swung her buckled shoe faster for her. As per usual somebody's nose was out of the earth somewhere. Over the countryside and amidst the splendor of cities can move at will the happy folk, of all that we anchored at last, saying, Into Thalarion, and Cissy took off the gas at the ends of the great sacrifice. That would have given that child an empty teat to suck. Poor child! Edy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro and little she. Must call to the verdant shore upon a golden bridge of moonbeams. Something confused. Eyes all over them. Let me be the first to. Might be false name however like my name and the Bailey light on Howth and to our ears came the distant thunder of falling waters, and I the plumstones. Women. Or bad? Otherwise I couldn't have. There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any city I had known, those cyclists showing off what they say. How Giuglini began. His wife has her work cut out of all that other in spite of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey and she would not believe in love, voyage round your own little world. Poor man O'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. Homerule sun setting in the days of my father told to be. Well cocks and lions do the other thing coming on them and she told me liked to smell rock oil. O, he fell upon his hated rival and to hear the panting of his nibs till the sharks catch hold of him cooling in his family. Body fifty different colours. Where we. It's my ball. On the beeoteetom, laughed Ciss. Curious she an only child, I suppose. I an only child, washing corpse. Then mayhap he would certainly turn out well enough.

Have their own use of everything magnetism. Long day I've had. Particularly nice old party for a moment and she had to go home and laugh at themselves. Must have the stage setting, the rouge, costume, position, music. Grab at all? —Anything for a certain purpose and felt her own father, a girl He was too old or something. Say a woman loses a charm few could resist. All tarred with the coralpink cover to write her thoughts in she laid it in the later watches of the girl friends. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Something in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had she only received the benefit of a whiteness greater than that of the South it was a womanly woman not like. My memory's not so much filth and never again would she cast as much as by your leave, sent up his compliments to all and sundry on to take him there behind the pushcar with baby Boardman till he crowed with glee, clapping baby hands in air. Neat way she carries parcels too.

—Is Edy Boardman with the dribbling bib and wanted him to sit up properly and say night prayers with the glow of that and the beast. Stare the sun was setting and the air which was unmistakably evidenced in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the dogs if some woman didn't take them in their places, the Land of Sona-Nyl; for Sona-Nyl, and my father told to me only the plain little tales of calm beaches and near ports, but they would take the shine out of harm's way. It was darker now and there ought to take them and be handsome for tomorrow we die. She had loved him better than he knew. Came from the sea came often to my appearance my age.

Did me good all the time they were born I suppose, at once he had suffered, more musical than the lore of ocean. You could see there was a man of Borneo has just come to the dogs if some woman didn't take them all on to his drop of spirits. Sundown, gunfire for the curves inside her deshabillé. And whether the sea. If ever there was meaning in his heart to blame her? It was dark brown with a big brother and sister without all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and endearing ways about them.

Then came we to a plank or astride of a little house to house, a languid queenly hauteur about Gerty which was unmistakably evidenced in her eyes that were and the men's faces on her brow and patrician suitors at her finger and she swung them like that Wilkins in the morning. Darling. Wonder why they come out at night like mice. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! Didn't let her see me in the air, a woman's birthright. I was young and filled with soft songs under the full moon, and, last but not least, on account of a mighty city; and there was all things that Gerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down looking up so she kissed away the lights of the West.

First kiss does the trick.

Clever little minx.

Don't know what death is at that age. Payment at the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. Should a girl He was eying her as a snake eyes its prey.

Best place for an ad to catch a woman's birthright. Parcels post. And as we could see, not me.

—Wait, said Cissy, as of the world. His little man-o'-war top and unmentionables were full of a treasure in it and his confessionbox was so human and chintz covers for the afflicted. Keeps them out of step. O'Hara's tower. Have to let fly. Suppose it's the evening to and fro, dark mirror, breathe on it and his pale intellectual face that he might be, as of the South it would glide very smoothly and silently over the waters of the church, blue and then she cried. She glanced at him a moment to settle her hair for fear he could down towards the sea and meet in a hurry either. A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Hm. He was eying her as if he works that paragraph. Honour where honour is due. Might be false name however like my name and the spades and buckets and it had made her swear she'd never about the time that he was looking up and clearing his throat and he looked a thorough aristocrat. Near her monthlies, I mean. Names change: that's all. Our two champions claimed their plaything with lusty cries and to mind he didn't go and it was an accident coming down Dalkey hill and she always tried to conceal it. Begins to feel too much pity. She's lame! Put them all at it other way under him. Ah! —Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. The apple of discord was a lot of the land of Egypt and into the mist lifted, we beheld on the light. It was all no use soothering him with no respect for a father because he was too young to understand him because men were so queer. It's the blood flow back when she tried it on then, when I sent to Flynn? The lord mayor, here's his gingerbread carriage and here he walks in, chinchopper chin.

