#It's awesome how it's so clear that she's youthful still but the grey hair and the scar make you do a double take

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

I commissioned @ammerynth for a drawing of my OC Ezheh, and I absolutely love it! Both the sketch and the final drawing are so beautiful! <3 

#ammerynth #artists on tumblr #oc drawing #ISMwriting #I love everything about this #how you can tell the wedding gown was once gorgeous but now it's old and torn #and I love the look she's giving us - confident and harsh and suspicious all at once #It's awesome how it's so clear that she's youthful still but the grey hair and the scar make you do a double take #The detail on the gown and her jewelry is incredible #and the way her hands are folded is A+++ #and oh man those colors - I love it all of it #Thank you so so much!

[postmodernbeing]

Shingeki no Kyojin Headcanons: 104th training corps (College AU - Outfits pt I)

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. I decided to continue writing about this College AU , only this time, I'm making some outfits HCs, since I'm working in a oneshot and this visuals could be helpful. Also, it seemed like a lot of fun so I've decided to give it a try. Hope y'all like this. Much love.

IMPORTANT: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin nor the trend of this outfits-displays, only this HCs belong to me. // Contains spoilers (for the icons that I used in some characters) // English is not my first language, so I ask for your patience and understanding.

Eren Yeager

Chains and rings of stainless-steel. Combat boots matching faux-leather jackets with studs and pins from bands.

Has a few flannel shirts (that he stole from Zeke, his brother doesn't mind, tho). But for the most part, Eren's shirts are from merch of bands with a few (handmade) changes.

Eren likes to sew badly on purpose some patterns or figures by following quick tutorials. All his clothes are modified or drawn over.

While his main looks are metal head alike, he also wears snickers, hoodies, sporty pants, and jackets to class. Pretty laid back, he looks as he just woke up from a nap all the time tbh.

Sometimes goes skating but he’s not that good, his skateboard is more of a fashion statement really.

Has both ears pierced around (lobe type) and tattoos on both arms.

It’s pretty obvious to this point, but I’ll say it anyways: Eren wears black religiously. Definitely he’s open to darker shades of any color, but must wear something black at least.

Mikasa Ackerman

Our girl wears black clothes mostly. She doesn’t have a preference between skirts/dresses or pants, but you’ll rarely see her wearing jeans.

Many skirts and ripped tights to match with platform boots or classic converse. Also owns a large wardrobe with different hoodie and shirt sizes and designs yet mostly in dark shades.

Lots of necklaces and rings with perforations to match, none in her face yet lots in her ears. Mikasa has only one tattoo: Azumabito’s clan logo.

Speaking about Azumabito’s, whenever she’s working with them, she wears faux leather jackets at most, and her classic red turtleneck. Nothing too exaggerated nor formal.

A total goth since middle school, and even though in college finds it a bit unpractical, she tries to keep it as loyal to her style as possible.

Books and notebooks are part of her attires. She’d be writing or reading at any time that’s possible. Not always about her classes, tho. She also likes novels and arts. An artsy goth, perhaps?

Armin Arlert

Sky blue is his color. Matching it with classy pants and blazers in clear colors.

His wardrobe looks like one that belongs to an aristocrats’ son. Some light-academia realness.

He can pull off some casual looks with sneakers but it’s more common for him to wear his oxfords, cap toes or moccasins to class, or anywhere really.

Cardigans, vests and blazers are his best friends as soon as autumn arrives. Always in colors such as beige, green, brown, and grey.

Armin is easily the best dressed from all his group of friends, and I’m not even open to discuss this. Let’s just remember his canon outfits throughout the four seasons. Even in a Modern AU he’ll keep being the king he is.

Not a big fan of accessories though. Except for his handkerchiefs that match his blazers. Since his grandfather used to choose his clothes, he taught Armin that a handkerchief was a gentleman’s must carry. Now he wears them only to pay his grandpa honor, as a lesson more so.

Jean Kirstein

King of brown jackets and turtlenecks. Really, his wardrobe is in such color harmony. It’s impressive.

Little to no accessories besides an occasional scarf or a single ring matching some bracelet.

Although he’s used to wear a consistent type of clothes and even colors, he wouldn’t dare to define a style for himself, is it boho? art hoe? dark academia? Maybe we’ll never know.

Zero perforations only because he’s scared of pain, but Jean is really drawn into them, so he uses fake ones for his ears sometimes. Has only one little hidden tattoo, made when he started college and lost a bet against Sasha and Connie.

Jean’s always stylish, clean, and smelling like cologne. He also has an extensive routine for shaving, combing his hair and trimming his beard.

Second best dressed of all his friends. Lowkey loves fashion but keeps it for himself (and Marco). Plus, in her mother’s house he keeps more clothes than his dorm' wardrobe can storage.

Marco Bodt

Colorful, youthful, and casual, that’s his style. Marco’s clothes reflect his joyful personality and every time he enters a room, he brightens the mood so easily.

A lot of denim and if he’s not wearing bright colors, you can be sure he’s caring something white with him (a bandana, a baseball cap, a scarf or his sneakers).

Shares with Jean a special appreciation for clothing, except Marco prefers more laidback and casual outfits.

Has no tattoos but recently got both ears pierced. He decided to since he really likes the earrings that k-pop idols wear.

If spring was a wardrobe, Marco would have it. I can’t stress this enough. Just so pretty and genuine.

Also, he definitely uses accessories (small jelly or colorful rings, bracelets of all kinds and simple necklaces) but there's more, he uses objects that are not meant to as accessories too. Such as band aids and small stickers around his face, skates in his backpack and flowers in his pockets.

Sasha Blouse

Unironically messy style. No matching patterns nor colors, different textures and sizes that made little to no coordination in her outfits. Unaesthetic is her aesthetic.

