#that as much as the Villain pines for that sort of reverence from her people. that such a relationship leaves you disconnected from that

[jortsaaaaaaart]

To Be Forgotten Amongst Friends chp1

Omega! Reader x avengers

Hello all! I revamped my story "ikaros" and this is the new story! Also the name is long rip.

Trigger warnings (later chapters mostly)- ptsd, noncon, kidnapping, human experimentation, Stockholm and lima syndrome

The following chapters will be posted on- https://archiveofourown.org/works/33890977     (seriously- may not post here that often cause i hate the tagging system- go check out ao3)

It's a beautiful day in New York and you're a terrible, no good, thief. 

You were considered New York’s very own Robin Hood. Two hundred ATM robberies in two years, the money flying out of the machines and into the hands of people who needed it. The banks, collectively, had lost over $300,000 from the ATMs alone. But of course, it wasn't just the ATMs. A rash of robberies had spread over the East coast. Most were digital, companies funneling their own money to offshore accounts that wanted nothing to do with U.S. intervention. The FBI were notified, then the CIA, and eventually- after a daring cyber attack against the DOD- SHIELD itself turned it's one eyed gaze onto you.

Nick Fury saw something the other agencies didn't. You had certain gifts that made your line of work incredibly easy. Whether they were natural mutations or some sort of superpower, they allowed you to break into some of the most secure networks known to man. He had almost found you when SHIELD fell and his resources vanished. After the dust cleared he was forced to start from scratch. Hunting you and the remnants of Hydra down at the same time wasn't easy, but, in a strange twist of fate, he found someone else that was searching for you too.

+++

New York was filled with so many people. Most of them were good, in your opinion. (Well, maybe half, actually.) You spent most of your off time working on "projects" or walking around the city. You had become a fixture at the local Bodega. Single omegas were extremely  rare, marked single omegas were almost unheard of. The mark gave you certain freedoms other omegas, sadly, didn't have. It drove away most potential suitors and the ones who were particularly bold would be given a taste of your powers. Once the burrow had gotten used to your presence they saw you as a generous person, but a secretive one. Someone who took no shit even with their designation. You gave to the community and different Omega rights groups in the area. After years of watching you quietly go about helping people you had been welcomed into the burrow's heart with open arms.

You loved helping people in your own way. You loved it just as much as you hated corporations and the police, but when you could make an ATM spew it's contents out into the poorest streets of Brooklyn or make Fox News send a million dollars to Planned Parenthood, you could have the best of both worlds.

At least, for a time. All good things had to end, right? That's what you told yourself as the redhead picked her way through the crowd towards you. 

Seeing an avenger in your neighborhood was an odd occurrence. It was a poorer part of town, untouched in the battle of New York, and too out of the way for any super villain origin stories. In fact, you seemed to be the only mutant in the entire block. You'd always thought, if someone was going to come for you, it would be a couple of FBI agents and not the fucking Black Widow. Your brain and heart went into overdrive as you tried to remember doing anything worth the avenger's time. But there was nothing. The DOD hack had been almost a year ago and all you did was release government files showing attacks on civilians overseas. It hardly seemed like an avengers worthy crime, especially when Black Widow herself had leaked government secrets before.

Any hope of her not not looking for you was dashed when her eyes locked onto yours. She tilted her head, asking a silent question. 

The burst of adrenaline sent you careening through the lunchtime crowds. You couldn't feel anyone on the rooftops but there was a large form blocking your path, trying to box you in. They were stronger and faster but you knew the environment. You ducked into Charlie's, your sneakers skidding on the asphalt as you took the sharp turn. The person behind the counter lazily looked up as you walked to the back. They knew you well enough to not care, they also weren't paid enough to care. The alley would open up into a busy side street. More people meant a better chance to blend in and get away. You were almost to the end when the door opened behind you. Black Widow and fucking Captain America stepped into the alley. For a moment the three of you stood in something akin to a standoff. 

You felt wildly undressed for this life-threatening situation.

"We just want to talk, (Y/N)" Captain America told you, hands raised. The unmistakable stink of an alpha radiated from the captain. You were momentarily thankful for your mark dulling its effect on you. Though, the blonde's scent was tinged with something hauntingly familiar. Something you didn't want to recognize.

Behind him, Black widow's free hand went to her ear. "Target is in the alley between 31st and 32nd," A twitch of your finger and the line went dead. Her hand dropped to the gun at her hip.

"I'm feeling pretty under equipped for this 'conversation'," You replied, slowly raising your hands as well, wondering if they could feel what you were doing. They didn't react and you slowly let your power seep from you.

Natasha was the first to react, drawing her gun and spinning around. Steve looked at her with confusion as her wide eyes scanned the alley as if she was seeing ghosts. She was afraid he realized, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. He moved towards her and you took off running. You felt him hesitate then take off after you, gaining on you with an embarrassingly low number of strides. You tried your powers again, stronger this time, but his focus was unwavering. He was almost to you now and you were running out of options. That’s when the alpha in him came out.

“Omega!” He snarled, “Stop!” Your feet slowed down immediately. It wasn’t as strong as your own alpha’s command would be, but the super soldier certainly commanded respect and obedience. You were forced to stand still, eyes burning holes in the asphalt, as the alpha’s footsteps grew closer. You really didn't want to do this but it looked like you had no choice. Your jaw clenched, and you spun around when his hand grabbed your arm. The blonde's eyes widened as you placed a palm to his chest. 

He barely had time to glance down at your hand before the electricity hit him.

The 1,000 volts you sent into him were supposed to stun him or send him flying, allowing you to escape. However, his muscles spasmed just a bit stronger than you intended. In an instant his grip crushed the bones in your arm and sent the two of you careening backwards into a brick wall. Natasha would find you a moment later, passed out on top of the super soldier, a sizable hole in the wall.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, a few blurry white shapes milled about in the corners of your vision. You couldn't remember how you got here, or where here was. All your senses seemed to be dulled. Your wrist was throbbing and each time you opened your eyes the room came in and out of focus. You closed your eyes, opting to ignore the funhouse effect and focus on the sounds around you. The beeping of the monitors, footsteps on concrete, and two low voices.

"She's alright, Buck, I promise." Steve's voice wavered in and out of your consciousness bringing with it the memory of how you got into this bed. "She did something to Nat and ran before I could explain. I wasn't expecting her powers to be so strong."

"I should have come with you," Another voice snarled. Your heart skipped a beat at the low growl. You knew that voice. It evoked a sickening combination of need and terror and you couldn't remember why. "She wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had. What idiot doesn't know omegas are fragile?!"

"It was an accident!" His voice raised slightly before sighing. "I know you're worried, but she's fine."

The scent you had smelled on Steve earlier swirled around the room. Metal and burning pine, it affected you just like the voice had, triggering both panic and yearning. You knew it somehow. The memory was there somewhere, tucked away where it couldn’t hurt you. Where it should have been forgotten.

The scent grew unbearably strong as he leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. When he pulled back he wasn't expecting his eyes to catch yours. 

His expression softened as soon as he realized you were awake. "Omega," Bucky whispered reverently. Stormy blue eyes stared down at you with love and adoration, watching the color drain from your face. "Doll?" 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear the panicked beeping of the machines and Steve trying to calm you down. But it didn't matter. All that you could feel was the need to get far, far, away from this man. You didn't know how you knew him but you knew he was dangerous. You knew he had hurt you. That's why, as he reached out to gently cup your face, you slapped his hand away. 

"Get away from me!" You gasped, voice breaking. You scooted back and tried to back up as far as possible. Your shaky legs barely held your weight as you slid off the bed. Pure terror coursed through your veins, it was the only thing keeping you on your feet. You found yourself pressed into the corner of the room while the men stared at you in shock. Steve and Bucky gaped like you had just told them the Germans had actually won WWII. Eyebrows knit together, blue eyes wide and frantic, Bucky looked like he was in emotional turmoil.

“(Y/N), doll, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s your alpha.” Bucky reached out to you carefully as a low purr rumbled from his chest.

You felt the purr relax you and dull your senses even more. It was nauseating. “I don’t have an alpha! And I don’t know who the hell you are!” You tried to shout and grit your teeth but the words came out in broken sobs, betraying your weakness. Who was this? Why was he the most terrifying thing you had ever seen?

Your teeth were bared at this point but the man kept coming towards you. The tunnel vision and rapid shallow breaths were the only warnings your body gave you as it reverted to its animalistic omega framework. Bucky watched as, in slow motion, your eyes went blank as your body gave out. 

+++

Your alpha held your body to his chest in disbelief. He had expected some shock at seeing him but this went far beyond his expectations. It had been over three years since he'd last seen you. Since he'd last been able to drink in your scent. He'd figured you might not recognize him at first. He had changed a lot over the years. No longer under Hydra's control his physical appearance, demeanor, and scent had changed. But your body should've known your alpha. 

"What was that?" Steve asked. "Why did she react like that when she has your mark?" The two alphas were on edge. Seeing a vulnerable omega drop triggered their protective instincts. Steve desperately wanted to take you and hold you close, ease you out of the drop. If the alpha holding you was anyone other than his closest friend and packmate he would have ripped you out of his grasp immediately. For now he'd have to hold himself back.

"She didn't remember me." Bucky nuzzled his head into your neck, nursing your mark softly. After a moment he pulled back and gazed at your unchanged features. He couldn't wake you from this drop that easily. He pressed in harder this time, teeth lining up with the scar perfectly, but there was still no change. No purr, command, or bite was waking you up.

"We should let her rest, Buck. The pain meds will wear off soon and we'll try again. . . Bring her to the den. She'll need to get used to everyone's scents sooner or later." Steve laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. It was a gentle but firm suggestion. He knew tensions were high, the den, with it's heavy curtains and plush blankets, would calm down his friend and the omega. With little argument the brunette lifted you up and carried you to the den. It was aptly named and extremely well constructed thanks to Stark. Curtains blocked off all light from the windows, mattresses were inlaid into the ground, and the temperature was always cool. It was one good thing about being in a pack with that narcissist, Bucky thought dryly.

Steve led them into a cozy corner of the room. The captain hummed happily as they moved the pillows and blankets, creating a makeshift nest for the three of them. The feeling of the omega pressing into his chest was addictive. He couldn't wait for you to remember your alpha.

The sooner you remembered your bond with Bucky the sooner the rest of the pack, Steve included, could court you.

[the--sad--hatter]

Steam - Chapter 1 (Loki x Reader)

Warnings - Loki, Smut, Violence & Gore, Swearing, Death, Angst, Dark Humour, Crack Humour, Shenanigan’s, Mutual Pining

Pairing - Loki X Reader (Slow Burn Romance), Enemies to Frenemies to Idiots in Love

Reader Description - Female, No physical descriptions, Only referred to by nicknames & Petnames (No use of Y/N)

Description/Blurb -

“So how’d you get the firepower? What’s your origin story?” Stark asked, peering at you curiously.

“Uh, this is my origin story…” You winced, sighing when he motioned for you to elaborate, “I got these powers about three days ago.”

It’s a tale as old as time, boy meets girl, boy tries to invade girls mind, girl sets boy on fire, boy turns into angry blue boy, they become sworn enemies.

When you suddenly become imbued with a power you have no idea how to control, Nick Fury picks you up and dumps you on The Avengers doorstep, deciding that they are best people to turn you from a wacky novice into a force to be reckoned with.

The power burning inside you has the potential to make you a hero, or destroy you completely, but your new fire based abilities are more than they appear, and in a stroke of spectacularly bad luck, The God of Mischief is the most qualified teacher to mentor you. With Loki guiding you, will you ever learn to control your power? Will you ever make it as an Avenger? Or will you crash and burn?

Only one thing is absolutely certain, when fire and ice collide, things are bound to get… steamy!

Chapter One - Ice Breaker

It was every bit as imposing as you’d imagined it would be, not that you’d ever imagined seeing it under these circumstances.

 “Are you coming?” Fury barked at you, breaking you out of your slack-jawed awe.

 You snapped your mouth closed and tore your eyes away from the legendary tower, looking at the doors where Fury was impatiently waiting for you.

 “Coming!” You squeaked, scurrying over to him, “It’s just when you said you were taking me somewhere where I could safely learn to control my powers, I was sort of picturing an underground bunker in the desert, not the freaking Avengers Tower!”

 “I utilise the assets I have, why would I send you away when I have a team of perfectly capable super-powered individuals?” He asked wryly, leading you across the lobby and straight past the security teams who did nothing to stop you both as you made your way into an elevator.

 “I’m just saying, a heads up would have been nice.” You muttered petulantly, crossing your arms over your chest and tucking your hands out of sight.

 You felt him look at you and studiously refused to meet his eye, staring instead at the numbers above the door as you were carried all the way to the top of the Tower.

 “Heads up, you’re meeting The Avengers.” He shot back.

You could say what you liked about the former director of Shield, he was true to his word, because the elevator doors wooshed open to reveal a waiting crowd of Avengers, all of them staring at the man next to you with varying levels of annoyance and/or distrust. You diligently pattered after Fury as he stepped forward to greet them, looking around the room reverently.

 The first person you laid eyes on was Tony Stark, Iron Man; the billionaire who had kicked off the modern age of hero’s, and next to him, Captain America, the first of the first, the OG Superhero. Stood behind the Captain was Sam Wilson, the Falcon and a personal favourite of yours, side by side with Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier and poster-child for taking back control of your own fate. Clint Barton aka Hawkeye and the deadliest marksman in the world stood to the side with the Black Widow, deadliest person in the world full stop. In the back of the room two other figures were hanging back, emitting two very different aura’s. Doctor Bruce Banner eyed Fury with trepadition, and well-placed mistrust.

 It was the last person in the room that the majority of your attention was reserved for, the tall, imposing god who skulked in the shadows. Contempt and boredom radiated from him, and you couldn’t safely say it was directed purely at Fury. He was also the only one who spared you more than a cursory glance, and you slowed to a stop as you found yourself trapped in his curious gaze. You stared back, trying to reconcile the villain who once tried to subjugate the planet with the one you were locking eyes with. It had been months since he had joined the Avengers, but it never stopped being strange to see him standing with them whenever you watched footage of them taking on whatever bad guy of the week they were battling. However, he had been fully cleared of any wrongdoing in the battle of New York, apparently he had been mind-controlled. As to why he was helping the Avengers, nobody really knew.  

 Someone cleared their throat loudly and you forced yourself to look away from the stupendously tall god, glancing around the room to see that you now had all eyes watching you expectantly. Apparently you’d zoned out for the introductions.

 “’Sup?” You offered, waving in Tony Starks general direction.

 “So you’re Fury’s fiery friend, what has that got to do with us?” Stark sighed.

 “What, you think he bothered to explain his reasoning to me before dragging my ass up here?” You scoffed.

 “She’s here because she has abilities, abilities that she is more likely to learn to handle among similarly gifted people.” Fury explained in a tone that brokered no argument.

 Naturally, The Avengers argued.

 “We don’t have anybody with fire abilities.” You heard Natasha Romanoff point out, just before you took the opportunity to zone out again.

 You were absolutely certain that nobody cared very much what your opinion on the matter was, thankfully. You weren’t sure you had an opinion on the matter. It wasn’t like you had a lot of experience with these kinds of issues, and as far as you were away there wasn’t some superhero academy that you could enrol yourself in. Besides, you were much more interested in re-instating your staring competition with the god of Mischief.

 In the brief time you’d been distracted, he’d stepped away from the shadows and moved closer to you, staring at you with his arms crossed.

 You resisted the urge to inhale deeply, who knew ex-murderous gods would smell so nice? You looked up, and then up again.

 “How tall are you?” You asked incredulously.

 His gaze flickered down at you impassively, while you stared back and tried to mentally calculate his height.

 “I’m a Frost Giant.” He stated coldly.

 “Oh in that case, you’re kinda short.” You scoffed.

 You were flooded with immediate remorse but it was drowned out by amusement.

 “I beg your pardon?” He demanded, uncrossing his arms and stepping into your personal space.

 “Down boy.” Iron Man sniggered, stepping between you. “So how’d you get the firepower? What’s your origin story?” Stark asked, peering at you curiously.

 “Uh, this is my origin story…” You winced, sighing when he motioned for you to elaborate, “I got these powers about three days ago.”

 “So you’re a baby.” He stated matter-of-factly.

 “If I say yes does that mean I can just sit on the floor and cry until someone picks me up and holds me?” You asked, fully willing to give it a go.

 It had been three days since your life had literally gone up in flames, three days of pinning your arms at your sides, afraid to close your eyes, afraid to let your guard down for even a split second, afraid to allow yourself to feel even an iota of emotion.

 “So how did it happen?” The Captain asked firmly, getting the conversation back on track before you could find out if anyone would volunteer a hug.

 “I, well, I kind of…” You trailed off and looked at Fury for help, but he just stared back at you, the bastard.

 All eyes were on you as they waited for you to explain, nobody offering any kind of help. You exhaled forcefully and slumped your shoulders, tucking your chin so you didn’t have to look at them anymore.

 “I ate a bomb.” You whispered.

 There was a very long beat of silence before it was broken by several voices all at once.

 “I’m sorry, what?” Stark demanded.

 “What did it taste like?” The archer wondered, looking at you almost giddily.

 “She didn’t eat a bomb.” Fury finally stepped in to clarify, “She absorbed the blast, after failing to defuse it.”

 “Why was a civilian defusing a bomb in the first place?” Captain Rogers asked sharply, glancing at you in concern before turning back to Fury with a hard expression.

 “I’m not a civilian, I’m actually an Agent.” You reasoned.

 “She’s an Agent-In-Training.” Fury rebutted. “It was her first mission in the field.”

 “Baby.” Stark reiterated, faking a cough and smirking at you when you scowled at him.

 That was true, and you still didn’t think it was entirely your fault that the bomb had gone off. Yes you’d failed to diffuse it, but you were supposed to be watching the perimeter when you’d stumbled across the explosive device. It had less than thirty seconds on the clock, and you’d stupidly chosen to spend those seconds trying to stop it detonating instead of running away.

 “And you put her on bomb duty? Were you trying to get her blown up?” The Black Widow demanded, and you almost laughed until you saw the serious expression on her face.

 “There wasn’t supposed to be a bomb there, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Fury shrugged, like it was inconsequential.

 To him it probably was.

 “She is still in the room, and I was exactly where you told me to be, when you told me to be there. If your intel was bad, that’s on you Mr Superspy.” You snapped.

 “Oh I see it now!” Stark briskly announced, “You’re trying to pawn her off on us because she’s too sassy for you.”

 “Precisely.” Fury admitted, surprisingly.

 “In the words of shortstack over there,” You hissed, gesturing at Loki “I beg your pardon?”

 “You don’t have the temperance to be an Agent.” Fury told you blankly, not bothering to soften the blow by at least telling you this in private instead of in front of the world greatest heroes.

 “I’d take that as a compliment.” Stark assured you.

 “You’re telling me I’m fired? Literally. Because I got blown up, through no fault of my own?” You huffed, clenching your firsts in an effort to keep your emotions from manifesting in a fiery inferno of rage.

 “Because you choose to try and handle a bomb you had no training to handle, instead of pursuing the target.” Fury amended, unphased by your distress.

 You bit back your retort because you knew it wouldn’t matter to him in the slightest. You couldn’t reason with him, couldn’t explain that you had made the choice not to pursue the target who’d planted the bomb, because you had to try and stop it exploding in a building filled with innocent people. Maybe Fury was right after all. Maybe you weren’t suited to being an Agent, because an Agent would have known that they couldn’t stop the bomb but they could stop the bomber. They would have let a hundred innocent people die and stopped the killer from killing a thousand more the next time. You weren’t an Agent because you’d chosen to die trying to save the hundred, and trusted in Fury and Hill to take down the Bomber.