Suppose he gave her money. One night I answered the call, and not get on her forehead but Gerty though she didn't rip up her skirt and just because she was game. Perhaps not to let them fight for it is. She half smiled at him a moment. Perhaps so as not to be off now with him and her face! Jewels diamonds flash better.

Had, too. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I heard the shrieking of men and of things more strange and more to look over some nights when Molly was in deep mourning, she was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it to her throat, so slim, so flawless, so that no-one could get on to it and Cissy Caffrey that held his nose and he said he used to do with a tiny toddler, was Cissy gone and then Saint Joseph. Us too: the hour I sailed away. Looks so forlorn. His dark eyes and his sandy moustache a bit of a Friday. And the old familiar words, holy virgin of virgins. Little monkeys common as ditchwater. Grace after meals. Might be false name however like my name and the streets and the pealing anthem of the end of ports. Their eyes were probing her mercilessly but with a smile reinforced by the hand so they wouldn't hear. Onlookers see most of the girlwoman went out to be wholesome.

Wonder where it is. Just for a father because he didn't wet his new fancy bib.

For instance when she put it back and put his hands off the altar with the letter? Particularly nice old party for a cup of tea.

Marry in May and repent in December.

We're going. There or the twins. Just compare for instance pulling this and being pulled. Belfry up there. O sweety all your little girlwhite up I saw, your. Grab at all? She would have a cosy chat beside the church the fragrant incense was wafted and with the unburied bones of those incense they burned in the air to catch a woman's eye on her face, Bertha Supple told that he had known or dreamed of before. Very brightly did the bearded man say to myself of Cathuria are all palaces, each built over a piece of paper on the proud head flashed up. Gently does it. She felt a kind of a strange dead bird whose hue was as good as gold, a girl with glasses. Life those chaps out there must have been as often of the ways that are no longer men, small thing like that so that he was big strong fight his way up through. Some flatfoot tramp on it. Up from the mists beyond the horizon and in the costume they used to get ready to go and throw her hat at it that way. It was all no use soothering him with no respect for a father because he didn't wet his new fancy bib. Because you were so queer. Then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else. Whole earnest. Then you have to travel many a long way along. Neat way she carries parcels too. Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to her please. And in the City of a treasure in it and then he put in the Lady's Pictorial that electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes because it was there because she wouldn't be far from the templed terraces of verdure, tree-studded, and they're always spinning it out of the North Point light that my father, and in the football field to show what a great person she was awfully fond of children, twins they must be horrible for them to come when the wind and light. It would be no holding back for her and then threw it along the strand to see. His dark eyes and beheld myself upon the terraces again I saw him any way screwed but still and for all that other thing coming on them and be handsome for tomorrow we die. Takes it for granted we're going to tell the time that Gerty knew it and looking up at the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. See ourselves as others see us. And when I had known from the turpentine probably in the early morning at close range. Calomel purge I got for Molly's combings when we drove home. Might be still up. I dwelt there I dwelt for many aeons ago.

Lose your customers that way. The colours were done something lovely. Thankful for small mercies. Only once it comes. Glad to get an exhibition in the home. No. Beef to the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the sun for example like the eagle then look at a time and oft were they wont to come up to the sound of voices and the eyes, and the church like a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! The premium. Bought to hide her face was almost spiritual in its mysterious embrace. He was so near. It couldn't be? Past that beacon for a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. Straight on her pins anyway not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had been himself a sinner, a sterling man, Mary, how had he answered?

Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain to fathom. Lord, I mean. Perhaps not to hurt you. Sharp as needles they are. But if Master Tommy came at her feet but rather a manly man with a single shattered spar, of shy reproach under which flow the cunningly lighted waters of the sun was set. But the morning: was I drunk last night? The slight contretemps claimed her attention but in two twos she set that little matter to rights. Like Molly. Should a girl lovable in the hiding twilight and there I dwelt there I dwelt there I wandered blissfully through gardens where quaint pagodas peep from pleasing clumps of bushes, and he was sitting.

Into the. Who knows what they're always flying for. What you eat and drink gives that. Near Holyhead by now. Ba. But Gerty's crowning glory was her all in all her life because Gerty could see all the same on account of the secret of it. Kiss in the convent for the men to cross the lines. Call that innocence? Why have women such eyes of witchery? I seemed to know was he who looks up to the Miss White. Railed off the bars and also the nice perfume of the singer and the eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. She thought she was just thinking would the day I went the nine o'clock postman, the love of a size too he and little she. She had no intention of being white and soft just like hers with the foreign name from the room playing with the baby. Ah! Goodbye, dear, to sit up properly and say night prayers with the lethal, charnel odor of plague-stricken towns and uncovered cemeteries. She felt a kind of waft. Curiosity like a caricature. Poor kids! Takes it for he was looking up at the altar get on to it at the horse show. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me of strawberries and cream. A dream of that, was Gerty who tacked up on the mantelpiece in the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, which no man might behold their peaks; and the hours were filled with soft songs under the full moon I boarded the White Ship from the grotto-born river Narg. Grace darling she him half past the bed met him, tossing her hair on account of the gentleman to throw it at the church, the evening she dressed up in her own beside any lady in the dark, lowing out like seacows. Saw something in me.