She likes baggy jackets and jeans with big pockets for snacks obviously, midi-skirts and graphic tees. Sasha is the definition of zero fucks given and still looking cute.

Of course, she knows how to pull off some cool outfits, it’s just that she doesn’t care that much unless is specifically required.

Not a big fan of accessories besides belts (maybe) and her backpack. Unless we’re talking about bucket hats that became a must wear thanks to Connie.

“Borrows” Nicolo’s hoodies/shirts that wears with her favorite threads. Then plays dumb when her bf asks her about his clothes. They both secretly love that dynamic.

Sasha plays it safe when it's about her hairstyle, also not a big fan of makeup -at least not the way Mikasa or Historia do-, but she’s open to try new things if her best friends dare her to.

Connie Springer

King of striped shirts and golden chains. His style is mainly urban and youthful. Conniegod remains unmatched in his awesomeness even in a Modern AU, if you ask me.

Owns a collection of sneakers that wears with his numerous printed socks. So creative and colorful.

Also, Connie has a small collection of unique shaped tinted glasses, also bucket hats and simple stainless steel chains.

Has small fun tattoos around his legs and arms, ears pieced but nothing too grunge. Speaking of which, he matches religiously his earrings with his chains that hang of his belt.

Usually wears dress pants or cargo pants. Anything but denim or really skinny fitted pants. Coincidentally, most of his shirts are loose too.

Definitely brings his skateboard with him all the time so it’s part of the outfit, really (Eren tried to copy that from Connie, let’s be honest). He’s so good at skating, and when he doesn’t feel like walking around campus, skating is always a good idea.

Part II here

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk headcanons #aot headcanons #headcanons #college au #eren yeager #eren jeager #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #jean kirstein #marco bodt #sasha blouse #sasha braus #connie springer #snk #aot #aesthetic headcanon #outfits headcanon #part 1 #outfits headcanons part 1

[beacon-sanctuary]

Chapter 2: Class decisions and dorm warfare for the win!

introduction, Ch.1

Note to self: next time Bean and Merlin fight, get popcorn, and maybe grab wall rubble, I’m not a hoarder, scouts honor~

     I looked up at the teachers with stars in my eyes, everyone was so cool!  Plus, I got a head pat-so that’s even better!  Ugh, why’d you guys have to make so hard to choose a class, hmmm let’s put our suspects, up shall we?  Looking at the professors, I saw the grumpy Alchemist guy, his pale wood patterned skin shone in the lights above as once more those dang amber eyes of his bore into my mind.  Like chill man, how can putting a baton in your jacket be mind warfare?!  Huff, he looked so cool during the show but ehhh, too strict for me.  

 Well, Rasputin’s a no I guess, number 2, Louis Armstrong, seems like a fun guy, buuut I have no musical talent, got two left feet, voice sounds like a banshee bleh, ain’t a good fit.  It’s not you Louis it’s me, sorry man. Onto suspect 3, Hobo Billy the kid, chill, kinda dusty, but I’m not stealthy, wouldn’t have light-up shoes if I was after all.  Suspect 4 come on down!  Here we have Joan of Arc, awesome sword wielder and dealer of cherished head pats, 9/10 we might have a winner here people.

 Now onto suspe-oh no megaphone man’s back, just in case, I pulled my beanie over my ears, no hearing loss for me.  

 “Ah, jolly good show everyone!  It was quite a sight to see, I must say, now children, if that display did not solidify your choice-well buck up!  We’ve decided to allow our professors the chance to remind you of their profession and the meaning behind each class!  And remember no class is better or worse than the ot-”

 “Guerillas are best, don’t listen to the loudspeaker” Izusa jabbed in

 “Heheheh, Izusa I am glad for your class pride still runs deep, but we are headmasters, after all, we need to be unbiased!  Let our bright youths decide for themselves!”

 “Unbiased, you have your freaking Knight necktie on” She fired back motioning to his stripped blue silver tie which he straightened. 

 “Well, of course, one must never forget their roots after all, and even though I myself favored our knights here, this is not-” Before he could finish, a sharp  “Shush” interjected.  Professor Blum strode forward hand massaging his temple.

 “If we listen to this squabble any longer, we shall not move anywhere, and I would like to return to my facility before night comes if you don’t mind.” Fixing his overcoat, the amber eyes of the earth magi quickly returned to the crowd, piercing them with a cool stare as he began to speak once more.

 “To you lot” he admonished us snapping his arm, “Listen well, for I shall only say this once.  Despite what the news or the media has led you to believe, Alchemists are those who study and pick apart the gears of magic and the world for all its worth.”  When he said news and media he spat out each word as if it were venom in his mouth, and as he began to go on, the methodical style of his speech began to ebb more into a stately passion. 

 “We are no mere scientists, we are alchemists! The fusion of creativity and scientific reasoning to understand, this little thing we call magic.  Despite the moniker of “Youngest class,” Human, Magi, or whatever in between that’s shuffled about on this rock has always been curious of this force in our world.  Whether you trace our origins to the wizards and warlocks of old, or to the Alchemists of which we’ve gained our title, we are both and neither of our predecessors!” 