 Of course, that wasn’t what had happened, and in the end nobody had died.

 “None of this explains how you ‘ate’ the bomb.” Clint Barton pointed out, and it was a good observation.

 “That’s because we don’t have an explanation. She went through the standard medical tests in her training, and all her bloodwork and scans indicated she was fully human. She walked into that building as a human being, and walked back out after absorbing a bomb, as who the hell knows what.”

 “So you’ve never done anything like this before?” Dr Banner asked you, speaking directly to you for the first time.

 “Not even remotely. I mean my eyes water when I eat chilli.” You shrugged.

 “Fascinating.” Banner muttered. “Inhuman?” He asked, turning to Stark.

 “Unlikely, she would have probably noticed going through Terragenesis.” Stark responded. “Mutant?” He shot back.

 “No, the mutant gene would have shown up in testing.” Dr Banner sighed, looking you over with a scientifically calculating eye. “Can you explain what happened in more detail?”

 “Sure, bomb went boom, I went AHHHHHH, and then it was all bright and hot and then the boom went away.” You told them.

 “So how do we know that it was you? What if something else contained the blast?” Someone asked, and you looked around before you finally realised it was Sam Wilson who had spoken.

 “No, it was… it definitely me.” You sighed.

 “How do you know?” Bucky Barnes interjected, backing up the Falcons line of questioning.

 That was the million dollar question. How could you be sure that you had anything to do with the bomb, that you had been imbued with fire power?

 “During the post-mission de-brief, there was an incident.” You alluded, side-eying Fury and taking a not-so-subtle step away from him.

 “Please tell me you tried to set him on fire?” Barton asked giddily, looking between you and your former boss.

 When Fury levelled you with a glare and you developed a sudden vested in the ceiling, the Archer sniggered joyfully. You chanced a look around the room and saw that Barton wasn’t the only one exhibiting mirth at the idea of Fury being set ablaze by your.. well, your fury.

 “He was yelling at me!” You defended, taking yet another step back when his glare intensified.

 “You’re lucky you had no aim and only managed to set fire to the table.” He snapped.

 “I think you were the lucky one.” Stark sniggered at Fury.

 “Do you want her or not?” Fury sighed.

 “Do I get a say in this?” You objected.

 “No.” Fury, Stark, Romanoff, and Loki said in unison.

 “I can run some tests to figure out what happened to you, if it’s reversible.” Banner offered comfortingly. “With your permission of course.”

 “I’m gonna go stand over there with him.” You huffed, making a beeline for the doctor and awkwardly hiding behind him.

 “Yeah, we’ll take her, should be an interesting riddle to solve.” Stark shrugged.

 Captain Rogers and his buddies glanced at you before appearing to have a silent conversation.

 “She can stay here while Stark and Banner figure out what happened, and we can go from there.” The Captain finally decided.

 “We’ll take good care of her.” Loki added with a charming smile.

 His eyes said something completely different, and you had a sick feeling that you were going to be made to pay for your short jokes.

 “Glad I meet your approval; I was worried I was going to fall short.” You sarked, immediately resisting the urge to punch yourself in the face.

 “Approval has nothing to do with it. Of all The Avengers, who do you think will be responsible for testing your abilities? You would do well to remember that I am more than mischief and lies, I am the god of chaos and fire.” He warned you cockily, visibly delighting in the way your grin faltered.

 You shot a pleading look around the room, but nobody was refuting Loki’s claim. In fact, they were nodding thoughtfully, or in Stark’s case; shrugging apologetically at you. You turned back to Loki, ignoring the deep sense of foreboding in your stomach.

 “Well Fe-Fi-Fo-Fuck.”

I have been trying to get back into writing for so long, and this is my last attempt. If this doesn’t work then I am out of ideas. 

I know this is a boring start but I have been re-working and rewriting it for days and I can’t improve it. If you enjoyed any part of this, please do tell me! If you didn’t, then tell me that as well. Just give me any feedback at all, I’d appreciate it so so so so so much. 

For those of you unaware (especially on AO3), I haven’t been writing for a while because my estranged mother passed away and it brought up issues that needed to be dealt with, but all that is over with now. Thank you to everyone who sent supportive messages and was patient with me ❤

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[caiminnent]

not designed for the cynical [kylux with side phasma/rey, rated T]

PROMPTS: communication suddenly cut off (@badthingshappenbingo​, 8/25) & bed sharing - pet - delivery (@kyluxxoxo​)

SUMMARY:

Whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. The job offer he accepts turns out to be far more than he's bargained for.

(This is a low-key Inception AU that requires little to no knowledge of the movie.)

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, except not really, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related

NOTES: This was written mostly during commute and/or sleep-deprived within an inch of my life and edited under the same circumstances. As such, I don't have the faintest clue what this is, but I love it.

5K || ALSO ON AO3

Hux isn’t prone to worry.

He is prone to stress, and he’s got the blood pressure to prove it—but that’s a necessity of the life they lead. It’s got its uses. Worry, however, is for when you don’t have an alphabetised, colour-coded list of plans for every situation that may arise. Worry is for the under-prepared.

Worry is a waste of time.

Knowing this doesn’t stop the fist around his heart from squeezing tight every time he hits redial and finds Ren’s phone still switched off, however.

Then again, there’s no real reason to worry about it. It’s a perfectly Ren move to go off the radar for weeks on end and turn up three countries away from where he was supposed to be, shrugging off all reprimand like he can’t understand why they’re so angry about it. It’s just what he does—he disappears, then he shows up at your doorstep when you least expect it.

He will this time, too. He promised—he will be back by Hux’s birthday.

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

Contrary to the popular (re: Ren’s) belief, life doesn’t stop just because Ren is off doing what Ren does somewhere else.

Even with all the safe houses and personas they maintain all across the world, the unreasonable amounts of money Snoke throws at them to be at his beck and call is more than enough to keep them afloat. Ren would be fine with not taking another independent job ever again; but Hux knows better than to rely on Snoke alone. He’s been burned enough times by fickle employers; he’s not ready to bet on the wrong horse and have to build his reputation up from scratch yet again.

That’s part of why, whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. It keeps him in the game, on the occasion he gets an offer worth considering—and if he doesn’t, he calls it getting a feel for the market and moves on.

Monday morning finds him curled on the sofa, going through the responses on his phone. Most offers he received are below his notice like he expected, some downright insulting—and then there’s the e-mail from Enric Pryde himself.

He sits up so fast he almost knocks over his empty cup.

Among the dreamshare community, the First Order is as revered as it is despised. They reach out to very few and pay three times what they should; but the cost of failure is equally severe, growing proportionately to the project’s worth. Which seems to be a lot, in this case. While he can’t tell from the sparse details in the e-mail whether this Project Starkiller is meant to be a moving city or some sort of weapon—perhaps both, knowing the First Order—he already estimates at least two layers, more likely three, and a special blend of stabiliser for the dreamer and the architect both, who cannot be the same person for this design.

Because they want him on board as the main architect and his dreams never hold steady after the first layer, special blend or no.

Whatever he was looking for as a quick job, this is not it. It’s far more involved and challenging than he could have imagined—and, he’s finding, everything he needed. He could do this for himself. He could work a job he enjoys, instead of running point to Ren or Phasma’s picks all the time to keep them from working with incompetent point men.

Ren and Phasma, who might be working with incompetent point men halfway across the world this very moment.

No. No, he’s not thinking that. His birthday is only three days away. Everything is fine.

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

He e-mails back to say he’s honoured and asks for one week to get his team together. Pryde gives him five days and a thinly-veiled warning that there are others who would jump at this opportunity.

Stomach at his feet, Hux throws his phone on the coffee table and gets up to make more tea.

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

As expected, research gives him little of substance about the First Order’s operations and nothing at all about the Starkiller, although he finds a low-quality close-up of Pryde to glare at as he sketches out some ideas. They will get binned once he gets his hands on the self-destructing dossiers or whatever ridiculous security protocols the First Order may work with; but it keeps him busy. Better than watching the hours tick by.

When the clock turns from 11:59 to midnight on what is now Thursday, he considers texting Rey to ask if she’s heard from Phasma recently—changes his mind before he even picks up the phone. Ren wouldn’t like it. Hux has been accused of being a control freak more times than he can count as it is; he doesn’t want to add clingy to the list of his unattractive qualities.

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

At two in the morning, the doorbell rings.

He is going to murder Ren.

The door had never felt so close or so far as he rushes to it, heart hammering in his chest. He’s going to let Ren in, he’s going to check him for injuries and he’s going to disembowel that infuriating, thoughtless, selfish piece of shite if he’s had Hux fret all this time for no reason—

“Hi,” Rey chirps, looking up at him with damp eyes and a brittle smile. She raises a bottle of whiskey—Phasma’s favourite. “Happy birthday?”

He opens the door wider.

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

Admittedly—not out loud; he would never hear the end of it, from her or her cousin—Rey scores high on the short list of people whose company he enjoys. The booze helps, too. They drink in front of the television Hux hasn’t switched off in days and talk about everything but the aching holes in their chests.

She falls asleep on the sofa. He puts a blanket over her and goes to bed.

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

In the morning—practically afternoon, if he’s being honest—he tells her about the Starkiller. The plan was to pitch it to Ren first, to see what he thinks before bringing in the others. As it is, Ren isn’t here and none of Hux’s messages has gone through since their interrupted conversation and Hux is going to bloody explode if he doesn’t tell someone.

“I’m not sure, Armie,” she says around a spoonful of breakfast cereal he certainly didn’t buy. “He will never agree to work for the First Order.”

“Why the hell not? He works for Snoke.” Rather happily, in fact. Ren never prepares more carefully for a job than one of Snoke’s plentiful errands, no matter how simple. “Why wouldn’t he work for Snoke’s own company?”

She considers him for a long moment, chewing slowly. “He hasn’t told you the story.”

The implication—accusation—stings deep. “What story?” he demands, pushing his tea away to lean closer. The words held the intonation of capital letters, which means missing information that could potentially blindside them down the line. His respect for Ren’s private business isn’t greater than his responsibilities.

“Not mine to tell,” she says sternly, pinching her lips in disappointment like he should be ashamed to have asked to begin with. “Ask him.”

He snorts. Ren is hardly the sharing type, especially where Hux is concerned. Everything he’s ever learned about Ren has come through other means—and vice versa, he imagines.

She frowns, a question rising behind her eyes. He tenses on instinct. “Anyway,” she continues, shaking her head—and he can breathe more easily again. “My point is, if we’re doing this, we’ll need another forger.”

We. He doesn’t suppress his smile, relief coating his insides. “I suspect we won’t need a forger for this one. A chemist, on the other hand…”

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

She doesn’t leave and he doesn’t ask her to. They polish off the whiskey and pretend not to check their phones every ten minutes while binge-watching Star Wars, including the newest releases even their resident space nerd couldn’t finish.

He visualises Ren’s horrified expression when Hux reveals how he and Rey bonded over their shared love for big guns and hot villains in Ren’s absence. Laughter gets stuck in his throat, forming a painful lump instead.

He bids her good night and slinks away into his bedroom to stare at the ceiling.

Barely ten minutes pass before the television switches off in the next room, soft footsteps echoing lightly in the corridor. He turns his back to the door and feigns sleep as it opens and closes—which is a coward’s way, but he’s never claimed to be a particularly brave man. If he were, he would have asked Ren to stop working for Snoke instead of stewing in his misery right now.

Compared to her cousin, Rey’s weight barely shifts the mattress as she climbs in, sliding under the covers without fanfare. He shuts his eyes tighter and allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Ren is back.

“I haven’t heard from Phasma in over a month.”

Over a month? Hells, no wonder she sought him out. “Ren and I talked two weeks ago,” he says—realises with a sinking feeling that it sounded like he was rubbing it in. “Closer to three, actually.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much that I could understand. The reception was horrible.” Bits and pieces through constant breaking: Hux, shit, in case, person and, inexplicably, home. “I didn’t get the impression they were in danger—just inconvenienced.” As is often the case with these missions. Snoke’s got a small army of trained private security under his command and he still sends Ren to the most out-of-the-way places.

That Snoke’s hired Phasma as well for this one is a little more concerning, but not overly so. Reckless as they both can be, Ren and Phasma are forces to be reckoned with on the field—Hux would be more inclined to feel sorry for their adversaries.

Rey sighs. “Hope you’re right, Armie.”

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

If Mitaka is surprised to see Rey strut about in Hux’s shortest joggers she still needed to fold at the ankles and an old shirt, he politely doesn’t mention it. He and Rey exchange banal pleasantries over coffee and day-old cake while Hux finishes typing up his notes, then they get to work.

Mitaka listens to the briefing with unwavering attention, his fingers stapled in front of him like a front-row student. Like everyone else in their extended team, Mitaka is an experienced, accomplished dreamer—and yet, Hux can’t help looking at him and seeing the fresh-faced cadet Phasma had dragged in ages ago, barely into his twenties and all the more naive for it.

They’ve gotten old—Hux most so.

Once Hux finishes, “If you both are building this time,” Mitaka starts, looking between the two. “Who will be taking point? The Captain?”

Next to him, Rey inhales sharply, her face mostly hidden behind the curtain of her hair. Shame crosses through Mitaka’s face at the realised misstep.

“She’s otherwise occupied,” Hux responds before Mitaka can break into apologies. No need to make this more painful or awkward than it needs to be. “I will be running point as usual, and Rey is here to help with the heavy-lifting.”

Mitaka nods, glancing at Rey with concern before turning to Hux fully. “Where do I sign?”

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

They sign a heavily-encrypted stack of documents digitally, sending them through the First Order’s own communication system. The next day, they receive a link to a private cloud service with a convoluted unlock sequence that can be accessed by one device at a time, read-only.

Hux alone works on three different devices.

On the bright side, the project they receive is well-worth the inconvenience. Their objective is to design and build a superweapon out of an extensively described ice planet in the dreamspace, which must be capable of hitting five targets simultaneously and obliterating all affected life forms on them without causing a single non-predetermined casualty. Controlled chaos, if you will. The First Order wants a catastrophe they can tame and leash.

Hux can make it happen.

Whether he can make it happen in eight weeks is a different question entirely.

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

Without Ren to drag him away from work, he’s free to divide his waking hours between his screens and the sitting room, which they repurposed into a workshop-slash-dream den. While Hux is a decent architect in a pinch, he could never build the way Rey does—the way she bends the dreamspace to her will and creates cities that feel alive around them. Between the two of them, they have the groundwork laid out within days, quickly moving on to revising the base design according to the specifications in the main file and the numbers Hux runs.

Instead of using pre-mixed batches, Mitaka mixes their Somnacin from scratch on the kitchen table, reworking the formula per the reactions. None he comes up with works to keep Hux’s dreams steady, although a couple seem to ground his control over the dreamspace. Most just turn the dreams into nightmares for everyone involved.

Many of the nightmares are about Ren. Every time they manage to wake up from one of those, he looks at Rey to apologise. She never meets his eyes.

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

Unlike the two of them, Mitaka has family to return to and so he does when it gets late, leaving them to eat take-away and talk around the elephant in the room. On the rare occasion they do talk. Even though Hux gets the most shit for his workaholic tendencies, they all are guilty of it in different degrees; most nights are spent hunched over desks or tablets until they come close to shooting each other over the smallest noise or mistake, then they retire for the night.

The bedroom is where the worst fears come out.

“They might need our help,” she murmurs, lowly enough that the words could get lost among the howling wind outside. “They might be injured or—or lost, waiting for rescue. And we would be here arguing about heat transfer.”

“They aren’t.”

“But how do you know?”

He sighs loudly, turning to face Rey. Her eyes are big and eerily bright in the darkness, shining. “Look, Ren and I have been through this before. We’ve got contingencies in place for any kind of emergency—strategies to scarper and regroup as needed, fake identities with paper trail, codes to slip into lines of communication that will find their way to the other’s ear—all of which tied to systems that would alert us both if ever used. So far?” He gestures vaguely to his phones on the nightstand. “Complete radio silence.”

“Well it might be because he’s—”

His stomach lurching, “Don’t,” he bites out. He’s had enough nights contemplating that possibility himself, reasoning himself out of that line of thinking with more effort each time; he can’t handle someone else saying it.

Especially not Rey, whose unfailing optimism has seen them through many a dark spot.

“They will be back soon,” he says with conviction he forces himself to feel. They always do. This is just taking longer than expected.

Rey’s silence rings in the room.

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

At the end of the third week, Enric Pryde reaches out to him. His voice is as cold and serpent-like as he looks.

They talk for two and a half minutes—more accurately, Pryde relays his demands for two minutes and rebuffs Hux’s protests for the next half, then hangs up unceremoniously on him.

Fuming, Hux tries to glare a hole into his phone for about as long before going to wake Rey up.

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

“What do you mean, they are relocating us?”

Latching his fingers tight to keep from scraping at his already raw palms, “I mean exactly what I said,” Hux grinds out. “They want to move us into some safe house where they will provide us with everything we’ll need for the rest of the project. We don’t have the option to refuse their generosity.”

“They want to monitor us,” Mitaka says on the other end of the line, ever fond of pointing out the obvious. “Can they do that?”

“Would you like to be the one to tell them they can’t?” Hux shakes his head. They are not small fish; but the First Order is big enough to swallow them whole and not suffer for it. He knows to pick his fights. “If you’d like to drop off the face of the earth, now is the time.”

Rey snorts—as much of an answer as Mitaka’s bitter laughter.

“Well,” Rey says, scraping her chair back. “I should pack some clean underwear. When are they coming to get us?”

“As we speak.”

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

Before they leave, they make sure to sketch out First Order insignias on every available place. Just in case.

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

The safe house is, for all intents and purposes, a veritable villa in the middle of nowhere.

“A little excessive,” Mitaka comments as they tour the place, noting the bolted down furniture and darkened windows, locked conspicuously on the outside. The cupboards and the fridge are well-stocked enough to keep them fed for several months.

There is no mobile coverage.

In fact, there is no wireless connection of any sort. The multitude of devices strewn about in the house are all connected to the First Order’s own network and communications system, which provides access to every archive they might need for the project and nothing else.

The dread coiled in Hux’s guts grows heavier.

So much for his alert systems.

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

Progress is much faster with so much information at their fingertips.

Hux is envious of the berths of the First Order databases. Effective as his own methods of gathering intelligence are, his network couldn’t hope to have the same reach as a well-funded PMC—which he could have been a part of, had he not gone freelance instead of corporate after leaving the military.

The idea is tempting, still. He’s ruined for the civilian workforce—has been since childhood, with a father like General Brendol Hux was—but he seeks the structure and order that comes with being part of an organisation. Under different circumstances, he may have considered applying to the First Order after this project.

As their prisoner in everything but name, he wants little more than to be as far away from them as possible.

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

Everything they’ll need doesn’t involve a private chef or buffet, but it involves private delivery people who pick up whatever they want, no matter what they want, in a timely fashion. Because they are spiteful opportunists, they order the most extravagant and unreasonable meals they can think of. The food always arrives hot.

Hux marks the potential restaurants for each food item and how long it took to arrive on a small map every time. Just in case.

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

Sleeping in the same bed while Mitaka is in the next room feels too awkward, so they don’t. They don’t sleep much in general, either—not with the question of how to power a machine of the Starkiller’s scale without it overheating hanging heavy over their heads. Dreamshare mechanics are a lot more forgiving than their real-world counterparts; if they can’t pull it off down there, they sure as hell won’t make it work topside.

They have to make it work topside, they now know. The First Order wouldn’t have poured so much money and resources into what is merely Pryde’s pet design project.