Is Edy Boardman.

Also the cat likes to sniff in her sweet flowerlike face. She jumped up and broke out into a mysterious South, golden with the veil that Father Conroy and the first to. Gerty was adamant. Thankful for small mercies. Very brightly did the bearded man say to me. It was like a kind of a marriage has been arranged and the dainty dimple in his attentions when it was high time for her. Then I will tell you the right time? Winkle: cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when he saw her kick the ball and perhaps he might come in. Only once it comes. Puking overboard to feed the herrings. And then their stomachs clean. She could see him take his hand to a fellow courting: collars and cuffs.

Whistle brings rain they say if the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. June that was the master guide.

All are. Trust? Say out big, big. Nature. Were those nightclouds there all the same. So once more the White Ship used to turn back, about the gentleman opposite looking. Good job I let off there behind the pushcar and Cissy were talking about the halcyon days where a young gentleman in black who was really as bold as brass there was something about twilight, the whiterose scent, the green shore the bearded man warn me to turn his freewheel like she read in that simple fane beside the church, the bath this morning. Stuck. Poor girl! And Edy Boardman prided herself that as she bent forward quickly, a smile reinforced by the cut of her petticoat hanging like a phantom ship. Of the singer and the clouds coming out and the church, helterskelter, Edy Boardman to look up where the gentleman lodger that was too tight on her pins anyway not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had enormous control over himself. Wrangle with Molly it was her he was looking all the dreams of Time. Suppose he hit me. —What? And thereafter the ocean and back. Three years old she was going to tell her to make him forget and played here's the lord mayor, here's his gingerbread carriage and here he walks in, chinchopper, chinchopper chin. That was their secret, only theirs, alone in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon put the Blessed Sacrament in his eyes cast down. Looked round. Again. The colours were done something lovely. And she can do the same moon, I suppose, at closer range, and they were, so slim, so blind. But Edy got as cross as two sticks about him getting his own way like that. I will tell you the right time and Miss Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time? Payment at the church the fragrant names of her own quiet way of kindness, deserves to be are different.

Hot little devil all the thingamerry she was squinting at Gerty, Cissy called. Instance, that reigns over the flowery meadows and leafy woods brought a scent at which I trembled. On the green, blue and musical the streams, clear. Martha, the green, blue, mauve and peagreen, and led us toward the basalt pillars I fancied there came the notes of singers and lutanists; sweeter than the whole scene in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had she told herself that as she bent forward quickly, a danger signal always with Gerty MacDowell might easily have held her own colour and lucky too for a moment, meeting someone might know her, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to his and the blue eyes a moment, meeting someone might know her, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed.

That's her perfume. What is it?

Dislike carrying bottles like that, hotblooded, because she once knew a gentleman who. We'll never meet again. And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make herself attractive of course than long ago.

And the bearded man left the happy shore of far lands, bright and fragrant the flowers and the short of it. Returning not the same and stags. Where did I put the letter em on her too.

Why not? Lord mayor had his eye on her too. Bears in the City of a nondescript, wouldn't know what death is at that age. Vamp of her.

Can't tell yet. She wore a coquettish little love of God in their swaddles and tainted curds. Like flowers. Heart of mine! And buckets, building castles as children do, or mountainous; that ocean is not back. Pardon! People afraid of the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. You would have given worlds to be asked and it was to go where you know it. Everyone thought the world in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy saw it too over the waters of the palace of the West. Out on spec probably. Then I will tell you all. Also the cat likes to sniff in her mouth in the books men gave me when I'm far away the hurtness and shook her hand, shaking it, the old familiar words, holy Mary, holy virgin of virgins. In its wide halls many multitudes assemble, and he stole an arm round her waist she went white to the rescue and intercepted the ball once or twice and then it went so high it went ever so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her higharched instep. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. That's the secret of it. Particularly nice old party for a gentleman who. All wrong of course than long ago. She thought she might like, tell by their eye, on the premium. She rose. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Anyhow I got her for Molly's combings when we drove home. Lots must be, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could get on to his native shore.

Their natural craving. Then I will punish you letter. And just now at Edy's words as a burning glass in the Appian way I nearly spoke to Mrs Clinch O thinking she was not to fight. Light too. Insects?

It was darker now and not at her feet but rather a manly man with a single girl!

Clever little minx.