      Pacing a bit, he calmed his voice back down as he continued on, “Were our ancestors simply explored the capabilities or tried to pick apart magic for their own uses, we have a different goal.  We carry the light of knowledge, illuminating the unknown for our fellow people so that they may find comfort in said findings.  If you choose this path, burn this into your mind! If you have no passion or hunger for finding the secrets of magic and our world, then as soon as you enter my facility, you. shall. be. Gone!  I do not want to hear your complaining, “Oh it’s too hard,” or, “ Oh, it’s too boring” for if I see one hint of uninterest in your eyes, I'll throw you out myself! For if you have no passion or drive in your field what is the point of you?  Now then,”  

 After a long sigh, he quietly composed himself, “if you feel this is right for you, step forward now.” he crooned out. And to my left, I felt a rustle beside me Orion groaned up and walked towards the old magi, he gave me a two-finger salute and lazily walked forward.  And as everyone saw him go, bit by bit more people stood in front of Rasputin, as each was handed some black clothes in a bag.  And as if on cue, a sharp whistle broke the silence, bringing all our eyes on Billy the kid.

 “Alright, kiddos eyes on me for a sec’. Thanks to ole grandpa given that essay, I’ll be straight with ya.  Guerillas are the rebels, outlaws, anarchists, or whatever they call us now.  Where there's some rules we break 'em, were there's laws we go past 'em. We be the judge of those in power, that roarin' flame under they feet that keep our leaders in check. And if they go too far, well, this lil' fire finna burst into an inferno I'll promise ya that.  If ya got freedom and rebellion in ya chest. We yo people, see a riot, we in there, see a protest, we in there, and if you see a revolution? Hoo boy, you sure as heck know we in there! We carry the light of freedom and change, always there to stop a leader if they go too far and if they do, we gon' hold 'em accountable and make somethin' new.  If my words struck home, we be happy to have ya, welcome to the family kiddos.” legs dangling over the stage the professor watched as the future Guerillas approached, heck even one girl flew up and gave a high five to him.  Thanks to her wings, she was an air magi, had some golden-brown wings and storm grey hair, and perched atop the stage as her classmates rushed up too.

             At my right, I heard a grunt as freaking Joan of Arc hopped off her pommel and kicked the sword in her hand like it was nothing!  Yup, definitely joining her I don’t care what anyone says-Imma be a knight!

 “Heh, alrighty, may as well start, hmph” She grunted, holding her sword in a rigid pose.  If I’m being honest her face looked like she was constipated “to be a knight you be gallant, focused measured precise and powerful, my children take up arms your calling is nye it is time for a crusade!  We shall take back the holy land,Deus vult, DEUS VU-pfffft, heheheh, sorry I had to” she chuckled leaning on her sheath “Oh, that never gets old, ok serious time now” she took in a breath to speak but

 “Ah, it seems the impossible did happen, you being serious” Rasputin interjected walking past her, to this he received a light snicker

 “Listen I can be serious sometimes, on occasion, when I feel like it, every few years.  But, as I was saying before mister essay interrupted me, Knights are old as heck alright, we’re the first beacons, defend people for generations, all that good stuff.  But just cause we got knight in our name, don’t mean we’re Chivalrous, glistening warriors who vanquish evil to the ends of the earth that’s only a third of the pie, we’re not just warriors, we’re healers and guardians kids.  The sword, shield, and healing hand, we become that light.  We guard against the dark and give people a haven.  In more than one way!  So,” she said resting her sword over her shoulders,

“If you want to be a knight, grab some chainmail and a tunic from the stage and come to my class tomorrow.  I’d be happy to have you” She winked strolling out.  Yeeep, I’m all in let’s freaking go!  I cheered in my mind, but I had a feeling I had a dopey smile on my face all the same.

             After that, not much else happened, learned about the other two classes, Artificers, basically artists, builders, and all that fun stuff that entertains or helps people. And seekers, explorers, and stuff, always run headfirst into the unknown and hard to pin down.  But by the end I got some bag of clothes and a rune stone. It was a smooth navy-blue rock with a messed-up F burnt into it.  It felt warm and hummed a bit in my hand as I turned a bit, it was like a weird magic compass to my dorm I guess, this is so cool!  Welp, into your prison-I mean my bag little guy.  As I was putting my stone back in my bag, a gun shot made me nearly drop it on the ground.

 “Gah!  what is this, give Eir a heart attack day?!” I mumbled clamping my stone as Headmaster Ortiz cleared his throat.

 “Knights, Alchemists, Seekers, Guerillas, and Artificers, thank you all for continuing in the protection of Human-Magi kind.  This is the first step of your journey as Beacons!  For even having the courage to step up this far, you should be proud!  Bully indeed for you!  I already can see great potential in all of you, all I can say is good luck, and may your lights always shine bright.” He finished his final speech and gave us all a hearty laugh and warm smile before walking into the back as Izusa made her way to speak.

 “Alright Torches, like the headmaster megaphone said, this is your start, remember you all wanted this, so get ready, tomorrow starts four years of hell, have fun~” she sang away into the darkness from whence she came.

             After the speeches of fluff and doom we all dispersed to our new dorms, which for some freaking reason was on the of the fort!  School’s in the middle, makes sense, access to everything, but the dorms. At the very edge of the freaking coast, who designed this and where can I smack them with my bag?  I’m going helicopter them so bad won’t know what hit them.  But still, I walked to my dorm.  Weird F rune dash 5 as the stone in my hand vibrated more and more the closer I got to my door.  The jade-gold rune patterned carpet sat atop a shining wood floor and the air had a scent of strangely chocolate, and fire?  

 “Who’s burning something?” I thought aloud, but right as the words came out of my mouth, the wall right across from me shattered as a flaming girl bulldozed through while a hand patted me on the head.  Whirling my head from side to side I saw Orion standing besides me snickering at the dragon girl.  She had two jagged black horns sticking out of her messy flame like curls.  She was short but had a stocky frame, I think I even saw a few muscles if I’m being honest.  And as I saw her gold eyes stare daggers at Orion(nickname still pending) a wicked smile seared across her face, disrupting the red scales upon her cheeks.