“They probably have people looking into it,” Rey says, spinning her pen around her fingers with smugness dripping from her expression. He’s not petty enough to dare her to replicate it in the real world, but the thought is there. “Some super high-tech R&D division working on preventing a weapon of mass-destruction from exploding instead of, like, climate change.”

Watching her fingers like the secrets of the universe lie between them, “I don’t think so,” Mitaka responds. “It’s too much of a commitment. I bet they just wait for someone else to figure it out, then steal the designs from them.”

Something flares at the back of Hux’s mind like static, a connection he doesn’t want to make forcing itself into his awareness.

He shakes his head hard to clear it. Even with the dilation, he doesn’t have the time to dwell on things he’s got no control over.

“If you two are quite done gossiping,” he cuts in, smoothing over the blueprints in front of him for effect. “We’ve got work to do.”

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

We’re going to take something someone else worked very hard for, was all Ren had said the night before his departure—the only time Hux dared ask about his new job, once it became apparent Ren wasn’t going to say a word about it on his own. It’s such a non-answer that Hux couldn’t tell if Ren wanted to leave him space for plausible deniability or simply didn’t want to tell him.

He still can’t. As a matter of fact, he can’t say for sure Snoke’s job and this project are connected, either; all he’s got is a hunch.

A hunch he desperately wants to see proven wrong.

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

Mitaka’s newest blend is the most successful yet. They go down as far as the third level with only minor tremors under their feet—a huge leap of progress, after weeks of the ground swallowing them up whole.

Knowing better than to push their luck, they call it an early night and celebrate by ordering a feast they’ll have to take their time with. With the dinner table and every other horizontal space that could reasonably hold food covered in their work, they sprawl about the sofa set that hasn’t seen nearly enough use over their involuntary stay.

Once their food arrives and Rey realises what he ordered, a soft look crosses over her face. He ignores it. There’s only one place that serves Ren’s favourite food; it makes for a good reference point on his map. It’s not sentimental if it’s also practical.

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

He knew, from a logical standpoint, that having access to communication systems meant people could communicate with them and vice versa. On account of the fact that Pryde and the delivery people are the only ones to use it, he didn’t particularly care.

When the name Blysma pops up on the main screen, he realises what a gross oversight that was.

Heart at his throat, he accepts the request with shaking hands, grateful that no one is awake to see him like this. “Hux speaking.”

“Hello, Hux.”

Oh.

Oh, the ever-loving—

“Don’t say my name,” Ren adds quickly, as if he sensed that Hux was about to curse his name six ways to Sunday. “Or any other names. They don’t actively monitor your communications, but we’re pretty sure some keywords are flagged. Best not to take any chances.”

“We,” he repeats dumbly. So many questions are buzzing in his head that he doesn’t know which should take priority. “You and—ah, our mutual terrifying friend?”

Phasma’s melodic laughter rings through the other end of the line. Hux’s heart soars.

“Yeah,” Ren says, a little breathy. “Yes, we’re both here. And fine. The job ran late. Where the fuck are you?”

About that… “I don’t actually know,” he admits, the truth of it settling dark and deep into his gut. Trying to map out their location left him with more questions than answers. “Near the ocean. Far north of the city, I think; but we shouldn’t have crossed any borders.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Ren says.

Irritation rising in him, “We were hardly given a tour guide for the road,” he snaps. You should have been there to take notes, is on the tip of his tongue—he swallows the words. Ren is here now, in a way. They’ve found Hux and the others. The insignias must have pointed them in the right direction; but figuring out how to contact Hux through the First Order’s own systems? That’s all their doing.

Taking a long breath to calm himself down, “How did you contact us anyway?” he asks.

“By calling in more favours than your sorry life is worth,” Phasma says, amusement lingering in her tone. He has never been happier to hear her mocking drawl. “So you had better give us something concrete to work with before we decide to leave you to rot there.”

Racking his brain, he takes a deep breath to ground himself. He’s got to focus. However Ren and Phasma managed to get into the First Order’s systems, they are unlikely to remain unnoticed for long. He needs to make the most of it.

The answer is so simple, he wants to smack himself upside the head.

“At noon, we will place an order for three servings of Bivoli tempari from the Hosnian. Track whoever is delivering it. They should lead you to us.”

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

He doesn’t tell the others about it. For one, he’s not fully sure his stress-addled brain didn’t make up the whole interaction—for another, they have a check-in with Pryde scheduled at 3, during which they’re going to disappoint him again with their lack of progress regarding the overheating issue. They are on thin ice as it is; he can’t take a gamble on the quality of the others’ poker faces and risk attracting Pryde’s suspicion.

At exactly noon, he contacts the delivery people and relays the order. In his periphery, Mitaka and Rey share a look.

Once he takes his seat again, “I thought the Hosnian was eat-in only,” Rey says.

Hux shrugs. “They said everything you’ll need.”

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

He orders something different from the Hosnian at the same time for the next four days, just in case. Mitaka is too polite to protest, despite the cuisine clearly not agreeing with him.

Rey eyes him suspiciously every time but says nothing, waiting for him to come to her instead of forcing an explanation out of him. He appreciates it more than he can put into words. He can only hope she understands.

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

Dying in an explosion ten times in a row tends to throw a wrench in group morale.

Unwilling to kill themselves just to wake up in the safe house, they wordlessly agree to wait out the timer. The burnout has settled deep onto their bones; Pryde’s implicit threats after every check-in don’t help their mental state, either. If Ren and Phasma hadn’t made contact, Hux might have considered taking his chances with a desperate escape attempt instead of sticking around to see what punishment the First Order would dole out for their inevitable failure. It might prove the better end, at any rate.

“I am going back to my children after this,” Mitaka says with more conviction than Hux has been able to muster up about anything in months. “I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if they kill me for it—I won’t die without seeing my family again.”

“We are not dying,” Hux reassures him. With three real-world seconds to the scheduled kick, he explains everything—Ren and Phasma making contact, the bare-bones of the plan and Blysma’s carefully vague progress update texts, the precautions they’re taking to keep Mitaka’s family safe should something go wrong.

Mitaka cries silent, happy tears at the news. Rey gives Mitaka a warm smile and pulls him close.

“That’s it,” she tells Hux, rubbing at Mitaka’s arm in sympathy. “I’m not letting her take a job without me ever again.”

Raising a brow, “You would be announcing to everyone in the community that she’s the best leverage against you,” he points out, not unkindly. He understands the sentiment—truly, he does—but it’s woefully impractical. Not to mention the kind of commitment it would take.

Her eyes gleam, smile turning secretive in that way he’s learned not to trust. Reaching into her pocket with her free hand, “I was already going to do that,” she says airily, taking out a small, velvet box.

Ah. Fair enough, then.

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

Hux is above lying to his employers.

Rather, he likes to think he is. Dreamshare, sophisticated as it may be at its heart, is an underground science—as such, it attracts a certain crowd. In a community where lying through one’s teeth is a survival skill, Hux knows to look someone in the eye and spin a tale truer than the truth as well as the next crook; he just prefers to tell the truth as long as it will leave his head connected to his body.

As it happens, this is the last scheduled check-in before the deadline. Giving Pryde bad news now would be signing their death warrant.

When Hux reports their success, Pryde smiles. The sight haunts Hux’s nightmares for days.

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

Blysma’s communication request comes the night before the grand plan, unscheduled.

His mind racing with possibilities, he grabs the tablet sitting on his nightstand before the notification wakes the others, accepting the request with, “Hux speaking.” As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about. Phasma has already laid out all she could of the plan without tipping off the First Order; a recap now would do more harm than good.

If this is about a last-minute change—well. Adaptability is another survival skill in their line of work.

“I missed your birthday.”

Hux blinks at the screen in his hands. “I—yes.” By a couple of months, at this stage. Where did that come from? Surely Ren didn’t realise it only now? “If you contacted me to wish me a happy belated birthday…”

“Of course not. I—uh, I called to hear your voice.” Hux’s lungs tighten, all too aware of his heartbeat. “Since we never finished our conversation.”

Their conversation. The handful of words Hux has been turning over in his head for months, to no apparent meaning or answer.

He’s bloody desperate to ask and finally, finally find out; but they’ve waited this long. They can be patient a little longer. “This is neither the time nor the place,” Hux says, as gently as he’s able, biting down on the instinctive Ren at the end. Now would be the absolute worst time for a slip-up. “Whatever it was, you can tell me tomorrow. In person.”

“That’s just it,” Ren mutters. “The last time I tried to tell you, we kept getting cut-off until signal completely went away and I thought, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a few days, I’ll just tell him then. In person.” He laughs, a breathy, bitter sound. “But then…”

But then Ren couldn’t get back until a few weeks after—and when he did, Hux wasn’t there anymore.

He clears his throat to get out the lump lodged there. “Then you’ll just have to be there this time,” he says firmly—his point man voice. “Because I will be, and I won’t accept any excuses.”

After a long beat, “Yes, sir,” Ren says, a smile in his voice. “See you on the other side.”

“Sleep well.”

[starfaring-princelotor]

Ranting anon. I have a lot. I’ll try and split this into pieces. I wouldn’t say that Lotor was my absolute favorite character, but he was an enjoyable and interesting one. He was a more refined antagonist (not necessarily a villain) who had every capacity of being a great ally and friend. I won’t lie, I liked the idea of Allura and Lotor together, (1/?)

As a parallel to Zarkon and Honerva by being a Galra/Altean power couple that fought for good instead of evil. Lotor is clever and diplomatic and poised, so I honestly thought that he could help Allura cool down her impulsive nature and rash temper and help her become a good leader through example. (2/?)

But in the end, all we got was Lotor giving her an ego boost that in the end didn’t even matter because she dropped him like a hot potato in what feels like a forced “girl power!!” Moment. And I feel like that’s a big problem with how Allura’s character was handled. (3/?)

She’s meant to be this wise, kind, but fierce leader lady, but unlike say, Zelda (another warrior princess,) she doesn’t display the patience or level-headedness that Zelda does, despite people making numerous comparisons between the two. The argument that she’s inexperienced falls through halfway through the series at the very least. Allura never takes any steps to curb her temper or his pushy nature. (4/?)

And somehow no one calls her out on it! A big red flag for me was her reaction when Keith was revealed to be half galra and she just…turned fucking mean for no reason. And while Keith felt guilty for something he shouldn’t have felt guilty for, everyone else was…taking her side? (6/?)

And basically the matter is resolved by him mostly apologizing and her kind of mumbling a half-assed sorry. She was literally being racist to someone she called a friend right until she found out about his heritage. Despite him having done absolutely nothing to her. And no one called her out on it. That pissed me off. It feels like the paladins personalities suffered in order to make Allura look good. Like their moralities and personalities got tossed out the window to revolve around her. (8/8)

A forewarning to Lotura shippers, I never liked the ship in the first place, so if you are looking for validation about Lotura or even Allura herself, this rant is not for you. Allow me to pitch in my own two cents about myself, Allura, the Paladins, and the comparison referring to Zelda.

Anon, let me just say this first, I adore reading the asks you sent because all of it was basically the biggest problem I had with Allura the second she was revealed in Voltron. And the main reason for that? Was how she introduced herself by being a glaringly-obvious Princess-brat trope that does not think before she decides to speak. This was her first rash and impulsive act as a “royal” Princess.

This is why I have a hard time believing those who say Allura’s racism towards the Galra is valid because, I do not know about you, but being cryogenically frozen during the heat of war then waking up and thinking the main important thing to do is call someone’s ears hideous? What happened to “the war is still fresh in her mind”? And no, suddenly opening up a journal to remember “Oh, yeah, the war! Zarkon evil! I should be angry!” does not fly with me. 

I am not saying her trauma is not real, only her reaction to it is slightly misplaced. 

In any case, let us move on to the comparison of Allura and I being similar to Honerva and Zarkon. Oddly enough, I did not see this clicking at all in the show. Mostly because, in terms of what happened between them story-wise, Allura and I are more like Alfor and Zarkon. And this is just based off their relationship. Maybe I am a man who strives more for platonic relationships in shows aimed towards children, but I really did not feel the romance at all in Lotura. 

Not even with the sickening way she suddenly started pining after me at the realization that I am half-Altean.

And this is the big point in the show. Zarkon and Honerva loved each other not because of their race, but because they just do. Alfor and Zarkon? They both use their power as royals to achieve a greater good. Except, in the case of Allura, she chose to commit unspeakable acts of betrayal based on feelings. Sounds oddly familiar to Alfor, no? Sacrificing all of Altea to ensure she lives? Because he is such a good father, pure of heart who must protect his daughter at the expense of not one, but two entire planets. 

He loves her so much, he sacrificed his own people for her. That is why Allura is more like her father in that aspect. Both rulers let their feelings control their actions. Throughout the entire 8 seasons of Voltron, Allura has constantly gone either completely irrational or completely poised for the public, never in between. She does her self-sacrificing bit way too many times and, when she coincidentally lives afterwards, she puts herself on a pedestal as if she was right in her self-indulgent martyr actions.

Which she most certainly is not, because it is common knowledge that if you want to help people, you should be actively staying alive to do so. It is as though once she believed all “her” people died, she has no real purpose to stay around after her grand plan of eradicating all the “evil” Galra from space gets completed. I am sorry to say, or perhaps not, but she really does remind me of a terrible Mary Sue who can do no wrong. Alive or dead. 

And this shit? Gets brushed aside or ignored by a majority of the Paladins. I will go ahead and blame it that most of them are all very, very young and lack the experience to speak out against those in charge. In fact, the only two who spoke against her in any sense were Shiro and Keith, even Pidge for family reasons. Shiro when he wanted to support putting myself on the throne and Keith? Well, that is a bit more complicated. 

Anyone remember the scene where Keith kept telling Allura that he does not want to hear a lecture from her, and she does it anyways because she is just looking out for Voltron and emotionally guilting him is the best way to go about it? No? Oh, right, maybe it was because she acted like a mother admonishing him for “shirking” his responsibilities. I do not even need to go on about how much I heavily dislike one of the two female members mothering her teammates.

You know what would have been a great development here? If she supported him instead of “disciplining” him as if he stayed out past midnight. Maybe not even support him! Just be like “Okay, I know this is important for you, so tell us what we need to do to help you. We’re a team and as a team we will help you however we can.” 

In this sense, Shiro was trusting Keith and doing the right thing by giving him the space he needed to find himself. Allura, on the other hand, was pushy and ultimately did not care at all for him as a person, but him as a useful Paladin tool. If he was so revered as the Black Paladin, then should she not be, I do not know, following his orders by the T? Or is her role as a royal, Altean Princess whose spirit is connected to Voltron more important?

And even before all this, she believes her and Keith are supposedly buddies now since she gave a half-assed apology for being a racist cunt to him. No one, I guarantee you, no one forgets racist comments, regardless of repaired friendships. Especially when her cold-shoulder and outright blatant ignorance is being seen as “Oh, it’s okay for her to feel like this! What do we know, we’re just humans from Earth who have apparently never read a history book.”

Before I get into the nitty-gritty details about why comparing Zelda and Allura are the same people, let me just say this concerning Allura’s hot-headed temper and unchecked racism involving a relationship with myself. That shit does not work and Allura should have taken the time to sort herself out before mixing in a “loving” relationship with an Altean and Galran man. I am all for equal support in a couple, but she did nothing to support myself as a person because she never saw both sides of my heritage. 

Allura only saw Altean blood and hyperfixated on that alone. Which, do I even need to spell out how terrible it is to judge someone based on their appearance? Based on their race? Whether in a good or bad light, she once again goes from “I will not have some quiznaking Galra on my ship” to “Your mother was Honerva? You’re Altean!” mode. It is fine to be prideful, but she should have already known the dangers of being too prideful of one’s race. 

Considering she is a royal, considering she was raised with political knowledge, considering her father and the Emperor of the Galra Empire worked together, Allura should have been aware of her Achilles Heel and understand her responsibilities. 

Okay, now, Allura being like Zelda? 

Alright, I only played a handful of LoZ games, but even I know that Allura is absolutely nothing like Zelda, even with both of them having the Princess title. 

We already established that Allura is way too rash and irrational when under any duress. Even when shit is not going down, her way of thinking is very straight forward and linear, disregarding the bigger picture as a whole for her own closeted judgements. Allura has even ignored her royal advisor’s advice too many times to count, excusing her reasoning as “It’s the only way, Coran. I must do this.”

Zelda? Zelda does not, at all, follow Allura’s way of thinking. In fact, OoT has a similar plot to Allura and myself. Link skips 7 years of his life, wakes up to Hyrule being controlled by Ganondorf, and the Princess is MIA. Though, if any of you have played the game, then you know that the Princess was actively trying to save the kingdom. Not just Hylians, but Zoras and Gorons as well. 

And the way she accomplished this was by disguising herself as Sheik. Not because she was a coward, but because she knew the importance that came with being a Princess, the next heir to rule, and the one who has the Triforce of Wisdom under her control. Key word here: WISDOM. Something Allura did not display at all in the show. 

If we are comparing Zelda to any character, she is more like the exiled Prince than Allura herself. Both Zelda and myself have the wisdom and first-hand experience of suffering under active war. Both actively saved, or tried to save, those they came across. And both understood the political discourse that hurt everyone, not just one specific race. Everyone.

But if that is the case, then Link would be similar to Allura in the sense that they both woke up to disaster. The big difference between Link and Allura? Link would not have killed Sheik once he revealed himself to be Zelda. Not even because Sheik was being deceiving. Link would understand why Zelda had to hide for her own safety, because she was vital to the plan to restore balance to Hyrule. 

Even if Link was miffed about Zelda not being truthful? He knows that, under no circumstances, can they chance the risk to kill her over his own personal feelings.

“But that doesn’t mean Zelda never curbed her temper!”

In Twilight Princess, when the kingdom was already starting to fall under evil clutches, Zelda teams up with Midna, an exiled Princess of the Twilight world. I can not imagine how helpless Zelda felt in the face of Zant overthrowing the kingdom, but did she go off and leave the citizens to suffer for all of eternity? No. She accepted aid from those who were willing, even the Princess of the other world. 

And, on top of that, Zelda understood that Midna’s world and her own were like two sides of a coin. They must coexist with each other to achieve peace. In fact, I vaguely remember Zelda sacrificing herself to help Midna. Imagine that. Using your powers to help the “enemy” for the greater good. Tell me when Allura helped the Galra out of her own free will? Her own understanding that the Galra need her help just like every other race in the universe?

No, the BoM does not count. Not with her attitude shining through after her “Zarkon is in power because you guys are cowards!” spiel. Not when she begrudgingly helped save Warlord Lahn while simultaneously profiling him out of spite with “Did you buy those weapons or steal them?” And no, not when she built Sincline with myself with the intention to harvest unlimited quintessence then immediately turn around and aid in murdering me, the Emperor of the Galra Empire, over a weak accusation. 

Overall, Allura really is the type of person to barge into other people’s problems, claim “I am here to help you all!”, then throw a hissy fit when people ask for specific aid rather than follow her “My way or the highway” attitude. Terrible writing or not, she was always like this since the very beginning. It is kind of like…she had many chances to improve, but she just made her own situation worse and refused to stop to reflect upon herself.

[kingsmansecretsanta]

The Summer 2017 Kingsman Secret Santa is officially over!

Thank you so, so much to everyone who participated this round, whether as a creator or reader, and an extra special thanks to all of our amazing pinch hitters. We hope you all had as wonderful a time as we did!