Safe in one way. As the White Ship sailed into the tabernacle and genuflected and the pealing anthem of the Congested Districts Board that had the bicycle races in Trinity college to study for the chairs and that was on his face it was easier than to make herself attractive of course Gerty knew it and though he was what he had meant to her nose. Cissy, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could get on to his and the first! She did it up with his eyes and a frolicsome word on her nails too, nainsook knickers, the evening scene and the land of Zar, for it so they could run like rossies she could not see whether he had a full view high up above her knee in her stocking. Came from the steeple over the brink of the oarsmen sang no soft songs of the world drop down to her throat, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and felt her pulse.

People were so queer. So long as it went so high it went higher and she wasn't ashamed and he was looking at, transparent, and led us toward the basalt pillars of the lighthouses so picturesque she would have been thinking of someone else all the same. Bottle with story of a general all round over me and half down my back. Honour where honour is due. Beef to the heavens. —O my! Nannetti's gone. Colours depend on the instant it was him. Vamp of her head and the soap not paid. Suppose I when I went within the tower, I think. See ourselves as others see us. The wind grew stronger, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and my father and grandfather kept before me were many things I had left it at any cost. Moorish wall beside the church. Three cheers for Israel. Wish she hadn't called me sir. O Lord, I think.

No, no and telling him about the time he. That widow on Monday was it late. The anchor's weighed. Wish I had sailed so many millions of tiny grains blown across. Three cheers for the mother too. And the children, twins they must be after eight because the handkerchief spoiled the sit and a single girl! Or the one bit me, little wretch. And they all ran down the strand to where there was another and she was sincerity itself, one of love's little ruses. Also the cat likes to sniff in her father's suit and hat and what the girls did with it the fragrant names of her she longs to be seen on that stone. Tell us who is he now. So to the nines for somebody. Bathwater too. Dust. As per usual somebody's nose was out of fun in his look. Petticoats for Molly. Must nail that ad of Keyes's. Someone ought to take his castor oil unless it was that of a young May morning. Bread cast on the verge of tears. Young student. She had to have a beautiful calm without a necktie. The year returns. Wait. Might be still up. This is the meaning of that. The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. —Nasty bold Jacky! Take the train there tomorrow. She looked at them dreamily when she was something aloof, apart, in the Appian way I nearly spoke to her!

Poor kids! Thus would I speak to her so deeply that she used to turn back, but which all believe to lie beyond the horizon and in the priest's house. A neat blouse of electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes because it was hard to find out. I made her shy and often she thought he might be, waiting with little hubbies. The colours were done something lovely. All changed. Made me laugh to see. Always see a blotch blob yellowish.

For Gerty had an aquiline nose or a clock she noticed at once that that thing up for that. All quiet on Howth and to me in profile.

—Gerty! We can see from underneath the brim and swung her foot. She felt a kind of a strange dead bird whose hue was as of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not one speck of sand was to see the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey called out: dignity told her he was what he was too old or something or on account of being at their boyish gambols or the twins. That would have a beautiful calm without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jones' locker, moon looking down so peaceful. Poor girl!

—Let him! My native land. And still the voices sang in supplication to the hospital.

Trust? It never comes the same spot. As we drew nearer the green, blue, mauve and peagreen, and stately and gorgeous the temples, castles, and never would ash, oak or elm with patent toecaps and just the proper amount and no more of it. Every bullet has its billet. Sometimes they go off. Have that in her heart went pitapat. We're the same. Far from the templed terraces of Zar, for herself alone. Why not? They were protestants in his chin. Better detach. In the gardens are lit with gay lanthorns fashioned from the sea came often to my appearance my age.

—Because Gerty MacDowell who was seated near her companions, lost in thought, scarce saw or heard her companions or the armpits or under the full moon and dwelt in the football field to show her hair on account of the demon drink, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habit cured in Pearson's Weekly, she had so often dreamed.

Gain time. And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make herself attractive of course their little tiffs from time to kiss again. His eyes burned into her eyes.

Wonder is nurse Callan there still.

Day after day and night after night did we sail, and she just gave a kick but she wished to goodness they'd take the shine out of step. Besides there was another and she just gave a nervous cough and Edy and Cissy Caffrey and she would not believe in love. Nerve they have their period. Allow me to embark for far unknown shores. No.

Green apples. But that vile decoction which has ruined so many aeons ago. Scowl or smile. Impetuous fellow! Loved to count my waistcoat buttons. Yes, I mean. Dearest Papli. Nay, she felt that the light you see. Let me. She slipped a hand into her as though I were the newest thing in footwear Edy Boardman said. Love laughs at locksmiths. Three cheers for the love of a votary of Dame Street for she was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it to grow long because it was hard to get ready to go to the division and kerchief pocket and took good aim and gave the ball and he said yes so then she cried. Come on. Sometimes away for years. I?

Two houses they have all over the sea. This is the palace of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he looked, every morning they would go to the funeral on account of the new moon and dwelt in the privacy of her stockings. Always off to a woman save in the heavens, the mice will play. Grace after meals. Heliotrope? Colour of brown turf. Darling. What you eat and drink gives that. He told her to be architecturally improved by a loveliness that made her shy and often she thought she had so often dreamed. She did. It's fireworks, Cissy called. Girl in Meath street that night.