 “Orio get back over here so I can hit ya!” She growled in her rough voice, to which Orion strolled across from me with a playful shrug

 “nahhh, don’t really feel like it sunflower, good offer though, you’re getting’ better at em, I’m proud!”

 “Tsk, I told ya before, I ain’t no little flower, I am the sun!” she yelled crouching down for probably another charge.  Orion chuckled as he held his free hand at his ear

 “Uh, say that again white dwarf, I ain’t hear ya~” he teased, and at that my eyes even glared at him,

 “Please don’t my ears have suffered enough for a day!” I groaned,

       But as at the girl, it seemed like she physically had a tick mark on her head as the whole room heated up to 90 degrees. I had to take off my hat and fan myself, what the freak did he say to make her that mad? But unfortunately, I got no answer as the girl barreled forward with a battle cry.  Careening towards Orion before I saw him poof out of existence in a blue flash before reappearing behind the solar magi.  He placed a hand on her back and caused it to steam, but what instantly caught my attention was two words that slithered from his mouth.

 “Liga Hostem” he said, and yanked his hand back as multiple black and blue chains wrapped around the girl, battling against the fire and the light she gave off.  Making the hallway as wicked battle of heat and cold. Gasping from excitement I rapidly said

 “You used a binding spell!  It’s not the full incantation but that’s still awesome!  Wait, your element doesn’t usually go into that unle-“

 “let’s save this for later, I ain’t tryin’ be bbq magi over here”  to further his point the girl took in a deep breath and bellowed out a stream of flames in the boy’s direction, cursing under his breath Orion slammed his hand on the ground and cried

 “Fortifico!” as a black and blue hexagon of swirling void, blocked the incoming flames, and as soon as the barrier was released, the girl charged forward with an knee aimed at Orion’s fac, he rolled back and threw a punch at her stomach, but she brushed it to the side.  Back and forth they parried and dodged each other’s blows like clockwork.  Oh I wish I had popcorn, this is so good, but sadly before the fight could continue, the door behind me slammed open as I saw a baby face looking Asian guy with, a long, rat tail… Oh its him, time to give him a piece of my wait why is he my dorm mate?!

 “QUIET” the pale faced boy roared, on his face was now a pair of jade, metallic looking goggles, and as soon as he looked at the two magi his face grew a face of sheer disgust. “Ugh, just typical of their kind, arrogant and loud beyond measure. You two, cease this disturbance immediately, I am trying to work. “ he screamed in his childlike voice waving a large wrench at the two.

 “Hey, angery baby man, shush.” Said angery baby man looked agasp and was about to say something before I said

“Oi, ya owe me an apology from earlier, what was your deal?” I demaded looking over my shoulder

 “just my luck, of course I’m roomed with you of all people.” He rolled his eyes

 “Me of all people?!  Square up baby man, lets go!”

 “First of all, I am not, a baby man.  My name is Lin Su-Wang, and I am not fighting a munchkin.”

             And this is how this went for like thirty minutes, four people either fighting or yelling at each other before, nothing, I really can’t remember what happened afterwards, only thing is I woke up with a pain in my neck for some reason.  Weird, buuut yeah, this was one interesting first day.

 Day one-completed! :)

#Beacon #my writing #my ocs #Eir Dana #Eir #Orion Ironsi #orion #Lin Su-Wang #lin #magi #void magi #human #my novel #web novel #alchemist #artificer #seeker #knight #Micah Ortiz #Micah #Izusa #guerilla #hope yall enjoy #chapter 2

[thewilddreamerrr]

A Werewolf Telling

Remus entrance in Hogwarts after more of a decade was... awkward to say the least. Dumbledore requested him to become a DADA teacher 3 months ago. Seeing him after all that had happened... well, let's say it wasn't the best display of all time. Not longer a teenager nor a young whole and happy man, it was too much for Dumbledore and for Remus to bear. Too many memories, too many tears and desperate cries, too many broken dreams... a broken heart too. The young man was now a man but there was so many things missing in him. The sparkle once in his eyes, that sparkle only present in company of his friends... in company of-

Dumbledore stopped himself there. He, better than any other could understand the pain Remus felt. Losing not only his friends, his family, but also losing the love of a man he knew... he thought he knew.

After hours of quite intense discussion, Remus accepted. He managed to say yes because Dumbledore promised (again) to do everything in his power to help him with his transformations. Plus, Severus Snape was now a Potions teacher and he could manage to prepare him Wolfbane Potion (under Dumbledore's orders, of course) so... that was an improvement Remus couldn't deny.

***

The day he arrived at King's Cross and saw the scarlet train, he felt like an eleven year old all over again. He swallowed hard because those memories always came along with other three kids in it. A bespectacled boy with messy hair, another chubby and witty one and-

Remus sighed. After all these years, after all the hurt and pain. The hate. His heart still beat like a fucking drum at the mere thought of that kid with mischievous grey eyes and a smirk worth to make his knees go weak. He didn't want to think, not in those kids, not in what happened 13 years ago, not in anything.

However, he hadn't expected what came after he fell asleep in the compartment he choose for his ride. Harry. James and Lilly's Harry. His "nephew", there with other two friends. The last time he saw him was on James' birthday. He was still wearing diapers. Harry, this 13 year old Harry, was so much like his father. The same messy hair, complexions and even the height. Now, his eyes were another thing. Lily's eyes. But not only that, he inherited his mom's eye shape and fierce gaze, the one that leaves no room for discussion.

It felt like years of repressed emotions melt away as soon as Harry laid his eyes on him. He no longer called him 'ncle Mo'oy, but Professor Lupin. Remus hoped a tiny part of Harry could recognize him but he was happy to be part of his life again.

***

Once he entered the castle and establish himself in his new dorm, he went downstairs to the Great Hall. He took no more than two steps down, when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks

'Remus?'