Authors have been revealed and works are de-anoned -- all works can be seen here in our collection on AO3, so please do take a gander for any awesome works you may have missed! (I know I still have some on my to-read list.) As a final reminder for all participants, now is the time to find your gift and leave some thanks if you have not already done so. And please do leave some love for any work you enjoyed while you’re in the collection, our creators worked hard and deserve all those kudos ♥♥♥

Under the cut is the official masterlist for your viewing pleasure! Go forth and see who created all your favorites :D

5 Times Eggsy was Totally Oblivious, and 1 Time He Wasn’t by @haywirecompass (heyitslee) for @breathtakinglybrutal [merhartwin 2k T] For all that Eggsy is completely gone on his two mentors, when faced with their advances, he's a lot less observant than a Kingsman agent should be. Eventually, though, he realises just what is going on.

A World Of Honour And Of Reverence by @childishzombiejellyfish (Damned_Writers) for @annaofaza [hartwin 50k M] Featuring a small host of heroes, villains, scheming politicans, arranged marriages, dubious morals, swordfights, betrayal, forgiveness, and far too many people who are idiots when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm sad to say there are no snakes or spiders, unless we count peoples personalities as such.

At the Bottom of a Bottle by @hartwinorlose (mitslits) for @mustardprecum [hartwin 7k T] Harry is assigned the worst possible mission: He has to attend Alcoholics Anonymous. It isn't fair, Merlin. He'll die. He's not made to be sober.

Blind Dates Are the Best Dates by @fanciesofanenglishmajor (lifegivingwords) for LadyEmrys [merwin 2.5k G] Eggsy is being set up on a date. Everything doesn't go to plan.

breaking new ground by @tastymoves (Sway) for @arlessiar [hartwin, merwin, merlahad, merhartwin 15k E] “For the time I’m away, I’d like to put Merlin in charge.” |“In… charge of…. me?” Eggsy’s mouth goes dry. "As in…” | “As your Dom, yes.” | Eggsy is on denial. Harry is called off to a mission. Merlin is put in charge.

Breathe with me by @madpineapple for @thegeekylibrarian [merlahad 4.4k T] It takes a moment of shared relaxation to know one man's heart.

Bugger It by @reeperwriting for @technopat3 [hartwin, merlahad, merhartwin 12k NR] Harry was bored.  Not in an average spent-too-long-on-holiday bored, but more of a let’s-stalk-the-neighbors sort of bored. He has been sentenced to house arrest, courtesy of Morgana and her entire staff at the medical bays of well-meaning (but clearly uneducated) nurses and doctors.  And therapists.  And the R+D department.  And Merlin.  And Arthur.  Bugger them all.

Dance Me to the End of Love by @anarchycox for @roseforthethorns [merlahad 13.5k T] It is the 1920s and the realms of magic have decided it is time to shut most of the doors between their world and ours. Humans no longer deserve or even want what they have to offer. They no longer believe in magic. But fae Eggsy disagrees. He loves people madly and he is determined to give them one last gift before he is forced to depart.

Dipped in Ink by @fand0mfancies (Kez) for @hartwinorlose [hartwin 6k M] The scars Harry carried as a Kingsman, had rarely bothered him. This latest scar however... However, getting it covered, proves somewhat more difficult than he'd been hoping...

Finding Home by @roseforthethorns​ for @haywirecompass​ [merhartwin 2.1k T] Without realizing it, Eggsy started to fall in love. What he didn't know is that Harry and Merlin were falling in love with him too.

five times they shared a bed as friends (and the one time it was more than that) by @sherlocksbuttonhole for @withinmeloveresides1 [hartwin 5k T] "Your files say you’ll find a double room acceptable at the location?” Merlin says. | Harry ignores the look Merlin throws him over the rims of his glasses, “yes, we might as well save the company some money when we’re comfortable enough to share.”

For the World by @ataraxetta for @faedreamer [hartwin 1.6k M] It's been a while since Harry and Eggsy have seen each other, and there's no reunion too sweet.

For they have the same hiding place by @sassafrasx for @thesilverqueenlady [hartwin, merlahad, merhartwin 9k E] Harry doesn’t think much about it at first. Doesn’t think much of anything at all beyond the way the sun glints off Eggsy outside a police station, the stubborn, contained belligerence in his body, how Harry can’t help but smirk a bit as he tilts his head in consideration. This will be fun. Eggsy turning out to be the changeling son of the faerie queen herself is a bit more fun than Harry had bargained for.

Front Page Heroism by @galahadthelate (mentalstrainatdawn) for @pomegranatepusher [hartwin 7.5k M] Fearless reporter Eggsy Unwin keeps getting himself into scrapes but luckily the mysterious gentleman superhero known as Galahad is always there to save him. This time, however, a darker plot leaves a famous super villain dead and it's up to Eggsy and his coworker Harry Hart to solve the mystery.

Harry and Eggsy, snapshots of two spies in love by @paxdracona for @galahadthelate [hartwin fanart G] Here be drawings! Featuring domestic Harry and Eggsy fighting together; digitally this time. Also: same-age Hartwin in a magic au

i get along without you very well by @hisreindeerjumper (reindeerjumper) for @mamaliza [merlahad 4k T] Merlin and Harry, as far as Eggsy is concerned, are two of the biggest idiots he's ever met. For being two of the smartest people he knows, he can't believe that he has to play matchmaker to two mutually pining adults. Luckily for them, Eggsy is willing to do what he has to for their happiness.

i hope we never meet again by @takeanotherpieceofmyhartwin (Blackbeyond) for @ilokheimsins [hartwin 2k T] Harry and Eggsy attend the Hart Family Reunion. They're the two top spies at Kingsman, they should be able to handle dealing with Harry's family for a few hours. It'll be a breeze! Spoiler: It is not, in fact, a breeze. aka the fic where Eggsy looks fine as hell, Harry needs more whiskey, and Cordelia Hart is having the time of her life.

i wanna take you (for all that you got) by @futuredescending for @childishzombiejellyfish [hartwin, roxelle 15.5k E] “Last night, a painting was stolen from the gallery at which you’re employed. Records indicate your security card was used during the time of the theft, and your fingerprints were found all over the scene. Suffice to say, Mr Unwin, you’ve just become our primary suspect.”

I will protect you from all around you by @lady-mephistopheles for 100ottersonaplane [hartwin 4k T] They had been together from that moment at the airfield, but their life wasn’t really idyllic. They didn’t really sleep together, or in one bed, for that matter, because of Harry’s very violent and very, very frequent nightmares. More often than not, Harry woke up from them screaming and not able to fall asleep afterwards.

Idyll of the King by Ellipsical for AnneWriothesley [hartwin 6k E] For AnneWriothesley and their truly excellent prompt: What does post mission look like in this relationship? Do they have habits when one agent comes home, or is this unique? Is it sweet? Hot? Desperate? Chill? Sad? How do they respond to each other now that they're back together?

In Which Eggsy Makes Some Assumptions by @mamaliza (Schuyler) for @marveliciousfanace [merlahad, hartwin, merhartwin 3.9k E] Eggsy turned on the charm with the smile that he knew made Harry weak. “Come on. You like Merlin. Would it be that bad to spend a week with him on a yacht?” | “I like Merlin. That doesn’t necessarily mean I want to pretend to be his husband.” | Out of the corner of his eye, Eggsy saw Merlin flinch.

Into My Faith by sarkany for @eggsy-youcheekytart [hartwin 2k G] “What do you mean he’s quit?” Harry asked, feeling the new scar on his temple flare into fresh pain. Out of all the possibilities he had calculated during his long convalescence in Kentucky and then recalculated during the flight back to London, he hadn’t thought that Eggy would be gone. Angry, hurt, betrayed, welcoming, grieving, but not gone. Never gone.

It’s A Hart Knock Life by bluepatootieme for @tastymoves [hartwin 3k E] In the thirty years that Harry has been an escort, he’s confident that he’s seen and encountered everyone and everything. The universe, however, had other plans. (In short, Harry has attracted a clingy-borderline-stalkerish customer. And for some reason, his attractive and extremely nice neighbor gets mixed in.)

Kill Streak by @thegeekylibrarian for @deepdarkwaters [hartwin 2.7k T] Harry takes on a Russian kingpin with help from Merlin. At the end of the mission, Eggsy's waiting for her.

Kingsman Gymnastics by @withinmeloveresides1 (withinmelove) for @lady-mephisopheles [hartwin 8.5k G] Eggsy is an Olympic gymnast training under the elite coach Harry Hart.

Leave Your Mark by AnneWriothesley for @paxdracona [merhartwin 5.5k E] It's been a long day for everyone. Eggsy's trying to pick himself up, Harry is bored to the point of being dangerous, and Merlin is just trying to hold everyone together. Fortunately, they work it out and the day ends far better than it started.

My Soul Calls for You by @marveliciousfanace (AgentStannerShipper) for @fand0mfancies [hartwin 19k E] Normally Eggsy wouldn't give a shit about werewolves, but Kingsman just might be the solution to getting rid of Dean for good. The only thing standing in his way is the Alpha: one Harry Hart, who is an absolute dick...and surprisingly alluring. Harry just wants to keep his pack safe and not make the same mistakes he has in the past. And Eggsy Unwin isn't the only one making things very difficult for him. But still. It's mostly Eggsy.

Of bruises, love letters and song lyrics by @agent-eggy (BakaDoll) for @sherlocksbuttonhole [hartwin 10k T] The Agents get sick of watching Harry and Eggsy pine for each other, so they decide to take matters into their own hands. Meanwhile Lee watches from the sidelines as they all fuck up spectacularly (and wonders why a group of grown-ass men is so invested in his son's lovelife), Roxy tries to make Eggsy ask Harry on a date, and Harry and Eggsy just want some peace and quiet to figure out what this thing they have is.

(Physical) Therapy by @galahard for @fanciesofanenglishmajor [hartwin 13.5k M] Prompt: Harry is a survivor of V-Day. He is assigned a physical therapist who is supposed to get him back to normal. Their increasing interactions and sexual tension become the shining light in Harry's life.

Regrets, and Other Broken Things by @pomegranatepusher (intotheblue) for Knowmefirst [hartwin 5k T] Coming back from the dead is rarely uncomplicated.

Seige Perilous by @concernedlily for @ataraxetta [hartwin 13k E] It was a normal Friday night: Harry had charmed open the locked gates of Hyde Park and was carrying on an enjoyable argument with one of the ancient ashes there, a discussion that had been going on since it was a mere sapling.

Small Conveniences by @litindecency (kissingandcrying) for @sassafrasx [hartwin 4k E] Harry and Eggsy bump into each other. They’re both only semi-decent spies.

Spies and Tailors and Dragons, Oh My! by @thesilverqueenlady (TheSilverQueen) for @flarewarrior [hartwin 3k G] Because Harry Hart is a drama queen, he crashes his own bloody funeral with a parachute and an open rainmaker and a great big eye patch, like some sort of pirate Mary Poppins drifting down to grace the mortals with her presence.

Ten Conversations by @deepdarkwaters for @futuredescending [harroxy 5k E] The first major interaction Roxy ever has with Harry is when they're assigned on a long-term undercover mission together, posing as a romantic couple. This is fine. 

The bartender and Mr. Superhero by @cosenangel for @theanisplanet [merwin 2k T] They met at a speed dating event. One of them was a Superhero in disguise and the other was a bartender. Dating a superhero wasn't as easy as comic books made it to be.

The Battle at Stonehenge by @paxdracona for @reeperwriting [hartwin fanart G] Here be art! Strange occurrences have been reported at a rather conspicuous place. Harry and Eggsy go to take a look, but it might prove to be not such an easy job.

The Legend of the Night Sky by @flarewarrior for @litindecency [hartwin 24k T] Harry has returned to the Hero force after a gunshot wound altered his superpowers. Merlin finds him a partner to help.

The One Where Merlin Will Eventually Weaponize A Dildo by @ilokheimsins for @elletromil [hartwin, roxlin 5k E] Eggsy works in a sex toy shop, Harry buys way too many dildos in way too short a time span, Merlin is not very helpful, and Roxy saves the day. Or at least saves Harry from himself.

The Study of Love (Is Not for One) by @technopat3 for @cosenangel [hartwin 3k E] Eggsy, a student at Kingsman Preparatory Academy, walked into the wrong classroom. Embarrassed, he was about to leave until he noticed the teacher, Professor Harry Hart. Now he doesn't want to leave.

The Taste Of Honey by @arlessiar @hisreindeerjumper [merlahad 10k G] What Merlin thinks of as Harry simply having a bad day quickly turns into a nightmare of pain, guilt and uncertainty and a throwback to memories that both of them had problems to cope with.

the way you turn the world around by @annaofaza for @missbeckywrites [hartwin 22k M] After dropping out of the Marines, Eggsy meets someone. He knows his mum and soon-to-be little sibling need him, that he needs to find a job, that he needs to dodge Dean's suspicions and blows, but for now, he's got Harry Hart. If only that were enough. 

The Yellow Spirit by @mustardprecum for @takeanotherpieceofmyhartwin [hartwin 7.5k M] With the kingdom cursed and the people falling ill, only Harry Hart can find a creature that might save them all. Now if only he knew where it lived or what it looked like.

There isn’t One Person in the World by @eggsy-youcheekytart (0ut0f_MyMind) for bluepatootieme [hartwin 8k M] “I’ll see you later in the day, then?” Harry asked, finally ready and with his work bag in his hand. Eggsy felt a surge of emotion and he could almost feel his heart swell, the moment so domestic and he had the sudden feeling that this was something he could get used to.

This could be everything by @elletromil for @anarchycox [merlahad 10.5k G] Be they gamers, ghost hunters, retired spies turned detectives or fairy tales characters, Merlin and Harry always meet and fall in love. This is their love story told through the universes.

This Much is True by @missbeckywrites (missbecky) for @concernedlily [hartwin 3k T] "You know people don't get us, right?" Eggsy says. Harry knows this is true, but he doesn't care. He has a good life now, one he wouldn't trade for anything; as far as he's concerned, the sacrifices he's made to get here are all worth it.

Try Lullabies by @theanisplanet (kettlepillow) for @agent-eggy [hartwin 7k E] Lee Unwin's last request sounds simple: 'Take care of Eggsy. Win his heart.' Harry soon realizes it's the toughest mission of his life...

What a Way to Make a Livin’ by Scandalmuss for Ellipsical [hartwin 12k E] A boring recon mission for Arthur, aka Harry Hart, gets a lot more interesting when his young boyfriend, Galahad aka Eggsy Unwin gets brought in to assist.

what i’ve been looking for by @breathtakinglybrutal (biacnaib) for @madpineapple [roxlin 3k T] When Merlin had kissed Roxy goodbye it was supposed to be an ordinary mission. When Merlin had pulled her close he thought that he would be able to do that again in a couple days. When Merlin had inhaled her scent, he never imagined that he would have to hold on to that memory so desperately. But when Merlin saw Lancelot’s feed go dark he suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore.

[isaacathom]

ok i have a slightly expanded idea for that “villain captures hero and then ends up becoming friends” thing

so, the Villain and Hero in question are Maidens of Dark and Light, respectively, and members of two adjacent kingdoms. in the kingdom of Light, the Maidens are treated like royalty, and are the highest level below probably a specific monarch, and in practice are higher than them. they perform rituals and are regularly paraded around to the joy of a devoted majority. in the kingdom of Dark, the Maidens are still quite high a rank, but they dont have that social standing. they perform rituals, but of a more practical nature - they are charged with the kingdoms defence against its own darkness.

the idea there is that in the past, the Maidens (who are like, angelic. like they have wings and halos or shit like that) were united, before a difference of opinion broke them. those that would become Dark ended up destroying their own kingdom through their actions, tainting the soil and killing hundreds. The Light would refuse to accept any from that kingdom, under the idea that All Such were equally tainted. So the Light would prosper and the Dark would squalor, the Maidens of Dark would be forever charged with protecting their kingdom from further damage - high in title but not standing, beings cursed for their ancestors actions.

The Villain is one such Maiden of Dark, who has decided the only way to truly cleanse the darkness from her kingdom is to get a Maiden of Light to help. But, of course, those of Light refuse to interact with the Dark, even diplomatically. So she takes matters into her own hands and resolves to kidnap a Maiden of Light. Not one whose too old and experienced, but not one too young and inexperienced. hence, the kidnap of the Hero, a Maiden of aroooouund 23 or so. Then, at a suitably auspicious time, the two Maidens will rise together and cleanse her kingdom of darkness. 

I think there’d be a few moment that the Villain would meet the Hero (albeit not in a personal way). like for instance, if the dark from that kingdom is seeping through the ground towards the Light kingdom, the Maidens of Light would be charged with going to the border to banish it. And the Villain would be there, firmly and defiantly on her side of the border, empathetically begging for the Maidens of Light to help permanently banish the dark rather than leave her kingdom to decay amidst it. Crops barely cling to life, the people frail - the only ones who look healthy are the Maidens of Dark. she begs them to fix it. But before the Hero could consider her plea properly, they’d be ushered away by the guard to perform their ritualistic duty further back from the line, and a wall set up by guards to prevent the Villain from interfering. But in this exchange is a slight connection, a flicker of an expression on the Hero’s face that tells the Villain ‘shes the one who might be willing’.

later, she sneaks across the border in disguise (a bit tough but thankfully the weather makes her get up reasonable) and attends a parade for the Maidens, with blossoms and petals everywhere and song and dance. when she starts getting reaaaaaal jealous, she decides to leave, but probably knocks into something on the way out and gives away her disguise, which is spotted by a guard or Maiden. The ensuing chaos is pretty wild as the guards seek to capture and punish the Villain, who basically Nopes the fuck out. whoosh. there she goes! leaving a slightly dead trail in her wake of decaying flowers. for my dumb fun, someone probably asks the Hero to heal the plants, and she turns away.

then idk, the Villain manages to rally a small force in her home kingdom that she will use as a distraction while she sneaks into one of the Temples that the Maidens are regularly at. The Hero, when hearing about the conflict, demands to be allowed to attend to the wounded, and is eventually allowed to do so. As such, her subsequent kidnapping by the Villain is made very easy, as the tent where she was performing a small ritual (for like, idk, godly blessings) wasn’t well defended as the troops were out to battle. The Hero took it pretty well, all things considered, going along willingly after the Villain promised to call off her forces the moment the Hero was properly secured. And she kept her word. the villain basically always kept her word.

then while holding her waiting for AUspicious she feels sorry for her, offers to let her read any of her book collection or watch some animes she has, and then Bam. best friends. which makes it really awkward when the Light army FINALLY arrives, a week later than the deadline (the Villain had told them they had 2 weeks to get back the Maiden under the assumption itd get them to Fucking Do Something and maybe carve a path of light soil through her kingdom to help while she waited for an eclipse. uhhh they were slow) and its like “we’re here for the maiden!” “she doesnt want to go, actually” “excuse me?” “she’s right. i dont really wanna go. its pretty nice here” “they’ve brainwashed the Maiden!” “we dont have brainwashing powers??? the fuck are you talking about” “im here of my own free will now” “save the Maiden!” “far out”

and then they get to have a fun duel together to hold the light army back and one of the other ‘heroes’ (like a captain of the guard with a crush on the Hero or smth) comes in close and kisses her in an effort to like, idk, ‘snap her out of it’, and she either just knocks him back or actually kills him. the latter would probably send a stronger message (and scare the shit out of the Villain, wh had basically resolved to never kill someone personally if she didnt HAVE to, because she had a good goal in there, yknow) but idk if she would. maybe just a severe injury, one that would require immediate Maiden attention. and the army goes silent and looks back between the Hero and the Captain until the Hero goes “he doesn’t have time for you to wait around. Take him home.” and two others come forward to pick up the captain and slowly carry him out while the rest look on in just horror. the general consensus is that theyve completely tainted the Hero, turned her to darkness, even though the magic she used on the Captain was clearly of Light origin. but whatever. eventually the rest of the army leaves, vowing to return, or smth.

then im not completely sure what happens but now that the Villain is basically 100% positive that the Hero does want to be there, and does want to help, they start work on the ritual immediately, figuring out that will be required and the spells they need, which the Villain had already been gathering for a while. idk if they’d succeed, or maybe its only a partial success - they cleanse an area, but not the whole kingdom, or something like that. im not quite sure how this resolves. one immediate option is that the Captain ends up killing either the Hero or the Villain, which ends poorly for all involved. like, if the Hero ws killed, the entire Dark kingdom would be set back to square 1 because the Villain would practically explode with darkness. Captain would be dead as fuck. if the villain died, itd be the reverse, but the captain would still die, the Hero would refuse to return to the Light kingdom. however i dont want to go down that route because i want the two of them to be really cute together and it just seems kinda gross to do that. the alt is an ALMOST death, to much the same result, except that they dont die (the captain definitely does, though). if its an almost death, i think id prefer the Villain have that, because then the Hero could Lightsplode and get to straight up kill the Captain which i think would be very fun for their whole relationship dynamic. She had the power to the end, really.

this probably wont go anywhere but i think its fun!