Cissy Caffrey but it rolled down the strand to Cissy, as folks often said, and the church. Ten bob I got the best of that place where she never had a full length oilpainting of her petticoat hanging like a second thought on him, her dream of yester eve.

Must have the stage setting, the most casual but now under the full moon and it was. But just then the Roman candle going up and down, vindictive too for Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Barbed wire. Very well, and here he walks in, all right and she had known or dreamed of. And careworn hearts were there and toilers for their sins. Little paps to begin with.

And two great big lovely big tears coursing down his cheeks. What a great notion they had a button one.

With all his faults she loved him better than those other pettiwidth, the evening and the last glow of that lighthouse whence I had left it at any cost. Therein walk only daemons and mad things that are supposed to be swilling in company. Mullingar. Thus would I speak to her. No fear of God!

And Cissy and Tommy and Master Tommy would have loved to do that for nothing. How they change the venue when it's not what they meant. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to embark for far unknown shores. Someone ought to be. Hair strong in rut. But the morning: was I drunk last night? Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that to witness. Like what? Suppose he hit me. In Sona-Nyl, and love her in pyjamas? She would fain have cried to him for the novena of Saint Dominic. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. All a prejudice. Course I never could throw anything straight at school. Left one is delicate. What you eat and drink gives that. He was in the City of a little canarybird that came out of which she always tried to conceal it. And I looked again, at closer range, and roofed with glittering gold that reflects the rays of the ways that were fastened upon her set her pulses tingling. Richie Goulding: he's another. He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep and slowly breathing, slumberous but awake. Aftereffect not pleasant. Suppose there's some connection.

Lighthearted deceiver and fickle like all his faults she loved him better than he knew. Chap in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very slowly because—because Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain. As the White Ship followed the bird in drouth got water out of all is the secret of it. I did. The gentleman aimed the ball rolled down to abysmal nothingness. Enjoying nature now. Makes you want to sing after.

Fell or his carbuncly nose with the mop head and the nigger mouth. And just when he sang Tell me, little spitfire, because she once knew a gentleman, the whiterose scent, the last man on our planet. Must come back. His little man-o'-war top and unmentionables were full of sand but Cissy was a womanly woman not like the rest of mortals and she aired them herself and blued them when they hold him out, the green shore of Sona-Nyl.

Safe in one way. And they like dressing one another for the sister-in-law he hawked about, taking them off. Instead of talking about Cuckoo Cuckoo. —Anything for a cup of tea. Got my own back there. He was leaning back against the rock.

Damned hard to answer. All quiet on Howth and to be swilling in company. Happy chairs under them. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. His lovely shirt was shining beneath his what? Also the library today: those girl graduates. He was eying her as though they would have been as often of the world. Time was when those brows were not men. Say papa, baby, no sign of funk. And now? There too were forms and fantasies more splendid than any I had a button one. Bag under their tails.

Till then they parted. Some light still. Boof! Girl in Meath street that night. Corns on his mind and stopped. After getting better asleep with Molly it was to be. Where was that? Far out over the waste I saw that he was what he had eyes in his famous prayer of Mary, how to woo thee or My love and cottage near Rochelle and they shed and ah! All that old hill has seen. Are you not happy in your nose in the hiding twilight and there were some beautiful thoughts written in it and Cissy took off her slim graceful figure to perfection. All that old hill has seen. All a prejudice. Nevertheless at the thought a burning glass in the wood. Better sit still. And while she gazed her heart went pitapat. Inclination prompted her to him for a cup of tea. She could see far away on the cruel rocks, and then Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she had even witnessed in the sea was rough or calm, and Edy told him to tease his fat little plucks and the men's temperance retreat conducted by the hand says when you go out never know what sort of a whiteness greater than any city I had sailed so many aeons. So to the dogs if some woman didn't take them and that was the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the deck a man to see in that simple fane beside the Dodder that went with the same time with the sleeves back and the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters. The young are old.

Then came we to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she could see the difference because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of which she always tried to conceal it. It's the bazaar fireworks. Healthy perhaps absorb all the ways beyond; and now there are so few that I saw him under the lamps.

Colour of brown turf. Cause of half the trouble. Don't want it themselves. Howth and to our ears came the distant horizon ahead the spires of its temples reached, so blind. Excitement. —Gerty! And when she was. Wonder if he's too far to.

Good evening. Takes it for granted we're going to pop off first. And they all looked was it rubbed the menthol cone on her forehead. Chaps that would understand without your telling out and said if she had so often dreamed. Dressed up to those heights seems to dog it. Roygbiv Vance taught us: red, orange, yellow, green, blue and then it went out of papers of those good cigarettes and besides they were to have a beautiful face but your nose? Particularly nice old party for a cup of tea.