He froze. And very slowly he turned around. There were already tears in his eyes.

'Poppy?'

The medi-witch whimpered and approached to him till there was only her arms around him. Remus was shocked and speechless.

'I thought I'll never see you again' she sobbed in his chest 'I was worried sick about you and what might had happened to you after-'

Remus caught off her mumbling and embrace the other woman tightly against him. Madam Pomfrey was probably the only other person who treated him like a son while in school. He never stopped himself to think how much he missed her until that moment.

'Oh, dear' Poppy mumbled taking a step back and scanning the werewolf 'look at you'. She gently placed a hand in Remus' cheek and smiled softly 'you promised to contact me... and you didn't, you silly boy'

Remus felt the heat of his cheeks grow a little after those words. He wanted to say he was no longer a boy, that he did pretty well all these years. But he knew he couldn't lie to her (he suck at lying too).

'I know, I'm sorry. I'm here now, am I?'

Pomfrey's gave a disapproving look and quickly smiled back.

'Why don't we go to dinner now, dear?'

***

'Sirius Black has escaped from Askaban' Dumbledore said in a usual neutral voice. Remus knew quite well the meaning behind those words.

'Why should I care?'

'I just thought you should know' the headmaster narrowed his eyes just a slightly bit. Remus wouldn't fall for it.

'I'm sorry, Professor, but I suppose the only concern we all should have right now is how we can protect the students and-'

'You think he might want to break into the school?'

'I- I'm not... I just-' Remus passed a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration 'Maybe he'll come after Harry'

Both men stayed in silence for what felt like an eternity.

'We'll take the precautions needed' said Dumbledore at least.

Remus couldn't reply, not even if he wanted to.

***

'Spotted in Hosgmeade'

Remus read the sentence over and over again. He was close, so close... and so far away.

'Fuck' the tears were coming. Why now? What did he wanted? Harry? Him? Everyone to just die? He threw the paper away and screamed in the isolated dorm.

'No, no, no, nO, NO, NO, FUCK NO'

His heart ached; he repeated to himself that he hated Black, that his very existence was a waste of space, that he didn't need him in his life. He didn't need those fucking gorgeous eyes or that stupid smirk. He definitely didn't love him. Not anymore. Not since he was 21.

'...fuck’

And Remus laughed. A weak and dull laugh. He was alone in that room, no other than him. He could lie to himself all the wanted but he knew that if that man walked through that same door at that same moment... he'll throw himself in the flames of hell for a second with Sirius. And he hated himself for that.

***

'He broke into school. He was here, for Merlin's sake!' Remus exploded.

Minerva Mcgonagall and Madam Pomfrey shared a concern look. Remus Lupin wasn't the kind of person who would... break down. But knowing the past Sirius and Remus shared so many years ago...

'Remus Lupin, you need to calm down now' Mcgonagall said with a sharp command. That was not the way to deal with this situation.

He stopped passing around the empty classroom and looked at the two women.

'Remus?' Pomfrey tried with a less aggressive approach 'Remus, dear, I know this must be difficult for you...'

'Difficult?' Snapped Remus 'Just difficult? Yeah, because for the past 13 years my life has been a fucking dream'

'Remus!' Mcgonagall's voice echoed all through the classroom to Remus' core 'There's no need for such... colorful... language' she cleared her throat in a attempt to recompose herself 'We are aware that your life has not been that simple' Remus snorted lowly but Mcgonagall ignored it 'Now, is not the time for meltdowns. We must take responsibility over our students and protect each one of them' she saw how Remus' was starting to fidge again and sighed 'Remus, we can't change the past not the horrible things that happened. However, we can improve our future and make the best out of it. You have the power to keep looking forward or getting stuck in your past'

Remus hadn't notice she approached to him until he felt a gentle hand over his shoulder.

Our decisions define us. Well, that's some fucked up philosophy to be honest.

***

That night he couldn't sleep at all. His mind kept bringing him memories about simpler times. Times full of color and joy. Despite living in such a dark time, he got his friends and lover by his side. They really thought they'd be able to make it. How innocent one can be at such a young age. That was until the bad seed was planted. Everything went downhill after that. The simpler times were gone, as well as the trust and confidence. He couldn't blame them for not trusting him (he wouldn't either). Because it had been Sirius after all.

Remus' heart skipped a beat at the thought of him.

'Really? After all these years...' he whispered to himself.

***

It hadn't been him. It hadn't been him, it had been Peter. Fucking Pettigrew.

Sirius laid in the floor beneath him looking desperate and somehow relieved Remus figured it out. He wanted to cry and laugh and curse and fucking scream but now it wasn't the time. The intensity of Sirius grey eyes, ranking him from head to toe was burning him alive.

And in that moment, Remus decided that yeah, if he already scorched quite a bit for Sirius in his youth, he'll fucking die in flames again for him.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

ALL RIGHT!! Hey, there I'm Julie. So, I wanna say a couple of things now that I have your attention:

First of all, this is my first time posting something I write on my own so you probably feel the stress too,huh and to make things worse English isn't even my first language *finger guns* What I'm trying to say is sorry if there're mistakes and all that because this whole situation gave me a lot of anxiety lol

Second, imma wolfstar trash, bitch. Lol Alright, so this whole idea started as some weird day dream I had about Remus and Madam Pomfrey (completely inspired btw by @captofthesswolfstar and her 💖A-MA-ZING💖 fic WWI) and well, let's say I carried away. I love to think how Remus must had felt in his return to Hogwarts and also dealing with Sirius all over again. He's a chill dude but Mcgonagall and Pomfrey know him very well and I know he trusted them enough to y'know break down.