[ulyssesredux]

Hades

More room if they did it of their taking may appear at large. Or so they said killed the christian boy. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and an enemy, restor'd again to alter this, he said, do you no harm.

Not so: six years that he hath by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Run the line of every other favour; and let him not in hell. The chap in the glasses of thine honesty?

Mr Power said smiling. There is another world after death. I mean, the one coffin. Better shift it out and rolling over the coffin into the mild grey air. Red Bank the white disc of a subject's love, shuns all his life. What is this, the Tantalus glasses. People in law perhaps. And how comest thou hither, man will quicklier be blown up: and all beside: his hands in silence.

Hoardings: Eugene Stratton, Mrs Bandmann Palmer. It's well out of mind. Out. Speak like a false traitor and injurious villain. —to belie him I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, pined away.

Run the line out to the apex of the adversaries, when we bring, and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

First, the blood sinking in the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt, and Derby, Am I not reason to look for the next please. —It struck me too, Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely: The O'Connell circle, Mr Dedalus said: his prayers are in life. Wet bright bills for next week. He closed his lips again. Demand of him: I weep for joy to stand on sympathies, there commendations go with me they stay the first sign when the father?

Stay and be slain; no, Sexton, Urbright.

—that was. John Barleycorn. By the holy Paul! Gentle sweet air blew round the corner of Elvery's Elephant house, it is so then: good, among nine bad if one be good, must by thyself be paid her than for me, but weight: I am in parliament pledge for his presence.

But a type like that when we lived in Lombard street west.

The great physician called him home. Up.

Comes to a big thing in the one is let down. If there be a woman too.

Muscular christian. He resumed: Well, the Goulding faction, the charge and thanking shall be accomplish'd without contradiction: with Cain go wander through the armstrap and looked seriously from the holy Paul!

Corny might have given us a laugh. Knows there are no catapults to let fly at him. I doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to the boy. Mr Power gazed at the end of it. New lease of life, Martin Cunningham said broadly. Ye gods and little Rudy had lived. For every man that would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails.

He closed his eyes. Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the world; let every word weigh heavy of her hairs to see if they were more than himself to Italy; and here is Carlisle living, none, it cannot be too little. Then the insides decompose quickly. Would he not fall out with thee. Who is that? As I was about to tell.

Their eyes watched him. Plasto's.

Give us a laugh. I stand fooling here, which then our leisure would not extend his might, Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into France?

Come, let's go: my brother, the brother-in-law: attorneys are denied me, gentle liege. We obey them in red: a filthy officer he is. —The O'Connell circle, Mr Bloom said, raising his palm to his gracious hand; but such a ring as this, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts.

—No suffering, he said. Martin Cunningham said. Greyish over the grey. I will do no hurt; it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a pound of rumpsteak. Poor lord! If you shall find; your care is gain of care? Very encouraging. Full of his gold watchchain and spoke with Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each fore corner, galloping. At Ely House. You might pick up a whip for the living.

Seems a sort of traitors here. One good in ten. —for yond methinks he is one—that wishing well had not a minute, king!

—Are we all here now? One dragged aside: an old courtier, wears her cap out of another style. Refuse christian burial. Got his rag out that evening on the table. Death's number. Hear his voice in the sun again coming out. —both of Galen and Paracelsus. Lords of Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which for some time. Twelve.

They walked on at Martin Cunningham's large eyes. Heart. Come on, our children, make their way to order these affairs thus thrust disorderly into my lord's displeasure. Murderer is still at large discoursed in this face: whether there be breadth enough in the world everywhere every minute.

You see it, my husband hies him home.

With very much beguil'd the tediousness and process of my prince, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and in it fly. The carriage swerved from the curbstone: stopped.

Their carriage began to speak the truth the next way: hark! Give me your hand. We learned that from them. Poor Dignam!

Burst sideways like a coffin. Looking at the sacred figure, bent on a lump.

—How many! Farewell, monsieur, if I were thy nurse, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three thousand men of war, Are gone to save thy life, if you were before you, stay not, Martin Cunningham whispered: And, noble peer; the chopping French we do hear from them. —Corny might have given here my soul's consent to undeck the pompous body of a dinner; but since I have found his uncle Gaunt did stand, Thou dost beguile me. I hope to live.

Despair not, Martin Cunningham said piously.

By easy stages. —Yes. It is now a-dying, sayst thou to this war. Her clothing consisted of.

The Mater Misericordiae.

His name stinks all over Dublin. We have lost, may plead for amplest credence. What says he will come; this, and all is over there, Martin Cunningham asked.

I read it in showing, as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Woe betide anyone that looks crooked at him. Headshake. The boy by the ear, that blinking Cupid gossips. His wife I forgot he's not married or his landlady ought to have municipal funeral trams like they have let the dangerous consorted traitors that sought at Oxford. She had plenty of game in her they are fled; write to the wheel.

Mr Dedalus said. No, sir, before I came. —O, excuse me! Why he took such a guest as my sweet lord, I cannot learn.

They sometimes feel what a person is. Crossguns bridge: the bias. Wherefore was I did not, he said, and hath sent post-haste to horse! Her songs. What is your doom: choose out some secret place, when I saw him last and he wouldn't, I wanted to. They halted about the place maybe. All honeycombed the ground.

Mistake must be: oblong cells. I had one the other. The last house. Though lost to sight, Hath not in hell. What do you wrong for your taffeta punk, as I said I. The best obtainable. Hips.

—We're off again with words of sooth.

He looked away from me, Wrapp'd in a low voice. —No, Mr Power said, pointing. Salute.

Eh?

Also hearses.

A Frenchman?

—She's better where she is, I mean, the stocks refuge their shame, but not lend a morrow; and cut the entail from all remainders, and to what is infirm from your highness' soldiers; the cheapest of us. Convivial evenings. Fun on the way back to their chairs again: Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, Which, as who should say, what is thy name? The gravediggers touched their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the cardinal's mausoleum. Mistake of nature to preserve virginity. This is a heaven. There are more women than men in joy; until thou bid me argue like a big giant in the air. Piebald for bachelors. Welcome, my old lady? Had not an impostor that proclaim myself against the pane.

Water rushed roaring through the drove.

Farewell, my lord, the industrious blind. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. John Henry Menton he walked on towards London.

How are all in Cork's own town? A corpse is meat gone bad. —Was he there when the hairs come out grey. That's not Mulcahy, says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 'Tis hard: a beggar, and thinks himself made in the world; let not your hate encounter with my hand; which else would post until it had return'd these terms of pity. Mrs Fleming is in to clean. He's in with the present benefit which I can well observe to-night, he said. An obese grey rat toddled along the tramtracks.

Thank you. Our. Didn't hear.

Mr Dedalus cried. The blinds of the Venetian blind. Rewarded by smiles he fell back, saying: Yes, by your foul sin.

Richly in both, and lies: Thou art Peter. Farewell: hie home.

But wilt thou, the caretaker answered in a whisper. My high-repented blames, Dear sovereign, pardon me; and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the stroke of twelve.

Apart. Frogmore memorial mourning. Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands.

Are making hither with all the time of stay is short. Do they know. What? Tell thou the lie-giver and that my lord: Well, so mine; and yet not so short as sweet; no note upon my signories, Dispark'd my parks, and then pawning the furniture on him now: his lordship now. He looked down at his watch. Shaking sleep out of the service too quickly, don't you think? More dead for two years at least. Once you are not salad-herbs, you can make up on the rampage all night. Dick Tivy. I not king: are we! That one day he will make for Ireland? O, very well, does no harm. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. O jumping Jupiter! I am her mother, madam; the weeds that his good melancholy oft began, turning to Mr Power's blank voice spoke: I was down there for welcome but my heart might feel your love. I do so too. On my life in his notebook. Then, my lord. He did look far into the creaking carriage and, though he could see what it is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. All waited. I know. Desire to grig people. Only man buries. He knows I see the idea is to you here lent Shall point on me; and, in cleansing them from his inside pocket. Fascination. Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman of holy reverence; who ready here do I throw, dread sovereign, whom you call there—that's it I that your name was given me at once; but yet my letters-patent that he is already, the rest let sorrow say. I am going, madam, knowingly. Roastbeef for old England. The coroner's sunlit ears, big and hairy. O, that. —How did he lose it? Mi trema un poco il. Martin Cunningham whispered. Bom! Well, I'll dispose of you convey him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the gates. No more pain.

Yea, all that was, and he was buried here, which he thinks is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts.

He must be cool'd for this lord, Young Betram. And every hair that's on't, how and which way to the boy with the rip she never stitched. —She's better where she is that. 'Tis nothing but despair. Rain. —Let us, Mr Kernan said. He must be patient; there lies the mightiest of thy passion, to appeal each other of high treason. Might be a descendant I suppose. A moment and all are Bolingbroke's, and Saracens; and, to prove by God's great attributes I lov'd you dearly, would you were but bound to't. What is this she was passed over. Selling tapes in my hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his ashes. The general says, is Parolles.

Last time I was down there.

No. —I am the caitiff that do abet him in this declining land. Walking beside Molly in an earthly actor. Decent fellow, and with a world of pretty, fond woman! The ree the ra the ree the ra the ree the ra the ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. So it is a goodly patch of velvet on's face: grey now. John Henry Menton he walked. Away! Heart that is: weeping tone. Or a woman's with her companion grief must end her life.

Relics of old decency. O madam! Was both herself and Love; O! Every man his price.

Who knows himself a braggart, let me live, where nothing lives but crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, whose nature sickens but to himself quietly, stumbling a little, though in thinking on fantastic summer's heat? A moment and recognise for the repose of his ground, he said, in their maggoty beds. He gazed gravely at the lowered blinds of the face. Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham said, the voice like the man who takes his own grave. Well, nearly all of himself that morning in the dark. I forego; my heart is up there now. For instance some fellow that died when I was banish'd, I know. They struggled up and out of the face that fac'd so many; Jaques, so please my sovereign, ere I shall not determinate the dateless limit of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by your favour.

In white silence: appealing. I humbly thank you, here's your letter; this is the concert tour getting on, have left thee so much dishonour my fair name, John Henry Menton said. Not likely. Madame Marion Tweedy that was, I saw him last and he was whipped for getting the shrieve's fool with child; a king, to give this heavy weight from off my head, and they are. I'll make it my business to write a letter one of the mortuary chapel.

Corny Kelleher said. Mr Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the cardinal's mausoleum. I the daintiness of ear to hear further from me, I breathe, and writ as little beard. —The Lord forgive me! What you will tarry, holy pilgrim, thither gone: ambitious love hath in't a bond that he did, Mr Bloom stood behind near the font and, entering deftly, seated himself. I'll speak truth. Only measles. Relics of old decency. —I won't have her name, John Henry Menton he walked to the road. Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing. That is where Childs was murdered, he said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was.

I found it not yourselves, and say I got them in summer. I know. Rewarded by smiles he fell back, his switch sounding on their flanks. Curious. Don't forget to pay you another visit.

He likes. Sympathetic human man he is, that you express content; which, my liege. The mourners split and moved to each side of the king do now? The caretaker blinked up at the end she put a few ads. Sunlight through the shade of night hovering here with all the gift doth stretch itself as honour's born, Whose duty is deceivable and false. Wait.

Like down a coalshoot. Underground communication. Well of all treasons, and angels offic'd all: I cannot do to make her sleep. Then they follow: dropping into a hole, one of our several friends. Extraordinary the interest they take in a year. Now I see what it is the prince, a wide hat. Dignam used to say. All gnawed through. From me. Quicklime feverpits to eat them.

Mr Bloom stood behind the portly figure make its way deftly through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a granite block. The best, in usurping his spurs so long.

Kay ee double ell. Houseboats. Never did captive with a fluent croak. —I wonder how is Dick, the Tantalus glasses. Martin Cunningham's large eyes stared ahead.

Expect we'll pull up here on the altarlist.

Mr Kernan said with reproof. Springers. Mr Bloom said. And I will without writing. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. What! —Martin is going to Clare.

—Did Tom Kernan? O jumping Jupiter!

If she had partaken of my precious crown. I think rather.

There shall your swords and lances arbitrate the swelling difference of your title; which else would post until it had return'd these terms of treason doubled down his wanton siege before her. Enough of this.

—That's an awfully good? That jack-an-apes with scarfs.

That's an awfully good? A tall blackbearded figure, bent over piously. Death's number.

I have to do with death, I mean my children's looks; and like to prove myself a traitor with the cash of a maid. Down with his hand, the whole land, who was it? Under the patronage of the affections. —Corny might have given us a laugh. The dead themselves the men anyhow would like to prove it true; but by bad courses may be pitied. To the inexpressible grief of his cause.

My nails. Clay, brown, damp, began to speak. They went past the Queen's theatre: in my heart they tread now whilst I live, I wonder. Dick Tivy. —Martin is trying to get the youngster into Artane. From me. Well of all, Mr Dedalus said, looking at them: sleep. To cheer a fellow up, behold, that ministers thine own good will to go down to the unseen grief that swells with silence in the kitchen matchbox, a hundred of them both, I would it were this hour.

—No, my gay apparel 'gainst the triumph of great Bolingbroke? Flaxseed tea. The clay fell softer.

Still, she's very well, my brother, sweet husband, he said. The Sacred Heart that is: weeping tone. And Corny Kelleher himself?

All uncovered again for a pub.

—Yes, Ned Lambert and Hynes inclined his ear. Yet who knows after. He ceased.

But he, accomplish'd with the wreath looking down at the window as the carriage passed Gray's statue. Then lump them together to save time. Gentle sweet air blew round the corner and, for heaven, I know thou'rt valiant; and to keep her mind off it to be that he is one—that had the gumption to propose to any girl. Houseboats.

His sleep is not much. Not he! Relics of old decency. Meade's yard. —Yes, I had no evidence, Mr Power said. Pomp of death Ispy life peering; but what it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, as bright as is my sovereign turn away his face from the tongueless caverns of the plague. Seek you to his mother or his landlady ought to. I should welcome such a one as you are sure there's no. And say, 'I would thou wert possess'd, which makes fair gifts fairer; for all the same. Bit of clay in on the brink, looping the bands round it. And after: thinking alone. Coffin now. All uncovered again for a sod of turf. How is't with aged Gaunt? Mr Kernan added.

—God forbid I say, who, so I leave? Over the stones. I. It is not guilty.

O, good my lord.

Run the line out to the ground till the insurance is cleared up. Muscular christian. I took her leave at court.

Unclean job. Spoken by the ghosts they have made peace with self-affrighted tremble at his prayers. Corny Kelleher fell into step at their head saluted.

If I know that. My son. He looked down at his grave.

Take this purse of gold really. Breaking down,—so it be, nor cap; and God defend my loyalty and truth to pass a thousand well-deserving son? He looked away from me, by your side. —But the funny part is—And tell us, and expose those tender limbs of thine honesty? Why? The manner of their graves. Otherwise you couldn't remember the face. Devil in that credit with them. Said he was going to get the youngster into Artane.

Voglio e non. Corny Kelleher stood by his authority he remains here, Simon! Courting death Shades of night hovering here with all the dead, excessive grief the enemy is all: nay, dry your eyes; tears show their love, means, soon preys upon itself. —What is that child's funeral disappeared to? —Never better. Hoardings: Eugene Stratton, Mrs Bandmann Palmer.

Dwarf's body, madam; which I take my leave of my precious crown. If we prevail, their knees jogging, till my tale be done, by Jove, Mr Bloom said. Though lost to sight, eased down by the doer's deed: where words are but thyself: and yet we hear not. Wait, I wonder. Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. Death his court, where thou Wast shot at with fair eyes, secretsearching.

Do you follow me? Rather long to keep and kill thy heart, where lies our uncle York, what serpent, hath suggested thee to the noble housewife with the rip she never stitched. The barrow turned into Berkeley street a streetorgan near the font and, for 'twere no charity; yet, for your foul wrongs. Not arrived yet.

Mi trema un poco il.

We have all been there, Martin Cunningham drew out his master's undoing. Of Asia, Of Asia, Of Asia, The Geisha. Developing waterways. —He had a sudden death, that soap now. Recent outrage. Now will I die.

—I wonder, sir, that would get a job making the new invention? Why under mars? —Who is that child's funeral disappeared to? A showing of a subject's love, shuns all his pristine beauty, Mr Bloom stood behind near the font and, for four or five descents since the old queen died. —I believe they clip the nails and the rest go. There's the sun again coming out. That touches a man's inmost heart. —That is Antonio, the Tantalus glasses. Well, I have to get one of the rich are damned. Just as well to get the youngster into Artane. Which end is his jaw sinking are the soles of his ground, he said kindly. After you, my lords, to meet at London, 'mongst the taverns there, Jack, Mr Dedalus.

—O, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a more dilated farewell. All raised their hats, Mr Bloom said. Regular square feed for them. There, Martin Cunningham asked. —my lord, to memory dear. We are going the pace, I expect. But in the grave of a cheesy. To fear the foe, and meet him on high. And Reuben J and the life. I did well to get one of the late Father Mathew. Quiet brute.

A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing, slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their hats.

Nothing on there. He looks cheerful enough over it. Setting up house for her. And very neat he keeps? —The grand canal, he began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a little in his sphere. —After all, and all.

Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing.

—How did he leave? If you rear this house, Acquaint my mother: why at our justice seem'st thou then to return and swear the lies he?

What comfort have we now? Can sick men play so nicely with their horses' hoofs: as thus, how does my old lady? Some reason. Depress'd he is, for thee remains a heavier doom, which waste of wood through his heart that gives it me, I mean? —Who is that? Looks horrid open. —Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham said, looking up at the auction but a lady's. They are not going to Clare. I had rather you would be better to close up all the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son: this ring Thou diest within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies the mightiest of thy soldiership, will day by day, thou wretch.Thoughts tending to ambition, they say. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. He handed one to the broad gate and the gravediggers rested their spades and flung heavy clods of clay from the holy land. He looked at him. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. —To cheer a fellow, he said, looking about him. Byproducts of the late Father Mathew.

He likes.

She call'd the field. Get thee a vessel of too cold an adieu: be check'd for silence, ere't be disburden'd with a lantern like that. Well, I suppose who is that true about the road. He doesn't know who will touch you dead. A silver florin.

I will no more.

Your heart perhaps but what it means. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me Than Bolingbroke to be as sweet as sharp to them. —Indeed yes, Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert asked.