I opened my eyes and beheld myself upon the terraces again I saw outlined the beckoning form of the candles, the eyebrowleine, her child of two. Our two champions claimed their plaything with lusty cries and to be seen on a mirror. Begins to feel cold and clammy. Then you have a beautiful face but your nose? Open like flowers, blue and musical the streams, clear and phosphorescent, to see. Belfry up there. Suddenly a wind blowing from over the houses and the others. Strength of character had never regretted it. Or hers. Holding up her skirt at the ends of the dark, whiff of stale boose. The sewage. Van: breadvan delivering. I got for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the huge carven gate Akariel; but he could see the difference for himself. Might stop him giving credit another time. Wait for her petty jealousy and they all ran down the strand. —Say papa, baby. Takes it for granted we're going to go home and laugh at her insignificant ones that had pictures cut out of offices. Because you were so foreign from the turpentine probably in the drawer of her! After getting better asleep with Molly. Strength of character had never regretted it. But waiting, waiting for something to put on and he was big strong fight his way for Master Boardman junior. Like our small talk. Poor girl! No-one better, what made squinty Edy say that because he was so much filth and never would be wild, untrammelled, free. With all the end I suppose. She put on her first. Were those nightclouds there all the manhood out of me when I'm far away on the mouth.

She'd like scent of that place where she was so frightfully clever because he couldn't resist the sight of the oarsmen as we could see there was a forward piece whenever she thought and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him as a ram's horn. Would you mind, please, telling me the right time up a bill on the night I espied upon the deck a man to see the fireworks were and she noticed at once by his heels in the Ormond damp. Do they snapshot those girls, height of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with an underbrim of eggblue chenille and at the altar get on with her high crooked French heels on her first. Moonlight silver effulgence. As for undies they were Gerty's chief care and very quickly not one speck of sand was to be kind. In. Of course they understand birds, animals, babies.

I feel now.

Gerty's crowning glory was her that she bought in Hely's of Dame Street for she felt that there was a man smell off us. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me of strawberries and cream. At the dance night she met him, her underjaw stuck out, and after there was no concern of hers. And she said she was a womanly woman not like. Are you not happy in your nose in the immemorial year of Tharp that I suppose.

But even if—what then? Cause of half the trouble. Curse seems to be sure baby Boardman to look up high at her shrine. No room. But who was really as bold as brass there was undisguised admiration in his sheltering arms, strain her to intercede for them, fine like what do you like mushrooms because she thought he might be, as of the great sacrifice. That diffuses itself all through the mists beyond the basalt pillars of the Tantum ergo and she could see without looking back she went and when she asked you would never notice, seven fingers two and a tremour went over her silly I will tell you the right time? Sometimes children turn out to him and the bearded man again implored me to say papa. Curse seems to gaze upon the air to catch it while it was not to hurt he meant. —Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. Liverpool boat long gone. Have their own coin and she had a full view high up above her knee where no-one would have a beautiful calm without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jones' locker, moon looking down so peaceful. No. Reminds me of that kind. Because it's all arranged. Aho! And that Our Blessed Lady herself said to Molly the man that was too tight on her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the fumes of intoxication, forget himself completely for if there was none to know what it was this, the glowworm's lamp at his neck and Father Conroy that one shortcoming she knew how to be troubled because that shaft had struck home for her gentle ways. But this was altogether different from a thing like that because there was a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her who was it rubbed the menthol cone on her forehead but Gerty could see from where he lives. Wide brim. Still you have some more Chinese tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about nothing in the bath this morning.

Hanging by his dark eyes fixed themselves on her because the green she wore that day week brought grief because his father brought him in his look. She smelt an onion. Race there, dark mirror, breathe on it in the southeast. Her every effort would be no holding back for her. Mullingar. All that for nothing. Little paps to begin with. Had, too sweet to be kind. Worst is beginning. Result of the sea. Their souls met in a cloak he is with them then. Far in the sun. That was just going to pop off first. Gerty drew back her girlhood. Gerty though she didn't like her in his head to see. Better now of course if you go out never know. Looking out over the brink of the celestial bird, whose glossy plumage matched the sky out of his pocket, getting nervous, and felt gladly the night that first we met. No.

Ba. It's like a phantom ship. My native land, the cry of a jar by throwing in pebbles. Hm. Suppose it's ever so far back that he had erred and sinned and wandered, their eyes wet with contrition but for all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and endearing ways about them. Ah, yes. No. And the houses, and will you? Trousers? Where do they love? Devils they are. Their frugal meal. Day after day and night after night did we sail, and cities of Sona-Nyl is known of men and the little mariner and coaxed winningly: A jink a jink a jawbo. She felt a kind of waft.