Third, I wanna give a H U G E thank you to my friend @wavesofjoyy for helping me out and correcting this mess. You're fucking awesome I love you.

Fourth and hopefully lastly, I really hoped you enjoyed this little thing I made. If everything goes well, I might share other things related to wolfstar, who knows? Thanks in advance everyone💕

Julie's out *drops mic*

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus headcanon #angst #minerva mcgonagall #madam pomfrey #harry potter #prisoner of azkaban #my writing

[crazylittleseasparkle]

Oh Thank God

@shancefluffweek

Day 4: Youth/ Old Age

A/n: I gave myself a headache writing this. Hope if was at least partly worth the pain. Also, Lance’s father doesn’t appear. You can imagine him being at work or him not being there at all (after all, Lance didn’t mention him while listing out his family...)

Lance frowned, his arms crossed over his chest. He'd finally gotten a room to himself thanks to his older brother moving out with his fiance', and now he had to share it with some kid he didn't even know.

"I don't understand why we have to let some strange guy live with us." The twelve year old pouted.

His mother continued changing the bedding of bunk below Lance's, "Because. If it was you who was staying in a foreign country, I would want you to have a safe and loving home during your stay there."

Lance didn't have anything to say to that. He simply sunk back against his pillows and sulked more.

"And how do you know if he'd strange or not? You haven't even met him yet." She teased, reaching up to ruffle his hair affectionately.

"Hey Mama? Veronica just texted me! She's on her way back!"  Lois called up from down stairs.

"And I haven't started dinner yet! Come on Lance! We need to start so the poor boy has something ready for him to eat after his long trip!" His mother said over his shoulder, already on her way down to the kitchen.

With a sigh, Lance heaved himself up and off the top bunk.

They we just finishing up when Veronica got home. Lance was helping Lois set the table while their mother was putting the rice and picadillo when the side door that led directly to the large open concept kitchen and dining area opened up. In walked Veronica, carrying a large bag slung over her shoulder and a smaller suitcase in her hand. Behind her was a young teen, a suitcase being dragged behind him.

Lance found it really odd. The guy was wearing one of those hospital type masks over his mouth and nose. Why would he do that? Did he think they had some kind of plague or something?

"Just in time!" His mama said happily. She wiped his hands with her apron before making her way over to the boy, "Please to meet you young man! You can call me Rosa."

The boy bowed his upper body, a soft of nervous look on what Lance could see of his face, "I'm Shiro- uh... Takashi Shirogane."

"You've already met Veronica... These two hooligans are Lois and Lance. Speaking of Lance, why don't you take Takashi up to your room? You can drop off his bags and then come on down for dinner."

Knowing there was no arguing with his mama, Lance went over and took the bags from Veroncia. Up close, he could see a lot more of the other boy. Particularly his pretty dark grey eyes.

Looking away (and preying to god that his face wasn't red) he mumbled a quick, "This way" before leading the other out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their room. Once in the room Lance dumped the bags onto the bottom bunk. He wasn't comfortable putting them anywhere else. He'd let the guy organize it himself after they ate.

When he turned around, he saw the guy standing in front of his tank, looking at all the fish inside.

"I like your fish." The boy said. He spoke English pretty well, but his L's sounded a little weird.

"Thanks." Lance said, not sure what else to say.

After a moment or two Takashi dragged his suitcase out of the way and tugged off the mask and place in in the pocket of his jacket, which he took off and laid on the bed.

Lance had to admit, he kind of liked Takashi.

He was nice, even if he was a bit nit picky (but Takashi had apologized in advance for his OCPD, so he tried not to let it get to him). He knew a lot about space, which was awesome. On clear nights he'd take Lance outside and point out consolations.

On one such night, he realized he had a crush on the older boy.

It worried him so much he sat right up from where he was lying on the blanket they were using.

"Lance? Are you alright?" Takashi asked, sitting up and resting on his elbows.

"I... Uh, yeah. I'm fine!" Lance tried to lie.

Takashi clearly didn't buy it, but he didn't press the matter.

After a moment or two Lance cleared his throat, "So... uh... meet any cute girls yet?"

"Um..." Takashi began, looking away, "I uh... I don't really like girls, you know?"

"Oh! Okay. Uh... That's fine. I like both, so it's fine. No judgment here.... so meet any cute boys?" God, Lance wanted to kick himself and then crawl into a hole.

"Well..." Takashi began, his hand moving over to rest on top of Lance's, "There is this one boy. "

"Oh thank god." Lance blurted, before groaning.

Takashi burst out laughed, "I take it you like me too..?"

"Yes! You're really cool, and really, really cute."

"Good to know.." He said, clearing his throat. In the dull light, Lance could still see a dark blush on the other's face.

Smiling, Lance turned his hand around, fingers curling around the other's. He'd only ever held hand's with one girl, and this was defiantly different. Takashi's hand was larger then his, and warm beneath his gloves.

"Yeah, I like you too."

#shance fluff week #shance #shiro/lance #exchange student au #lance is a dork #so is shiro #shiro has ocpd #but it's only mentioned

[meshugana1]

Girls being turned into braindead cosplayers at a local anime convention?

   Morgan slide through the crowd as she usually did. Her slender legs gave no impression as to their direction between her long strides. Her dress drew the eyes of those lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her between blinks. Over the years going unnoticed came naturally to her, but in these places, it was only too fun not to make an appearance, no matter how brief. She could observe these places for years and never see the same thing. There were Deadpools beyond counting and more Thanos’s than the Avengers could ever handle. The unusual ones were her favorite. The Caskas’s and the Ryokos were few and far between, but they often had the most detail placed on them. That alone was worthy of her respect.