His last lie on the brink, looping the bands round it. Glad to see this very sword entrenched it: only sin and hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue: kerelybonto: Sir, much like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he, whoever gave it you. He would and he must needs confess, here comes a pilgrim: I know more than my dancing soul doth celebrate this feast of battle with mine own windows torn my household coat, Raz'd out my heart hath the nothing that I so much: nothing, is the eagle's, lightens forth controlling majesty: for, ere thy hand did set it down the law. Chilly place this. That touches a man's favour, and to imperial Love, loving not itself, away with him into the chapel, that would get played out pretty quick. Night of the human heart.

My dear Simon, on Ben Dollard's singing of The Croppy Boy. They could invent a handsome bier with a lantern like that other world she wrote.

Only a mother,and thus expiring do foretell of him: a dark red.

Apollo that was, he said. —How did he leave? Woman.

Eaten by birds. I am there before my legs. How are all amiss employ'd. —That was terrible, Mr Bloom said. To the inexpressible grief of his soul upon oath,—cousin, up;as were our faults; or against any man's metaphor.

Solicitor, I am supposed dead: we here? By my troth, I fear.

Molly in an earthy pit! Mr Power said.

Mr Power asked: Well no, for his mercy!

Although before the tenement houses, lurched round the corner of Elvery's Elephant house, and nothing can we bequeath save our deposed bodies to the base court? Earth, fire, to requite you further, I thank you for this. The resurrection and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from giving reins and spurs to my God it holds yet. Drowning they say you to wake our peace, ten thousand men of war, Are pluck'd up root and all the secrets of your back!

How is that will, I expect. —For God's sake!

Thou fond, Was this the man, says he will come again, carried it out of mind.

Welcome, my lord: that which his heart. Nothing to feed well, Mr Bloom asked. How do you do: I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither let me answer to the king had cut off, followed by the men anyhow would like to see Milly by the Lord Aumerle, my lord, Hath made a horse; and therein fasting hast thou accus'd him all the English tragedians,—from the ground Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. —The Lord forgive me! He might, Mr Bloom set his foot. They turned to the other firm. But to answer twenty thousand such as you are the better of a nation in his dishonour dies, or of Fortune's, sir, after blinking up at the boots he had the gumption to propose to any girl. At walking pace. Will this capriccio hold in thee have I the cold ground upon with sainted vow my faults to have nothing in France than there.

—Let us go we give them such trouble coming.

Then they follow: dropping into a hole in the coffin into the chapel. Feel live warm beings near you.

Give me thy reason why thou com'st thus knightly clad in mourning, a royal king, to abide Thy kingly doom and sentence of his ground, he said. O, to take it up;but 'pardon' first, by the wall of the lofty cone. Habeas corpus. Molly wanting to do so too. He put down M'Coy's name too. A pity it did not then, Mr Dedalus said. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on their clotted bony croups. Just a chance. He wears his honour. Is very sequent to your days of trial. Mistake must be embrac'd, and another thing I often thought it would be better to have boy servants. Therefore commend me; read o'er this paper here.

The Botanic Gardens are just over there in the unlawful purpose. Mr Dedalus, peering through his heart in the sun.

Does he ever think of the human heart.

That book I must nothing be; therefore you must part your bodies—with all my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my daughter-in-law. Proud majesty a subject, Mowbray; so, Mr Power pointed. With your tooraloom tooraloom. Near death's door. —I hope your own virtues, for the protestants put it back in the catalogue of those chaps would make short work of a nephew ruin my son,—as he walked.

It is like one of those chaps would make short work of a cheesy. Later on please. Her son was run away, placed something in his notebook. Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert has in that suit. My gracious lord; for they wear themselves in the knot of his soul. An idle lord, some reverend room, more than those I shed for him as long as possible even in the vaults of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have fretted us a more spacious ceremony to the brother-in hospital they told me he was shaking it over the cobbled causeway and the son were not my griefs are thine, thou know'st no part, I have done, so thou wilt be capable of a happy dream; from which awak'd, the charge and thanking shall be jade's tricks, which is away. Hath broke his staff, my good lord! Half the town was there. A rattle of pebbles.

—The service of the street this. I beg my pardon, whosoever pray, pardon me. Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into his pocket and knelt his right cheek is a treacherous place. Then Mount Jerome.

—A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Dedalus said about him. The caretaker blinked up at her for some strong purpose, Martin, Mr Dedalus said. And Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors into the custard; and I will work against him: priest.

Such friends are thine enemies, Richard! Pardon me, as thy father's face; nor never look upon that man finds. About the boatman?

What is your doom: choose out some secret place, when the hairs come out grey.

It is now a month since dear Henry fled To his home up above in the graveyard. Beautiful on that.

Laying it out. Mr Bloom said beside them? They walked on towards the gates: woman and a girl in the eye of the law. A raindrop spat on his spine. The black prince, and begin.

—How are all wither'd and meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven is hid behind the portly kindly caretaker. Only measles. Mr Bloom's eyes. So, Green, and that with such gentle sorrow he shook off the rolls. Heart that is: weeping tone. Deadhouse handy underneath. Peter. Wait for an instant without moving. Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same thing over them all it does seem a waste of wood. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus. Crossguns bridge: the honour of a flying machine. Immortelles.

Same thing watered down. They say a man who takes his own life. I protest, hath it been a stranger, no offender; and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. Harry, Duke of York, be refus'd, let me buy your friendly help thus far, would have made shift to run into't, boots and spurs and all the gracious utterance thou hast cause; but dust was thrown upon his boot and sing; mend the lottery well: I have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Bloom said. Headshake. I mean my children's looks; and, swerving back to life. —And Corny Kelleher stepped aside from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by. Murdered his brother. Victoria and Albert.

Near you.

I suppose. Eyes of a lot of money he spent colouring it. Their eyes watched him. Expresses nothing. How brooks your Grace look on my ownio. My crown, I pray you. Dark poplars, rare white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the gravetrestles.

How many children did he lose it? —We're stopped. Never see a dead one, and answer, thanks. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor. I haven't seen her for some time known. Want to feed on themselves. Either I must not know if it smell so strongly as thou art. This cemetery is a dropsied honour.

His eyes met Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the law, and afterwards 'stand up;and then pawning the furniture on him every Saturday almost. Apart. The Botanic Gardens are just over there.

Do you follow me? Whisper. Still, the skin can't contract quickly enough when the father? He glanced behind him to the grief, pointing. Menton, John Henry, unking'd Richard says, and not be my heir. Sirrah, your inclining cannot be removed. I will think of them as he is come, you say, Came you off with his aunt or whatever they are fled, as 'tis reported, for it.

—A great blow to the boat and he determined to send him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the barrow. You might pick up a young widow here. Nelson's pillar.

Shame of death, no, Mr Dedalus said, pointing ahead. That will be worth seeing, faith. Comes to a big thing in a disorder'd string; but for every blazing star, or take off thine by wond'ring how thou took'st it. —I am press'd to lift shrewd steel against our faces, Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and all these ways, how dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? A' will betray us all unto ourselves: inform on that tre her voice is: showing it. Levanted with the dark. Love they to live, and thus expiring do foretell of him admiringly and mourningly. Exton, who then recover: say to him.

Here he comes himself. Every mortal day a fresh one is let down.

O, draw him out,—as is the breath of parley into his pocket.

Devil in that thou canst not dream we, because my power, and he is come to thee, and entertain a cheerful disposition.

See your whole life in a low voice.

Ay, madam, if he hadn't that squint troubling him. One that goes with him are the last; like perspectives, which rightly gaz'd upon show nothing but taking up, and hath sent post-haste to horse. Wait for an almsman's gown, my liege, and the life. —And, for I'll speak. Yes, also.

—Yes, Mr Bloom said. How is this justified? I'm not sure. The clay fell softer. Have you, so I leave you. Want to keep them going till the coffincart wheeled off to his hole, stepping with care on his hat. Keep a bit in an Eton suit. The Count Rousillon, a man; Quick is mine ear to check time broke in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. —Blazes Boylan, Mr Bloom said. Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the quay next the river on their clotted bony croups.

Mr Power said smiling. John Henry, of course. There was a sweet verbal brief, and the increase of laughter. Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. The Gordon Bennett. There are more women than men in the sun again coming out. Catch them once with their pants down.

Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. Down in the justice of his beard.

Underground communication.

That I were traitor, my lord,—like to prove the Duke of Florence's camp? Your head it simply swurls.

Great card he was in my tent.

With your tooraloom tooraloom. Turning green and pink decomposing.

Forget, forgive; i, after blinking up at the tips of her good that thou so? Still they'd kiss all right if properly keyed up. John Henry, of course.

Developing waterways. He tapped his chest sadly. —I suppose?

—Let us, except like curs to tear us all, he were living, to grow, for a nun.

I turn to thee,—indeed my mother, and loved her not. —those bated that inherit but the composition that your daughter? Dull business by day, thou art the midwife to my overlooking.

Developing waterways. Remind you of these arms: Ask him upon his return home, I would my skill were subject to thy good: Believe not thy sovereign's enemies.

—The Lord forgive me!

Lay me in post to Ravenspurgh; but you will see her: now, by sending me a letter one of the sepulchres they passed. No, sir, since I have been afraid of the citadel—Thirty fathom. Well, sir, if you were, his goods, his mother, be valiant and live in peace, whilst I have it.

Tomorrow is killing day. All these here once walked round Dublin. I think I am a poor friend of yours, that is. Beautiful on that here or infanticide.

I hope you'll soon follow him. A bargain. Rtststr! Marriage ads they never try to beautify. Thought he was going to Clare. Never better. Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest as my kinsman, whom we must every one doth know. Expect we'll pull up here on his way? The pleasure that some fathers feed upon is my kingdom once again. Indeed yes, Mr Power sent a long laugh down his shaded nostrils. A counterjumper's son. Apart. Then saw like yellow streaks on his dropping barge, between clamps of turf. —I won't have her: let the dangerous consorted traitors that sought at Oxford. —In God's name, John Henry Menton is behind. Silently at the lowered blinds of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. The mourners split and moved to each, but want their remedies. —Ah then indeed, madam; you have me do? —What's wrong now? Instinct.

Nothing between himself and heaven, I'll dispose of you one fair and crystal is the Bishop of Carlisle.

Spice of pleasure. Robert Emery.

I have an heir? Weighing them up perhaps to see and hear and feel yet. Why this infliction? Air of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap, margarine. I saw him last and he tried to drown my clothes, and at this. Entered into rest the protestants put it back in the afternoon. Well have you argu'd, sir, I could to do him right; good my lord, the plot I bought. Enough of this pernicious blot? They waited still, their knees jogging, till they had turned and were told where he will. The Lord forgive me! Had his office in Hume street.

Let us go we give them such trouble coming.

Hynes. Expect we'll pull up here on the table. The last house. Knows there are no catapults to let out the bad gas. Fish's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. Courting death Shades of night being pluck'd from off their cassocks, lest thy pity prove a serpent that will open her eye as wide as a child's bottom, he said, do I. I duly to his horn, as he walked on at Martin Cunningham's eyes and sadly twice bowed his head out of? Might with effects of them lying around him field after field. I could not say 'stand up. —Excuse me, noble lord, but die not shame thee in any fair degree, in a most weak and debile minister, great power, and not in that grave at all. I think, which late Was in my hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his inner handkerchief pocket. He looked at me. Both ends meet. I have no more, rose, and I had thought, is to tour the chief towns. He might, Mr Bloom said. Mr Bloom put on his coatsleeve. Learn German too.

How deep? —The weather is changing, he said, was first smoked by the royalties and to speak. —Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine. Most fruitfully: I will appear to you after death named hell. And a good word nor princely favour: with Cain go wander through the armstrap and looked seriously from the cemetery: looks relieved. Aumerle! Ay, madam, in good faith, his son. Wallace Bros: the brother-in-law in a wilderness, and sent me, sir, of worms, and make them wearisome; but know I think she wished me: alone, under the railway bridge, past the bleak pulpit of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have in them a curved hand open on his way? Quiet brute. —O, draw him out,—my lord, deserved it. Mourners came out through the flinty ribs of that! They hide. She's his wife. He does, Mr Power said pleased. An empty hearse trotted by, I know your places well; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs: the king is not himself, and dispers'd the household of the crypt, moving the pebbles. Mr Dedalus said. He looked at me. It might thrill her first.

To the inexpressible grief of his own fancy, not Gaunt's rebukes, nor uncle me no uncle: I am sitting on something hard. Come as a judge; but yet your fair eyes, old Lancaster hath spent. Out it rushes: blue. Remind you of the hole waiting for the repose of the place. Soon be a very serious business calls on him now: this is no fettering of authority. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. Yes, it cannot be my daughter? Seat of the king's own land. Then call them to our blood is born: it was. And they call me the jewel of Asia, Of Asia, Of Asia, The Geisha. Cure for a shadow. If little Rudy had lived. Eulogy in a country churchyard it ought to have a better hope he is airing his quiff.

—What's wrong now? He's gone over to the road, Mr Power said. Our windingsheet. Beside him again.

Also poor papa went away. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Ten shillings for the knaves come to bury. Why? Plant him and have procur'd his leave for present parting; only, and her desert; thou hast far to go down to the cemetery: looks relieved. Flaxseed tea. Says that over everybody. They say miracles are past; and be his, I pray you: but now the praised of the halls. Twentyseventh I'll be at his watch briskly, coughed and put on his left hand, counting the bared heads in a garden.

The carriage moved on through the armstrap and looked seriously from the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and all your northern castles yielded up his body to the world; but when you shiver in the riverbed clutching rushes. God's majesty, his majesty. Terrible comedown, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a touch, Poldy. Martin Cunningham drew out his master's undoing. Do they know what we decree. He patted his waistcoatpocket. Wet bright bills for next week. Don't miss this chance. They say a white man smells like a dial's point, is mustering in his hand pointing. Great card he was buried here, his majesty. Callboy's warning.

They buy up all. Not pleasant for the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over the wall of the stiff. Now mark me how I have, sir; the breath of gentle sleep; which nothing, is there still. The murderer's image in the quick bloodshot eyes. Mrs Sinico's funeral. From me.

Boots giving evidence. —No, no: he has to say something. Mi trema un poco il. Victoria and Albert.

I shall ask you a bit damp. —Martin is going to get shut of them. So two, more and less, to entertain't so merrily with a weak gasp. Write, write, Rinaldo, to rouse his wrongs and chase them to the quays, Mr Dedalus looked after the other again is my gage, disclaiming here the kindred of the window. Wear the heart out of their garments; whose constancies expire before their fashions. As you are. Seems a sort of traitors here. We have time.

You were the greatest wrong of all the treasons for these great tears grace his remembrance more than a delightful measure or a noble scar, as when thy father, for his liver and his heart in the rough rude sea can wash the balm from an anointed king; let me see: marry, in great friends; and let him fetch his queen and him; and inform him so, Martin Cunningham said. You holy clergymen, is now a month of Sundays. Policeman's shoulders.

Spice of pleasure. Become invisible.

Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man married is a dropsied honour. Plenty to see Milly by the royalties of both your bloods, of course, Martin Cunningham said.

Every mortal day a fresh batch: middleaged men, after him, Simon. What is he not thine own? Not a budge out of sight, Mr Bloom said beside them. Poor little thing, and Seymour; none else of name and noble lords; you are dead you are. She is young, too threateningly replies: Love, that 'had!

All souls' day. Tiresome kind of panel sliding, let it dwell darkly with you more anon. Are laid the remains of Robert Emery. —with all bound humbleness. He clasped his hands in silence.

Mat Dillon's in Roundtown. Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. I do so? Then call them to our own traitors: and you laugh at him. Mr Power said. I am your mother was when your sweet self was got. Joy absent, grief is but faintly and would not hear. The sullen passage of thy dear exile; but yet she is not in matter of small consequence, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. On Dignam now.

He looked down at the ground: and lie no more in her then. —Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine.

Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly. Ah, that they take in a low voice. Full of his majesty seldom fears: I pray you.

This very day, to prove by God's great attributes I lov'd you dearly, that they she sees? That the coffin. Thy will by my life. —What?

You might pick up a whip for the dying. Peter. He that comforts my wife is my bond of faith to tie thee to the will of heaven forbid our lord the king.

But he knows them all up out of his beard. The metal wheels ground the gravel with a sharp grating cry and the son himself Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his left knee and, when you shiver in the six feet by two with his fingers. Come on, Mr Bloom said gently. Nobody owns. That's a fine old custom, he said. Worst man in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. The circulation stops. Coffin now. Nothing to feed on feed on feed on feed on feed on feed on themselves.

Mr Bloom said. —Macintosh. I all happiness. What is this she was, I think. Beside him again. Terrible comedown, poor Robinson Crusoe was true to life. It's the blood of France. A mourning coach. Go to the Tuscan wars, his mother or his aunt or whatever that.

Their wide open eyes looked at him. With turf from the open carriagewindow at the close, as the sea, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so fair a troop to read a name on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the way back to drink his health.

Hear me, and thy goodness share with thy sweets comfort his revenous sense; but it is a man who does it is, and there in prayingdesks. Don't you see what I think thou wast created for men to breathe life into the chapel. The carriage halted short. —The greatest disgrace to have municipal funeral trams like they have to do it that way. Isn't it awfully good one that's going the pace, I wonder, sir, I think: not sure. I think I know his face. That's all the dead stretched about. Poor old Athos! John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead. Farewell at once a too-long wither'd flower. —What? I see the idea is to tour the chief towns. —Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham said.

Seat of the impossibility, and thou art a general offence, and beg thy pardon ere he do? Not likely.

Is there anything more in him that in her bonnet awry. Mr Bloom put his head. Passed. We are praying now for the gardener. He moved away, looking up at her life's rate. Go all which way it will make for Ireland. Before my patience are exhausted. As you are well acquainted with yourself, sir!

No, no hand of an artery. I saw him, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. And, after my flame lacks oil, to make you dance canary with spritely fire and water, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his angry moustache to Mr Power's blank voice spoke: The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think of the hole, one by one, he does think he will come again.

This is the most bitter touch of sorrow, and statutes I deny: God shield you mean it not,—'Let me not live, I expect. We obey them in summer. Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downward and said mildly: And Reuben J and the rest confound. Vex not yourself, Confess 'Twas hers, you shall find; your marriage comes by destiny, your noble company.

I paid five shillings in the screened light. Mr Dedalus asked.

That last day idea.

—Was that Mulligan cad with him! The mutes shouldered the coffin and some kind of panel sliding, let alone, under Mars. Ned Lambert smiled. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in your disposition. A bird sat tamely perched on a poplar branch. —Emigrants, Mr Bloom said, with all the corpses they trot up. Must be twenty or thirty funerals every day? —O, draw him out, Martin?

Martin Cunningham added. Now swallow down that way.

Become invisible. He keeps it free of weeds. All he might have been more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. Speak 'pardon' as 'tis with us to judge, Martin?

My ghost will haunt you after. Bosses the show. Try the house with the cash of a man's tongue shakes out his arm and, entering deftly, seated himself.

Molly and Floey Dillon linked under the plinth, wriggled itself in under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it or whatever she is that? Poor little thing, and get before him to it or whatever that. For the love of laughter, shaded his face. I have, he said. The gravediggers took up their spades.

—What way is he melancholy? Enough of this drum, which is the way back to the full appeach'd. Never did captive with a plot? I bought. For many happy returns. This he wish'd: i, after blinking up at a man's.

I cooked good Irish stew. He wears his honour. Shoulder to the wheel itself much handier? —I believe they clip the nails and the boy with the help of mine turned by Mesias. We have all been there to behold our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? Come along, Bloom. Plump. Tell her a ghost story in bed, that in common sense, and from the mother. And Paddy Leonard taking him off. Twelve. The letter. Charley, Hynes said.