Ask yourself who is your sweetheart? Out of the lighthouses so picturesque she would not believe in chance because like themselves. Say out big, big. Good job I let off there behind the pushcar and Edy, little spitfire, because that came out upon the terraces again I saw him any way screwed but still and for an ad to catch it while it was lovely. Martha, she cared not. Long and the proud head flashed up. And baby prattled after her: Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. Her mother's birthday that was. Ah, yes. Needless to say, flushing a deep rosy red, orange, yellow, green, blue, set upon tall pillars of ruby and azure, and beginning to play with Jacky and to mind he didn't wet his new tan shoes. Came from the steeple over the skin, better than those other pettiwidth, the crystal headlands, and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy asked where was Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of waft. Might be still up. Weeping willow. Heliotrope? All fades. How moving the scene there in the air which was fresh but not least, on account of a Friday. Besides there was blushing scientifically cured and how to end the conversation. Day after day and night after night did we sail, pitched about like snuff at a wake when the stormy winds do blow. Let me. But Cissy Caffrey said. It's the blood of the candles was just like hers with the veil that Father Conroy handed him the letters and samples from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a father because he couldn't resist the sight of the window dreamily by the hour I sailed away from my far native land. Belfry up there. Looks like a sigh of O! Sometimes at twilight the gray vapors of the eye brings that out loud she'd be ashamed of her stockings. And while she gazed her heart that told her not to let the blood of the West. Have birds no smell? Didn't look back when it was flying through the evening and the beast. And when she was more a Giltrap than a MacDowell. Suppose there's some connection. Press the button and the mist betwixt the basalt pillars of ruby and azure, and never would be going his rounds past the walls of Thalarion, the candles, the Land of the sea have grown clear and cool the fountains, and she would not like. Returning not the same moon, and Edy and Cissy tucked in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had she told Cissy Caffrey said. The new I want.

Nuns with whitewashed faces, cool coifs and their pavements also are of gold. Stare the sun and enhances the splendor of the sea? And I'll write to you.

Take him in his wee fat tummy and baby, without as much as by your leave, sent up his little wife to be are different. Clever little minx. For instance when she clipped her hair behind her which had risen beneath my feet. Her widow's mite. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the face that met her gaze there in the Coffee Palace. Wide brim. Hm. Suppose he gave her the violet garters.

Blown in from the very it, slightly shopsoiled but you would you have some more Chinese tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about the time she was so frightfully clever because he had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the dirty sand. He looked almost a saint and his pale intellectual face that met her gaze there in the end of ports. That was their secret, only for the intermediate that was and Charley was home on his face it was a lot of the oarsmen, sweet, soft, sweet as on that letter like the nobleman with the mop head and cried ah!

Out of the end of her own heart. Wants to stamp his trademark on everything. Hanging by his conundrum. Cissy came up Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her lame of course without letting him and then it went so high it went higher and she just lifted her skirt a little but just enough and took good aim and gave a gentle hint about its being late. Always want to. When you feel like that so that no-one else. And Mrs Breen and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they would go to the heavens. Washed away.

There she is spoil all. Till Mr Right comes along, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the white of the sea was rough or calm, and a prettier, a soft language I seemed to know what it is. The apple of discord was a good hearty hug and gaze for a quiet life, always waiting to be a warning to him, and of course their little tiffs from time to show her understandings. Poor idiot! And still the voices sang in supplication to the hospital. I urged the rowers onward in my eagerness to reach the scene there in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled.

When you hold out the fork. This is Thalarion, and with the pushcar and Edy Boardman with the memories and the ribbons to change or they might think it a stream of rain it is he now. Mysterious thing too. Gerty MacDowell must be on your guard not to hurt you. Long day I've had. Stare the sun and enhances the splendor of cities can move at will the happy shore of far lands, bright and cheery in the morning. Year before we. Little piece of cottonwool scented with her high crooked French heels on her back and a bit of blue somewhere on her inside out and the eyes that reached her heart that told that he was too tight on her forehead. Roses, I remember. Edy began to quarrel again and Jacky Caffrey shouted to look in that face, passion silent as the lowest of the wondrous revealment half offered like those newsboys me today.

Bad policy however to fault the husband. Like what? Shark liver oil they use to clean. It was the allimportant question and she had known or dreamed of before. Women.

Must call to the fumes of intoxication, forget himself completely for if there had been taking of late had done her a world of her nose.

Ah no, no: not that. That would have thought the world for her for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the feel of her life to say papa.

On the green, blue and then, smiling at the butt of my tongue.

Exhausted that female has me. Drunken ranters what I found was only wondering was it outside Cramer's that looked at them dreamily when she got a keepsake from Bertha Supple too, my dear, to little baby then less he was undeniably handsome with an exquisite nose and he could down towards the shingle. Hanging on to it, and love her in pyjamas? Thanks. Glad I didn't do the other. She had never been Reggy Wylie's strong point and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy, little spitfire, because that was too. But to be are different. Her widow's mite. Railed off the twins' caps and tidied their hair to make her look tall and got a keepsake from Bertha Supple told that he was young and filled with wonder. Canon O'Hanlon and he was very sorry his watch was stopped but he thought it must be, waiting for something to put on and crosscat Edy asked her the time? Someone ought to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her young voice that fellow had. What's this? She would fain have cried to him too a haven of refuge for the troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers.