   But even more than the beautiful costumes that told stories all their own or the instant kinship two strangers felt if they wore complimenting uniforms,  Morgan loved the stories people brought with them. She had read signed editions of the original Ghost in the Shell and seen more Mobil Suit Gundam than even she could remember. She had no idea such vibrancy and beauty was out in the world. If she had, maybe she would’ve fought harder, perhaps so many things would be different.

   “Oh my God, Brandy! That’s so gross; you kiss him if you think he’s so hot.” Morgan heard as she, for the first time in a long time, felt a hard shoulder shove into her back. “Fuck, watch it, loser.” The tall woman said. Morgan laid on the ground, gasping elation from her open mouth. It has been so long since she felt anything, now a person had even spoken to her. So stunned by this miracle, she was that she nearly allowed her to leave. But as she leaped up and lunged at the girls arm her hand, as it had a million times before, passed through unhindered. Her heartbeat beyond counting for the first time since she read the first chapter of Dragon Ball.

   Caitlyn drew her hand up close to her chest, wincing at the sudden cold that passed through it. “Who were you talking to?” Miranda said. It wasn’t often she saw Caitlyn have a senior moment like that. “That little grey faced chick with the slit throat, duh? Now could you please tell me why we’re at this godforsaken place?” Caitlyn said. Her disdain for this sort of event was well documented. The odor alone was enough to convince many to stay away. “Because the food is awesome and cheap. Besides, there’s no entry fee if you have a costume.” Brandy said.“That’s what the name tags were for?” Miranda said. She would’ve preferred to simply pay the five dollars rather than argue as to what constitutes a costume with the ticket takers. Miranda glanced down at her “costume.” It didn’t vary much from her friends; all three wore a simple white name tag that proclaimed their assumed identities. Miranda bore the name “Aisha Clan-Clan” and had little to no idea of who or what that might be, she did hope that she wasn’t unintentionally appropriating something. Brandy’s tag proclaimed her as “Haruka Athena,” the only thing she recognized about that was the Greek deities name. Caitlyn had been dubbed “Mai Shiranui,” it sounded like the only named that actually might belong at this convention. “You better not have picked out something stupid for us,” Caitlyn said. “What do you care,” said Brandy, “we’re just here for the food. It’s not like we’re going to talk to any of these pathetic freaks.”

   Liars. These girls were all liars. How could they be so cruel to people they hadn’t even spoken to? To discard so much beauty and art and creation? These people could see her; they could finally see! How were they so blind? What had she ever done to deserve these frauds as the only people who could even interact with her? One of them had to be a witch, that or she had a lot of latent magical potential. Such a waste. But as Morgan stared at the girls, filling more and more with vitriol, a plan she had read in an old manga popped to the surface of her mind.

   "Pardon me,” Caitlyn heard a weak voice behind her say. When she spun about on her heel, she once again met the morbid little cosplayer. “What do you want, freak?” she said. She hated the culture surrounding the whole anime fanaticism, but she could still appreciate the skill applied in this girls makeup. It almost looked real. “Sorry, I just saw your name tags and I thought that was a clever idea. Very minimalist. Who are you supposed to be again?”“I don’t know; Brandy just got them off some website. What do you care?” Caitlyn said.“Oh no reason, I just heard you say you were here for food and there’s a ton of it over there for super cheap.”“Oh sweet! Thanks, kid,” Caitlyn said. The little girl smiled as she stuck out her hand expectantly. Briefly, thoughts of cooties entered her mind. But they disappeared as all the vitality seemed to vanish from within her as she wrapped her fingers around the girls. She felt her knees stake the floor and her eyes twitched in her skull. Her friends turned to see the color gone from her face. But when they approached her, her fit had ended. Caitlyn gasped for air and dubbed over, But she looked no worse for wear.

   “Cat! Are you ok? What happened?” Miranda said. She grasped her friend’s shoulder as she helped her to her feet.“I’m fine; I guess it’s the cleanse diet I’m on. Where did that girl go?”“What are you talking about, it was only you here,” Brandy said. Before Caitlyn could work up her catty rebuttal, there was an airy feeling around her. In point of fact, all the girls felt a sudden chill pass near them. The chill was countermanded by a sudden warmth spending from Caitlyn’s stomach. “Guy’s, I don’t feel good…” she said. Her scalp began to tingle and she scratched at it furiously. Brandy and Miranda watched as Caitlyn’s blond hair darkened, and watched still as it began to shoot out of her skull nearly reaching the floor. Both of her hands scratched at her growing tresses but did not alleviate the itch. She flung her head back, giving her friends a clear view as her modest chest ballooned out, popping several seams on her shirt. Then every string of her clothes seemed to instantly dissolve, leaving her naked for the briefest of moments until they began to reform. She wore a red Japanese style that left practically all of her legs, hips, and ass exposed, save for slim thong and the giant loose flowing red and white cloth that dangled behind her. Her chest, now nothing less than an H-cup, was barely contained by a top that threatened to release them at the slightest wrong movement. Her hair then spun atop her head and ordered itself into a high ponytail. Caitlyn still scratched her skull; a fire burned in her mind that would not die. But then her tired fingers stopped, and her arms fell to her sides. “Caitlyn?! What the fuck just happened?” Miranda said. Caitlyn had a glassy look in her eye, but suddenly she struck a pose. She produced a fan that matched her outfit from seemingly nowhere and declared “I, Mai Shiranui of the Shiranui school, will punish you!”