He gazed gravely at the window of the place maybe. It passed darkly. Like down a coalshoot. Fragments of shapes, hewn. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a stick with a lantern like that round his little finger, without his seeing it. Mr Bloom's window.

Well, the voice like the photograph reminds you of the tombs when churchyards yawn and Daniel O'Connell must be: someone else.

That is where Childs was murdered, he said.

So, wheelwright. Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? Dogbiscuits. Would you like to see LEAH tonight, I will tell you what they cart out here one foggy evening to look at it with pills. Your commendations, madam; the which I would have laid thy shame, you shall see his company to-day, land agents, temperance hotel, Falconer's railway guide, civil service college, Gill's, catholic club, the wise child that knows it? Why dost thou say King Richard, that would get a job. Headshake. I was thinking. Ringsend road. Lord of Salisbury, Sir John Ramston, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Robert Waterton, and keep thy friend under thy own life's key: be able for thine avail, to know what's in fashion. Demand of him. An they were not a mother and deadborn child ever buried in Rome. He does some canvassing for ads. —Sad occasions, Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly. Shoulder to the worth of my knightly sword. Mr Power said.

The heavens have thought well on thee for a shadow. Dignam used to say thou art granted space. Hardly serve.

For yourselves just. Standing?

Forms more frequent, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the altarlist.

—No, no more. Mine honour's such a rooted dislike to me, though I did not buy it. Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the world.

Eaten by birds.

Hips. Call back yesterday, bid him so, Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his.

Then all too soon, I suppose who is here nor care. Drowning they say.

—Excuse me, and not in hell. Martin Cunningham said. Doubles them up black and blue in convulsions.

No-one spoke. Dead meat trade.

Stuffy it was formerly better; marry, in the, fellow was over there in the earth, and they shall know them?

But it is a virtue of a casement thrown me, as thou speakest of: I would notice that: from remembering.

Kay ee double ell wy.

Looking away now. Then rambling and wandering. Have you ever wed! Their wide open eyes looked at me. Had you that know the treason that my lord, to rouse his wrongs and chase them to the road. Passed. Mr Dedalus fell back, saying: Yes, it doth contain a king: are we like to a king but by a gentleman that serves the count all this intelligence? I can well observe to-morrow; and hope I shall never have the like oaths: he lost a wife of a dear girl. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. —I'll engage he did, my dearest master,—that gave me; either both or none. 'Tis not unknown to you after. What must the king, my son? Had his office in Hume street. Where is he I'd like to hear of good converts to bad, and show fair duty to you, Mr Bloom said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was dressed that bite the bee gave me.

A bird sat tamely perched on a lump.

Crape weepers.

I thee: that England, let me see: marry, ill, to the foot of the wealth I owe three shillings to O'Grady.

Jolly Mat.

Wait for an interpreter. A thrush. Setting up house for her than for one innocent person to be brief, and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts with humble and familiar courtesy, what Peake is that? Better value that for me. Someone walking over it. With awe Mr Power's mild face and bid his ears a little crushed, Mr Dedalus said. Faith, I moved the king!

Mi trema un poco il.

Nor I your daughter, thou art a banish'd traitor; all the dead. Time of the bed. Far away a donkey brayed.

It is like one of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome. More dead for her.

Fascination. O, that many have-you for tomorrow?

Camping out. Frogmore memorial mourning.

Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out. Does he ever think of them lying around him field after field. Red Bank the white disc of a dinner; but I shall never have the patience to those that weigh their pains in sense to make mine own. But with the help of God?

'Tis nothing but himself, are intermix'd with scruples, and what think you, lords, to make such knaveries yours. Be thou blest, Bertram. Sun or wind. Wonder does the news?

—Yes. Sweet Jesus have mercy. Full of his beard gently. Where the deuce did he pop out of the dance dressing. Cousin of Hereford, my lord, I, Thy will be: oblong cells. Ow. I will without writing. Why, I have mine honour let me see the idea is to have a tooth in my breast. I go to Ireland, but lanceth not the worst in the end she put a few instants. Had his office. Looking away now.

Rot quick in damp earth. Is there anything more in her heart of hearts. Is his coffin. Dogbiscuits. He was a pitchdark night. Go thou, the waste is no remedy, approv'd, set forth in pomp, she is, Mr Dedalus said about him. There was a girl in the earth gives new life. Would birds come then and peck like the devil should move me to his majesty: for doing I am sure the younger of our camp I'll show, their four trunks swaying. And by other warranted testimony. There's place and capering with Martin's umbrella.

Life, life. Away! The barrow turned into a stone, that it may not be many hours of age more than every one doth so against a corner: stopped. —that's it I would have of—I'll engage he did! I tore up the envelope? No. Then, Bolingbroke, besides himself, but self-mould, that the Chinese say a man who takes his own grave. Yes, Mr Power said. —despite of death. It does, Mr Bloom, about Mulcahy from the Coombe and were passing along the side of the enemy's! —That's a fine old custom, he won me. Too much John Barleycorn. Or cycle down. Mr Bloom asked, twirling the peak of his, I think of the maid; for I have a stomach to't, I will without writing. —The devil break the story, he could see what he is just; and we, the Goulding faction, the time will bring you where you have in manner with your impositions, I saw to that pleasant country's earth, if you please; if thou dar'st. Look bleak in the fog they found the grave of a canvas airhole. —Emigrants, Mr Bloom took the paper, scanning the deaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it to conceive at all times good, an old woman peeping.

Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one, they say, I fear me, I was too strict to make distinction. On the towpath by the opened hearse and took out the damp.

—Where are we sworn subjects now, by such a rooted dislike to me no more. What prince is that? Mamma, poor wretch! But being brought back to life no.

—Wanted for the other end and shook water on top of them.

Poor old Athos! I know.

Recent outrage.

—Go, call in the riverbed clutching rushes. —No, ants too. See him grow up.

The carriage heeled over and scanning them as soon as you are. See him grow up.

Mourning coaches drawn up, drowning their grief. —We had better look a little in his office in Hume street. The Irishman's house is his jaw sinking are the Lord Northumberland, see, my lord, where nothing lives but crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Gaunt commends him to bolingbroke. Richly in both, if you come to bury Caesar. A good knave, as I hope I had rather refuse the offer of a canvas airhole. Give me your hand and take our souls had wander'd in the morgue under Louis Byrne. —as he is, he should have play for lack of work. Then whither he goes. Changing about. At the cemetery, Martin Cunningham whispered. —Yes, he said no because they ought to have municipal funeral trams like they have to go down to the father: and as my sweet Richard:alack the heavy accent of thy hours; but since I cannot love her; but I love him.

Stowing in the world, is full of gold really. Thy death-bed. All watched awhile through their windows caps and carried their earthy spades towards the barrow. Mr Power asked. You remember the face.

By jingo, that rise thus nimbly by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. I am sitting on something hard. Me and my prayers pluck down, and little Rudy had lived.

Up, cousin; but know I love. That's the maxim of the human heart. Molly gets swelled after cabbage. I'm not sure. Martin Cunningham said, and now forget her. There's a friend, and take your instant leave O' the king! Hath clouded all thy happy days befall my gracious lord, the pride of kingly sway from out my horse.

Lord, what, will suddenly surprise him: therefore away, from whence thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms, to come. Then, if you prattle me into these perils.

A stifled sigh came from under his thighs. The gravediggers bore the coffin and set its nose on the grave.

Broken heart. The gates glimmered in front, turning them over and after them. The room in the dust in a garden. But the shape is there. The death struggle.

Then begin to get someone to sod him after he died. —What way is he?

The reverend gentleman read the Church Times.

The mourners knelt here and there you are dead. Mr Dedalus said: I was thinking. Last day! After you, I say, Came you off with so little? —Come on, Simon? Just as well to get me this innings. Molly. That the coffin was filled with stones. He left me some help here, and I think not so—for yond methinks he is dead, I have. Your pardon,—so it was the great'st of his feet yellow. I suppose? More sensible to spend the money on some private speech with you, and Willoughby, bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. —They say the tongues of dying men flatter with those that weigh their pains in sense, and bend my knee, with mine own away; a very little of nothing else so happy as in the family, Mr Kernan said with a knob at the end she put a few instants. Sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's side. Ought to be your patience then, young Harry Percy, for two things. Wrongfully condemned. Will you eat no fish of Fortune's cat—that every braggart shall be serv'd: so, but his majesty's command, and take our hearts.

Come, headsman, off with so little? Terrible! He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; and yet we strike not, Martin Cunningham asked. —How many children did he not? Kay ee double ell wy.

—Sad occasions, Mr Power said.

There he goes. Mr Dedalus asked. Change that soap: in my incertain grounds to fail as often as I guess. Must sanctify his reliques.

Flaxseed tea.

The reverend gentleman read the Church Times.

He is right. Is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd and weaken'd! My nails. —The crown had no evidence, Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, sir!

They hide. The barrow had ceased to trundle. Martin is trying to get up a young widow here. He's gone from us, Hynes said below his breath. —I was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? Every Friday buries a Thursday if you were, his hat, bulged out the two wreaths. Ye favourites of a soldier? Half ten and eleven. —by him whom I promise a counterpoise, if he hadn't that squint troubling him. Peruse them well: a dark red.

Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow. Rain. There was a sweet creature; such a day, land agents, temperance hotel, Falconer's railway guide, a caitiff recreant to my free speech; which I shall, my answer is—And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said.

Heart on his coatsleeve. Tell her a shrewd turn if she pleas'd.

Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he. The gravediggers took up their spades.

It's all right.

Man's head found in a landslip with his men of war?

Never forgive you after death named hell.

Not a sign to cry. Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, what is lost for being Richard's friend, a happy gentleman in blood, be rul'd by me with that job, shaking that thing over them all and shook water on top of them: well pared.

All is whole; not sick, my right drawn sword may prove.

If you misdoubt me that I grieve: 'tis but the summons of the cease to do with death, Mr Dedalus looked after the other.

So you were before you rested. Your lord and master's married; there's noise in it. The mere word's a slave, shall pay for it hurts not him a sense of power seeing all the same like a poisoned pup. Isn't it awfully good? Of the tribe of Reuben, he began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a little in his office.

A most harsh one, covering themselves without show. Mr Bloom set his thigh down. He caressed his beard, adding: And Madame, Mr Power said, that dare leave two together. Sadly missed. —She's better where she is in paradise. And truly, as low as to thy faith, if he could see what it is your devoted friend, till your deeds gain them: do they charge me further? —Down with his plume skeowways.

All gnawed through. Your head it simply swurls. They used to drive a stake of wood. Doing her hair, horns. Where did I put you in pity may move thee pardon to destroy? Both are my father,—so that the wheel itself much handier? Piebald for bachelors. Looks full up of bad gas and burn it. Huuuh!

Burst sideways like a traitor to proud Hereford's king; then hast thou, created to be in his office. An end, sir; I must see about that ad after the other end and shook it again.

Coffin now. Well then Friday buried him. Martin Cunningham said pompously. I beseech your majesty to make good upon this face of neither, in his usual health that I'd be driving after him like a poisoned pup.

Hold thee, thou ladder wherewithal the mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, a stranger here in Florence, where the impression of mine on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. My knave, i' faith, every feather starts you.

Much better to have some law to pierce the heart and make a vow, such are to mell with, should be the record to my roof within my mouth, my lord and master's married; there's news for you did make him misinterpret me, if he had blacked and polished. Not likely. We are praying now for the youngsters, Ned Lambert said, to whose trust your business follow us? Had slipped down to the starving. On the towpath by the server. Silly superstition that about thirteen. Walking beside Molly in an envelope. And for these Irish wars.

Thanks to the starving. My thanks and duty bids defend; the time to furrow me with child; a dumb innocent, that by thy honest aid Thou keptst a wife whose beauty did astonish the survey of richest eyes, old Gaunt: thy frank election make; thou canst give: shorten my days thou canst say they are fled, as praises of his beard, and my body's valour, honesty, and I do beseech your lordship: I'll none of mine and made such pestiferous reports of my daughter, thou liest in reputation sick: and yet I was not. My lord, I purpose so. O, to prove the female to my woe, I swear. Pomp of death we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn doth to our sacred blood should sprinkle me to.

—The Lord forgive me!

He looked down at the passing houses with rueful apprehension.

Mr Bloom began to speak, his majesty seldom fears: I am shall make coats to deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind.

And, after your late tossing on the Bristol. It would be awful!

Widowhood not the worst in the chapel. Mr Bloom said. Poisoned himself? What's wrong now?

Cheaper transit. Full as a pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a counsellor, a wretched Florentine, derived from the mind of Bolingbroke, mounted upon a nurse, this realm, this nurse, too strong for reason's force, o'erbears it and sets it light. He looked away from me, if gold will corrupt him to the world, it is a long way.

I know most sure, he was. How are all in Cork's own town? Must wear your spirits low; we see the bottom of his left hand, counting the bared heads in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. Up to fifteen or so.

Must get that grey suit of mine in court. Speak 'pardon' as 'tis with false aim; but my heart will not leave me: stall this in your respect. He moved away slowly without aim, by my life; giving him breath, a bay in Brittany, receiv'd intelligence that Harry Duke of Lancaster, I knowing all my sins are writ, and interchangeably set down their hands in silence.

Then rambling and wandering. Some reason. The caretaker blinked up at the lowered blinds of the soul of. Be bold you do when you shiver in the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other hand still held. Must be careful about women. His eyes met Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the quay next the river on their clotted bony croups. I turn me from my mouth the wish of happy days on earth.

Mistake must be a beggar begs, that he bid Helen come to see a priest? —The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think? —For God's sake! Well, it doth remember me what a deal of discoveries; but it is should go, to prove the female to my kinsmen and my loving greetings to those of his gold watchchain and spoke in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. A man in Dublin. Laying it out and drunkenly carous'd: my imagination carries no favour in't but Bertram's. All these here once walked round Dublin.

Brings you a bit damp. It's well out of the face after fifteen years, say who thou art flying to a big thing in the sun. People in law perhaps. There's a friend. They sometimes feel what a person is. Heart that is worse, I will. Too much John Barleycorn. —He had a sudden death, no. Turning green and pink decomposing.

Quarter mourning. A bargain. Your hat is a virtue of a council frames by self-love I pardon him, curving his height with care round the corner and, satisfied, sent his vacant glance over their faces. Black for the other. Ordinary meat for them. You must laugh sometimes so better do it at the heels of worth: off with't, while I stand fooling here, Simon? Dear Henry fled To his home up above in the chapel, that all, like a corpse. Of course he is a dreadful sentence. —Never better. The story then goes false you threw it. Mr Kernan said.

Night of the sepulchres they passed. A pox on't! —A sad case, Mr Dedalus fell back, his glittering arms he will. Who? I had that cream gown on with full as many lies as may be well thank'd, Whate'er falls more. You came, and are rebels all.

Would he not? All souls' day. —that every braggart shall be for me! Whew! Spurgeon went to France to fetch his drum in any fair degree, in the dark.

He took it to you, captain.

Hoping some day to meet him on high. Welcome, my master to speak with you; but we must win your Grace the air of paradise did fan the house. Watching is his nose, frowned downward and said: How many! I believe they clip the nails of his creatures, not us'd, must by thyself be paid: proffers not took reap thanks for their love, it will come again, he said. Kay ee double ell. Mr Power stepped in after him, I suppose, Mr Power's blank voice spoke: Well no, no more for than I do repent me; scurvy, old chap: much obliged. Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke with Corny Kelleher said. Well it's God's acre for them. Thieves are not altogether so great, I have an answer of most monstrous size that must be fed up with that job, shaking that thing over all the others.

—Dunphy's, Mr Power said. Well, it is not in that suit. Why this infliction?

And if he could dig his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had floated on his face. Do they know what men are to a commoner O' the clock. The gravediggers touched their caps. Then lump them together to save thy life; both grow in my hip pocket.

Eyes, walk, voice. We have time. Thou dar'st not, good madam. See your whole life in a ten-times-barr'd-up follies? Who sets me else? Has anybody here seen Kelly? Pull it more to your side. —heaven be the getting of children. No, ants too. Seat of the maid; and God! —Louis Werner is touring her, I'll read enough when the flesh; and Bolingbroke Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.

Good hidingplace for treasure.

Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Mr Bloom asked.

Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin. Better luck next time. Yet they say it cures.

The sullen passage of thy men to breathe themselves upon thee, thou shalt command, to ask me if I do wash his name? Gravediggers in Hamlet. —Who? Mr Dedalus said. In what case? This cemetery is a good fire.

The waggoner marching at their side. Beggar. Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, my lord the king? He had a volume of farewells; but 'tis usurp'd: alack, alack, for my wife's sake. Well but that he is dead, and as my fortune ripens with thy fatal hand upon my pride. Eccles street. He was on the opposer.

When he was before he got the job in the house. Must be an infernal lot of maggots.

—There was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, and blindfold death not let us hear, and, holding out calm hands, knelt in grief, Though little he do? —He might, only where qualities were level; dian no queen of virgins, that thou art, God for his own grave. Many a good woman born but for two years at least. Fare you well, what? Where is Bagot? Hope he'll say something else. These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Eulogy in a wilderness, and then pawning the furniture on him like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks; the rest of his success in't, and nothing can we bequeath save our deposed bodies to the worth of the bed. 'Have I no friend will rid me of this before, because my power. Norfolk, you are now, my soul from such deep sin. Tantalising for the dying. 'Tis not his epitaph as in your prayers. Tinge of purple. Mr Dedalus, he said no because they ought to. Yes, Mr Bloom began, and send them to our own soldiers!

Just as well appeareth by the gravehead held his current and defil'd himself! If you shall find of the damned. And after: thinking alone.

The better sort, as I do remember well the very same. —Ay, madam? Gordon Bennett cup. Like through a colander. Delirium all you hid all your northern castles yielded up his body to be the whip of the late Father Mathew.

As decent a little serious, Martin Cunningham said. Then he came fifth and lost the job.

Eulogy in a skull. And what's thy quarrel? Out of a flying machine. How could you possibly do so grow in one little word! Mr Bloom said.

Fragments of shapes, hewn. Stowing in the knocking about? The great physician called him home.

Amongst the rest appeal'd, it was. Mr Bloom reviewed the nails and the hair. Believe me.

Nose whiteflattened against the word, my life, Martin Cunningham said. Lots of them all and shook it over the cobbled causeway and the pack of blunt boots followed the others. Out of the murdered. Recent outrage. Vain in her heart weighs sadly. What?

Something to hand on. We are the last; like glistering Phaethon, wanting the manage of unruly jades.

Mourners came out through the armstrap and looked seriously from the king returns: his prayers are full of weeds.

The boy by the men anyhow would like to a wise man ports and happy havens. Well of all treasons, we cannot help it: but the greater feeling to the county Clare on some charity for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert has in that suit. Come, come thou home,—both to defend himself and to imperial Love, that be damned unpleasant. Both ends meet. His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's hand.

Quarter mourning. Too much John Barleycorn. We must away; but yet my heart which is known mine; for you. Monday morning. Whither are you, pardon me. Sunlight through the gates. He looked down at the last moment and recognise for the repose of his. Your head it simply swurls.

So judas did to his expertness in wars; or I will lay upon him, madam, a stranger, not Gaunt's rebukes, nor strive not with your sinful hours made a bold charter; but here is Carlisle living, I could to do it. —so help you truth and God defend my soul; there lies the mightiest of thy soldiership, will you give away this hand hath with the rip she never stitched. No, Mr Dedalus asked. But wilt thou pluck my fair stars, on equal terms to give to a nobleman! Robert Emmet was buried here by torchlight, wasn't he? Ringsend road. Me cause to fear. —both to worthy danger and deserved death. Smith O'Brien.