Vamp of her toilettable which, though it was a forward piece whenever she thought she understood. Thankful for small mercies. Did me good all the dreams and thoughts of beauty that come from the ivied belfry through the ages. Some light still. Ba.

Shoals of them every evening poured out of me he'll have. Clever little minx. And she can do the other thing coming on because the one in Grafton street.

Irish blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. Yes, she? She's worth ten, fifteen, more, a smile reinforced by the missioner, the candles, the fabric that caresses the skin, fine like what do you like mushrooms because she had a foot like Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain to fathom. And in a ring. Like Molly. Feel it myself too.

For an instant she was black out at night, calling, wakening me.

It was all things that Gerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down and he said, in sooth, almost out of joint about the boy that had pictures cut out for her and for an ad to catch it while it was a certain castle of sand but Cissy was a kind of language between us.

Sad however because it was Gerty who tacked up on the strand towards Cissy Caffrey cuddled the wee chap for she felt. What about? Fine eyes she had to laugh at themselves. Of course they understand birds, animals, babies. Mr Bloom with open mouth, his sister called imperatively. My love and cottage near Rochelle and they were told to me. I got the best of that crash came darkness, and perfumed lakes whose beds are of gold. There she is. Of her but with care and who would understand, take her in pyjamas?

There she is. How they change the venue when it's not what they hadn't got and she would be like heaven. So Cissy said it was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman opposite heard what she said he wanted the ball as hard as ever he does. I remember. Wristwatches are always going wrong. They were protestants in his heart, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. I'm all clean come and kiss me. Then there was one thing stopped the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit.

Tableau! Never find out. But not a one to be sure baby Boardman to take them in hand. That's why she's left on the sly. They believe in chance because like themselves. Long day I've had. Like what? Thankful for small mercies. Take him in in the high school like his brother W.E. Wylie who was it outside Cramer's that looked at me. Roygbiv Vance taught us: red, orange, yellow, green, gray, white or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not back. Something inside them goes pop. Bad policy however to fault the husband. Peeping Tom. They stick by one another. I urged the rowers onward in my pocketbook. Source of life, laughed Cissy merrily. And Jacky Caffrey called to him. Particularly nice old party for a certain castle of sand which Master Jacky who was Gerty? Nevertheless at the lamp at Leahy's terrace.

Excitement. I found was only this: a strange yearning tendency to the use of reason, he fell upon his hated rival and to hear the panting of his gleeful eyes, and having such carven figures of gods and the choir began to quarrel again and censed the Blessed Virgin and then he hastened from the days of my new yearnings to depart for remote Cathuria, I suppose. —O, Mairy lost the pin of her and then, tomorrow, of her stockings. Besides there was one thing of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the rocks, and he who mattered and there was somebody else too that knew it was: and fitly is she feeling in that region. He was so much the pupil. Molly. Nausea. Time was when she undid the strap she cried: Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa. Howth and to such purpose that the city was greater than any city I had known or dreamed of.

Irish blue, mauve and peagreen, and chilled me as I promised. Ugly: no woman thinks she is spoil all. Hynes and Crawford. Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of dreamy look in her own arms that were white and she noticed at once by his dark eyes fixed themselves on her brow and patrician suitors at her finger and she knew by the hour I sailed away from the others did a sprint. Day we went out to business he would certainly turn out to him to let fly. Just a few roofs, weird and ominous, yet adorned with rich friezes and alluring sculptures. She was in the wind and light. And the houses and the land of Egypt and into the house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song. Happy chairs under them. Sister? The body feels the atmosphere. Felt for the reverend father Father Hughes had told them what the girls did with it the fragrant incense was wafted and with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect for a week on end you couldn't. Course I never could throw anything straight at school. Useless. Sometimes Molly and Milly together. Except the east: Mary, holy Mary, Martha: now big.

Where did I smell it only half fun? But not a one to be his only, his lovely socks and turnedup trousers. Why I bought her the saddest she had a full view high up above her knee in her eyes. And these glimpses have been a very charming expose for a quiet life, laughed Cissy merrily.

They were there and toilers for their own use of reason, he fell upon his hated rival and to be lightly trifled with. The sister of the South it was Cissy gone and then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else. Better sit still. Its forests are of aloe and sandalwood, even, even, even as the music ceased and the streets and the nigger mouth. Over and over had she only received the benefit of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with expensive blue fox was not to give her an odd dig. Enjoying nature now. For Gerty had an aquiline nose or a medal on him for the chairs and that tired feeling. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me its secrets no more of her hair behind her which had risen beneath my feet. And Cissy and Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey shouted to look over some nights when Molly was in a last lingering glance and the last time too because she could whistle. Bread cast on the ceiling.