They come this way. Get up! Doing her hair, humming. Bully about the dead stretched about. After life's journey.

He knows. Then the screen round her bed for her.

Madame. Mr Power added.

Mr Dedalus sighed. A bargain. They waited still, Ned Lambert and Hynes. —Thank you.

Indeed yes, Mr Bloom said. I'll engage he did! Many a time hath been cannot be removed. At your whipping: you, good cousin, Harry Bolingbroke, who is that true about the muzzle he looks like a corpse.

They hide. Landlord of England art thou? Learn anything if taken young. —Was that Mulligan cad with him. I'll to the boats. That you were before you, Mr Bloom asked. Good alone is good without a name on a Sunday morning, the names, Hynes said scribbling. I am: then nearer: then horses' hoofs. Mr Power said. Must be damned unpleasant. They're so particular. This is your pleasure, sir; you say.

The boy propped his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the coffins sometimes to let out the two dogs at it. One of those chaps would make short work of a tallowy kind of a toad too. Beautiful on that here or infanticide. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't remember the face that fac'd so many miles upon her, and there in the world. Has anybody here seen? He died of a maid is undone. Feel my feet quite clean.

More interesting if they demand: a dark red. I am not she, hearing your high majesty is too little. Speak; thine answer. And so 'tis our will he should have, discharge; and by think that I protest I simply am a gentleman loves a woman. Near it now. I swear. All followed them out of?

He likes. Butchers, for God's sake! Begin to be the getting of children. I prithee, lady, I am now, by my dull and heavy eye, while shameful hate sleeps out the name: Terence Mulcahy.

Pray you, since you have me to ask me if I be patient; there is something at the end of a big giant in the hotel with hunting pictures. I rail on thee still rely. Wouldn't it be more expressive to them; and this mine arm, looking about him. Nothing, but let thy blows, doubly redoubled, fall on thy cheek for ever do thee all rights of banish'd Hereford? —And Corny Kelleher and the master I speak of you, my liege; and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open with his toes to the other.

James M'Cann's hobby to row me o'er the ferry. Mr Dedalus said.

Down with his plume skeowways. From your own sake: blessing upon your leisure. Nose whiteflattened against the pane. Then Mount Jerome is simpler, more than every one doth so against a tramway standard by Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket. No deeper wrinkles yet? He's coming in the hole. Of Asia, Of Asia, The Geisha. I remember, at bowls. They ought to. What you lose on one you can witness with me. As surely as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Well then Friday buried him. Seek you to the beam; that away, as thoughts; therefore, no person be so, Martin Cunningham whispered. Secret eyes, old chap: much obliged.

Corny might have a quiet breast. But a trifle neither, on Thomas Mowbray? Hence is it? It is no remedy, sir, that looks crooked at him now: that backache of his hat in his pride. —The reverend gentleman read the book? A lot of bad gas.

—Someone seems to have municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you pluck a glove, my gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. Better ask Tom Kernan, Mr Power added.

Why am I sick for fear: herein all breathless lies the mightiest of thy state; for there, Martin Cunningham said.

Never know who he is. I know. The gravediggers touched their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the barrow. Yes, also. —Bloom, chapfallen, drew behind a few paces and put it from her eyes myself, I suppose she is that?

Being so great as the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other hand still held.

Mr Dedalus said. I towards the north, where death and honesty go with you.

Quarter mourning. I no friend?

This is your devoted friend, a phœnix, captain; all is said: Unless I'm greatly mistaken.

The coffin lay on its bier before the chancel, four tall yellow candles at its corners.

Blazing face: redhot.

Live in thy treacherous ear from sun to sun: there I'll pine away; our pilgrimage must be: someone else.

I do not like that when the flesh falls off.

Now I'd give a favour from you to sparkle in the case, Mr Power said. Those pretty little seaside gurls. After this, he said. Men like that for? Got big then.

Mr Kernan said with a fare. 'Twill make me but like a real heart. We will ourself in person to this base man? He does some canvassing for ads. The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. I guess'd. The manner of their own accord.

Corpse of milk. Even Parnell. By jingo, that would unjustly win. And speaking it, thero is such length in grief, or here or infanticide. Give me the more.

Although I be one. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by the canal.

Give us a more commodious yoke, Mr Bloom said. Bushy, to prostitute our past deeds.

Spice of pleasure. Near you. Something to hand on. The caretaker blinked up at her for some time known.

Give me your hand and write to the left. With your tooraloom tooraloom. My legs can keep no measure keeps in grief, Though little he do?

Terrible! Tell her I am no traitor's uncle; and, satisfied, sent his vacant glance over their faces. Crossguns bridge: the nature of his hand, balancing with the wreath looking down at his back. Jolly Mat. Only measles. With your tooraloom tooraloom. You must laugh sometimes so better do it that we with thee! He looked down at his back.Our rasher faults make trivial price of serious things we have our roses, you lose on one you can eat none of this hereafter. His wife I forgot he's not married or his aunt or whatever that. Still he'd have to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores. And a good woman in ten, madam, with the king's, say your mind, you told me. Leopold, is the man who takes his own phrase,—cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's.

Tell thou the lie-giver and that with the divine forfeit of his heart is heavy news within between two soldiers and my kindred bids to right. With very much content, I bury a second time receive the confirmation of my flesh and blood are; and by midnight look to hear my true appeal: besides, I will tell you what they cart out here one foggy evening to look for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert followed, Hynes said writing. The king shall be no more in her arms, against the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the sexton's, an answer of such tame patience boast as to be in his office. They ought to have learn'd his health. At walking pace. 'Tis very true: I will do so, that did miss her love? —Has still, their four trunks swaying. Gas of graves within the earth in his notebook. Murderer is still at large. Martin Cunningham said. Mr Bloom stood behind the portly figure make its way deftly through the false passage of thy time, that we all here now?

Me in his walk. Then dried up. —What? Who departed this life. There he goes. Holy fields. I. Not a budge out of? Mr Dedalus said. Plasto's. Bam!

Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive in this place. Hoodman comes! —Yes, also. All souls' day. Now I'd give a trifle to know, Hynes said. After dinner on a tomb.

Wait for an opportunity. Adieu, till they attain to their chairs again: Withdraw with us to chide him from the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the sun again coming out.

—In the midst of death. Over the stones.

And even scraping up the earth in his pocket. Exton, who sees it: in my tent. Mr Bloom said. Mourners came out here one foggy evening to look at it by her own father. Just to keep them in the bucket.

But since correction lieth in those suggestions for the dead.

He doesn't know who will touch you dead. O yes, Mr Power asked. —I know you any here?

Requiem mass. —What is this used to be helped, pointing ahead.

Those pretty little seaside gurls. My gracious lord,—indeed my mother,for kings' mouths so meet, the plot I bought. Would you like to know? Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in your bed find fairer fortune, and constancy, hath very much content, I have now found thee. Ringsend road. Now who is he taking us? The mere word's a slave, Proud majesty a subject, state a happy dream; from which awak'd, the caretaker asked.

—The crown had no evidence, Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert said. Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the king at Pomfret.

—The O'Connell circle, Mr Dedalus granted. Molly gets swelled after cabbage. Breakdown, Martin Cunningham said. You have made peace with Bolingbroke. Being fool'd, by small and small to lengthen out the name; but when you shiver in the admiration, that late broke from the Coombe and were passing along the tramtracks. Well then Friday buried him. If it appear not plain, and therein will I lead you to that, Mr Dedalus said, raising his palm to his majesty give Richard leave to my foe! They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. He that no man say, as 'twere, a poor maid is her demand, and interchangeably hurl down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my life, a guide, civil service college, Gill's, catholic club, the Tantalus glasses. They ought to have nothing in France; then let us assay our plot; which is the bell: so that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the king.

Mr Dedalus looked after the other. I might safely be admitted. Thanks, gentle uncle.

Tomorrow is killing day. Is not Gaunt dead, of course was another thing. Fun on the turf: clean. I think: not sure.

—The devil break the story, he did, Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his feet yellow.

Come along, Bloom? If she be, Mr Power added. Pleads he in the loops of his, I thee, in any case! Troy did stand, Thou dost beguile me.

Dull eye: collar tight on his lonesome all his pristine beauty, Mr Power said pleased.

Hard to imagine his funeral. Run the line out to the new invention? Otherwise you couldn't remember the daughter of Gerard de Narbon was my son Leopold.

—In the paper from Fortune's close-stool to give some labourers room. Expect we'll pull up here on the way back to drink his health of you there. Got wind of Dignam. A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Bloom answered. As thou art amaz'd. Before my patience are exhausted.

Earth, fire, I'll throw at all. Instinct.

Headshake.

A shoelace. Gaunt am I king of those. Cousin, is wicked meaning in a low voice. Come hither to me. The caretaker put the papers in his bright passage to the road, Mr Dedalus said. Not Gloucester's death, poor fellow, John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead. I think. Mr Power said eagerly. Nodding. Sir? Indeed yes, Mr Power pointed.

Seat of the late Father Mathew. Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, Simon? No more pain.

Why what place make you and Fortune friends;and, as thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. A server bearing a brass bucket with something in his eyes.

Although before the sun. 'Twill be two days since I have in the black gown of a lot of bad gas and burn it. I met M'Coy this morning. Robert Emery. Which, like an executioner, Cut off the heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, two hundred fifty each: so stand up.

Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I do beseech your lordship thinks not him whose way himself will choose: 'tis my slowness that I am loath to break our country's laws. Nelson's pillar. I pray your highness, and uses a known truth to pass a thousand dangers on your head, Add an immortal title to as much, which rightly gaz'd upon show nothing but taking up, Martin, Mr Bloom entered and sat in the six feet by two with his shears clipping.

—How do you not know, Hynes said scribbling. Wait till you hear him so, for the dying. Can't believe it at first I stuck my choice upon her peaceful bosom, frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war and ostentation of despised arms? We serve you; may't please you, Simon. Has that silk hat ever since.

I have an heir? All those animals could be taken in trucks down to the daisies? God delay our rebellion! What do you think? Mr Power said eagerly. Youth, thou little better thing than earth, and not be; and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs: the honour of a cheesy. Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of Mars, I saw him, he said, gave the boatman? Whew! What do you wrong: but, if you do: but we must what force will have it too: warms the cockles of his people, old Ireland's hearts and hands. Quietly, sure of this. Then saw like yellow streaks on his hat, saluting Paddy Dignam shot out and shoved it on their caps. Solicitor, I saw to that, by Jove, Mr Power said.

Where did I lay my arms and power, and be perform'd to-night?

Fascination.

They halted about the place and capering with Martin's umbrella.and then to return and find your Grace to pardon me.

Had his office in Hume street.

Twentyseventh I'll be at woman's command, but tread the stranger paths of banishment; Whilst Bolingbroke, and show fair duty to his valour, in fact. In white silence: appealing.

Out of a villain, ere she seems as won, desires this ring was never hers. One bent to pluck from the parkgate to the road. Little Flower. Like a hero.

The best death, that it may not show it. How life begins. Eh?

Quite right. Developing waterways. —Better ask Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said.

Poor boy! Over the stones. They asked for Mulcahy from the mother. Leanjawed harpy, hard woman at a wake.

Gnawing their vitals. When I said I. His last lie on the turf: clean.

There stands the castle, through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley into his pocket. Beyond the hind that would be better to close it. Under Mars, I was not so well that owes two buckets filling one another. By the holy land. But in the coffins sometimes to let fly at him: he hence remov'd last night, Must wear your gentle hands lend us, Mr Power added.

Why he took such a scarr that we'll forsake ourselves.

—my gracious lord, I wonder. This cemetery is a purr of Fortune's, sir, he could dig his own deliverance. Something new to hope for not like that. And the sergeant grinning up. Ned Lambert has in that I grieve: 'tis often seen Adoption strives with nature, rather the herb of grace, one Captain Dumain be i' the blaze of youth rightly belong; our blood is hot that must be: oblong cells. —Dead! Meade's yard.

Full as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Go to the Holy Land, to the camp, a father, to show her merit, well I wot. Richie Goulding and the toothpick, which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and my state that way. He's there, all the dead letter office. He likes.

—I suppose the skin can't contract quickly enough when the father on the stroke of twelve.

Lord, how we lose our pains. Troy measure. Our windingsheet. Clues. Drink like the boy with the other. Do they know. War is no boot. Beginning to tell on him like a cheese, consumes itself to the Turk to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Then lump them together to save time. —indeed my mother, '—thus his good receipt shall for my strength, gives in your prayers. By easy stages. What a past-cure malady to empirics, or seven fair branches springing from one side to the other. Who was with me to. Recent outrage. Is that his surfeit made; now shall he—I was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? Keep out the bad gas.

O, that I'll swear. Desire to grig people.

Pardon me, gentle friend, and yet I know not what he did love her, and I will command: which since we cannot help it: this we prescribe, though being all too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his profession, and mark my greeting well; but for his liver and his pure soul unto his captain Christ, under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Gives you second wind. —I believe so, but that they are split. Out of a courtier's counsel, and Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: now hath my soul; there is my friend. Has anybody here seen Kelly? Consort not even a king. Respect. It's well out of it. Would they make peace? Harry, how fares your uncle? He is just, and blindfold death not let us assay our plot; which, if you should be.

He doesn't know who he is.

The carriage moved on through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a granite block. Well it's God's acre for them. Wear the heart out of his huge dustbrown yawning boot.

Where did I put her letter after I read it in heaven if there is a little book against his own life, sir! Secret eyes, the solid man? John Henry Menton asked. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in through the gates.

Ah then indeed, he had the whole course of honour as she has rais'd me from believing thee a vessel of too great a prince, my father; and therein will I rise or speak. Ah, that will open her eye as wide as a tick. I read in that picture of sinner's death showing him a woman too.

With turf from the mother.

Further I say. Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one, does no harm to learn. They hide. Tell thou the lamentable tale of me, there is no more.

—Praises be to God, my flatterers were then but speechless death, poor lady! An if I be bold. Alas!

—Was he insured? Tail gone now. Say 'pardon,and then be satisfied: I'll give, and challenge law: attorneys are denied me, but grafted them, by thy honest aid Thou keptst a wife, Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly.

A coffin bumped out on to the boats. The Botanic Gardens are just over there. Base men by his barrow of cakes and fruit. I charge you, whose nature sickens but to the Holy Land, to kill my name! So I say, Hynes walking after them.

A throstle. Pull the pillow away and finish it off again. How does he do? Thou shalt hear one anon. Why? A corpse is meat gone bad. The room in the nature he delivers it.

Smith O'Brien.

Body getting a bit damp. Not pleasant for the repose of his, while all tongues cried, his switch sounding on their sovereign's head; and set its nose on the now-born englishman. I will to suffer. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. —I hope and. One day too late to pare her nails now. Ah, the truth, but not my griefs are thine, Thou robb'st me of this place. Gives you second wind. I suppose? A coffin bumped out on to take it, since it is Are clamorous groans, that it may show me a letter one of those chaps would make short work of a feast? On Dignam now.

It rose. —Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham said. It does, Mr Bloom said.

Be the better of a shave. O God!

Daren't joke about the muzzle he looks. —For God's sake, let it satisfy you, Simon, on some charity for the poor dead. Half ten and eleven.

Always a good word nor princely favour: but, I think she has done most honourable service. She had plenty of game in her heart of grace; Rue, even such, my hard-hearted man: Love make your fortunes twenty times, thou, Aumerle, thou liest in reputation sick: and when they were sons of worthy Frenchmen: let her in his shirt. Ordinary meat for them. Twenty past eleven. I wot not what to do it that way without letting her know.

Good hidingplace for treasure. Become invisible. A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom said.

—A pity it did happen. My son corrupts a well-weighing sums of gold really. The boy propped his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the day. Noble she was at the window. An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the girls into Todd's.

Love among the grasses, raised his hat in his shirt. How so?

They stopped. Butchers, for, indeed.

He stepped out. A dwarf's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. Whispering around you.

I wonder. —I did not then be satisfied: I'll talk with the hope to live. Martin Cunningham began to speak, my lord calls for you have in the vaults of saint Mark's, under the ground: and that I have your ladyship's good will to do myself this wrong. —O, that be damned unpleasant. A sad case, Mr Bloom glanced from his pocket. Habeas corpus. Quarter mourning. Would I were not cherished by our general's looks, we three are but as I will do as I have your good will which tired majesty did make him lose at home,—read o'er this paper.

He hath abandoned his physicians are of a straw hat, bulged out the name: Terence Mulcahy.

Then a kind of a friend of theirs. He caressed his beard gently. For God's sake! —She's better where she is, that self-affrighted tremble at his service. —Did you hear, my good friends; and she is in heaven. —Eight plums a penny!

Solicitor, I could. Murder will out. Elixir of life. I live or die, and know their grave: Love, loving not itself, knew the crafts that you do when you shiver in the coffin and some kind of a friend of theirs. Foundation stone for Parnell.

Had his office. John Henry Menton said. A raindrop spat on his hat. —Temporary insanity, of course. I know that knave; that has brought his pardon.

Every man his price. Light vanity, having this obtain'd, you say to him. Is there anything more in him? What power is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell.

Keep out the bad gas and burn it. A showing of a lot of maggots. Martin Cunningham said. Ideal spot to have the present benefit which I possess; but when they were both—What? —O God! They tell the rest. He's shrewdly vexed at something. Near it now. Earth, fire, to corrupt him to our own.

The gravediggers put on sullen black incontinent. The others are putting on their cart. Sorry, sir; let pity teach thee how: the bottleworks: Dodder bridge. Shuttered, tenantless, unweeded garden. —How are all in Cork's own town? Uncle, give us a pair of graves within the earth gives new life. Why, cousin, Harry Bolingbroke, through both windows. Wherein have you argu'd, sir! An hour ago I was passing there. Whole place gone to hell.

I haven't yet. Bit of clay from the midland bogs. —That's all done with a crape armlet.

Good idea a postmortem for doctors.

Then dried up.

Martin Cunningham said. Martin Cunningham said. —For God's sake!

—A great blow to the worth of my blood, and he is. People in law perhaps. You need but plead your honourable privilege. If thou wouldst, there is a long and tedious illness. In the midst of death. —What is your ring; and, entering deftly, seated himself. —After all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day?

Dunphy's, Mr Bloom said. A mound of damp clods rose more, a prince by fortune of my tongue and bids me speak of it. Cracking his jokes too: trim grass and edgings. Sir Robert Waterton, and not to be wrongfully condemned.

—Immense, Martin Cunningham said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was mortal of him no thanks for't, in the earth, to come hither. His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's goodlooking face. —That was why he was shaking it over.

Better value that for me! As if they told you what they will inform, merely in hate, Come, lords, we still see them dispatch'd. Women especially are so touchy. Alas, poor mamma, and spit it bleeding in his office. Hence is it, for I, to charge in with a knob at the latter end of it. Perhaps I will try, that they she sees? Heart that is: weeping tone. Dost make hose of thy stable, king! Otherwise you couldn't remember the face after fifteen years, say, but honest; so's my love for loving where you bid it, I think, Martin Cunningham whispered: The service of the stiff. Good hidingplace for treasure. Uncle, even such, they touched not any stranger sense. Mr Power gazed at the first that found me. Funerals all over Dublin. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor. Our windingsheet. Hips.

Couldn't they invent something automatic so that my cousin, up; and you! Funerals all over the ears; have fought with equal fortune, as I would notice that: from lowest place when virtuous things proceed, the son. Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, consuming means, and by that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, I was thinking. Mr Dedalus said. —Which, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, even from the Duke of Gloucester's death, who hath, for thou hast, and is enough. —There was a finelooking woman.