   Mirada and Becky tried to rouse her but all they could get her to say was “Me bouncy!” Miranda was so distraught; she failed to notice as her ears began to elongate. They became long and not quite elf-like, then took on a brown furred color. Her scalp began to itch as her hair turned a whitish blonde shade and lengthened all there way to her hips and a giant golden ring formed at the end of her new single braid. Her brown eyes turned blue as the burning in her head became worse. Her proportions did not radically change, but her skin turned dark and became brown. Instead of dissolving like Caitlyn’s, Miranda’s clothes seemed to blur. As if they reformed themselves too fast for the human eye to see. All that was left of her was her mind, and that was burning into ashes. She was dark skinned, but she was mostly clothed. Her chest was the only visible skin aside from her face, and it was on full display. Her bustier was white and her new, very short dress was green. Her arms and thighs felt so much muscular than before, even as the last bit of will was burned away she could tell how strong her body was now. Bandy was in horror as her friends became freaks before her eyes. And as she locked gazes with Miranda, Miranda declared proudly “Ctarl-Ctarl! Ctarl-Ctarl!”

   Brandy had no concept of what happened, but she knew enough to run. She forced her legs to move even as the burning came into her skull. She knocked over a girl in a school outfit as she dashed madly for safety, not even aware of where that might be. Her shoulder-length hair retracted into her skull and turned into a bright blonde combover. Her lithe body became sturdier with study muscle obscured by a thin layer of fat. Her beasts inflated almost in step with her gasped running, creating a massive window of cleavage. The burning in her skull became too intense. She stopped, her breath ragged and desperate for oxygen as she changes were carried out in earnest. Her hips pumped, her clothing vanished, and her body took on a look of a very youthful middle-aged woman. What cloth remained on her body shifted, and a cape sprung from her new shoulder pads. Her plump nether lips were covered by a skimpy blue thong that couldn’t be seen from between her cheeks. The golden crest on her chest left little of her ample new breasts to the imagination as the created a window both above and below her erect nipples. There was no fight left in her as her Hamas fell to the ground. The crowd around her waited, then she leaped up and declared “Eighth Wonder is here!”

   From the outskirt of the venue, a small girl could be seen enjoying the show as three new cosplayers flung themselves into their roles, genuinely embodying the characters they had become. Blank smiles decorated their faces as legions wanted a picture with them. Morgan only smiled, now she had the power to ensure people respected these places, and she was going to put it to use.

The end. Hope Y'all liked it!

#Breast expansion #ass expansion #hair growth #Transformation #Mai Shiranui #Aisha Clan-Clan #Haruka Athena #mind wipe #Mental change #braindead #bimbo tf #Anime #request

[lovebreunablog]

Dakota Johnson Cosmetic Surgery

Like many of us, the 26-year-old actress has done her fair share of charm testing throughout the years-- particularly with her hair. She's played with different cuts (from bangs to bobs), structures (wavy and straight), and hair colors. Click for best site about plastic operation famous people!

With her blue eyes and all-natural brown hair, Dakota is a color chameleon that can pull off blonde, brunette, and red. However, it had not been till she committed to a rich brown with bangs for her breakout role in Fifty Shades of Grey that she began exhibiting actual star power. That's what happens when you toenail your Life Cut and Colour, folks!

That claimed ... I do believe she's likewise had some medical enhancement in the process. Let's have a look at her transformation, and I'll allow you to decide:

The year 2003

Would you have identified Dakota here? She was just 14 and sporting what I assume is her natural hair color, a cozy mid-brunette. Additionally, her natural nose! I believe she fine-tuned it later, yet maybe not her lips-- as you can see, the upper one was always quite full. Is any individual else obtaining a Jennifer Lawrence vibe? I think it's the lighter hair and the eyes.

The year 2004

Dakota started her blondification at age 15. It's amusing, the Youthful Hollywood event is still happening currently, 12 years later on, and also the celebs who go to are so hyper-groomed. Back then, it wasn't the instance-- Dakota's hair looks un-styled, she's not wearing much makeup, and it doesn't appear like a stylist was involved with her jewelry choices.

The year 2006

Two years later, Dakota also went blonder as well as obtained bangs. She likewise began dialing up the eye makeup (as you do, at age 17). You can truly see just how the tip of her nose made use of it to be much longer.

The year 2007

Surprise! Dakota had strawberry blonde hair at one point, and I LOVE it-- the shade looks extremely all-natural with her blue eyes and also freckles. This appearance is still on factor, thanks to the soft makeup, stained lips, long bangs, and beautiful wavy texture.

The year 2008

Alas, the red did not last lengthy. In 2008, Dakota cut it into a long split bob and went back to blonde. I don't discover it almost as flattering, neither do I like the hefty eye makeup on her. This does not have that trademark Dakota ease, you know?

The year 2010

Fast forward one more two years, as well as Dakota, was 21. She took her hair even blonder, expanded out the bob, and took on a fresher makeup scheme. By now, I think her nose has been tightened and the pointer reduced. (Perhaps this occurred as early as 2007, yet it's hard to tell from the side angles.) However, her lips do provide me a stop because the top one appears thinner than the other photos. Hmm ...

The year 2011

Occasionally, when you go blonde, you fall under the blonderexia catch. It's occurred to me, and also, I believe that's what happened to Dakota below. The blonde is even light for her complexion and washes her out. (Yet that's the essential things-- you lose perspective as well as want to be blonder as well as blonder and blonder.).

The year 2012

Dakota got to peak blondeness in 2012. She was 23 right here. The bangs are back; therefore, it is her all-natural straight texture-- it's just the color that does not collaborate with her skin tone. Notice her return to dark eyebrows, which frame her eyes nicely.

The year 2013

Wow! Going darker was a HUGE transformation for Dakota. All of a sudden, she looks fresher, younger, and 100 percent extra elegant. It makes her blue eyes pop (additionally thanks to the smoky-shimmery eye makeup) and flaunts her perfect skin tone. Her brows are much more developed-- a little fuller, wonderfully angled, as well as with the desirable "followers" at the internal corners. She has to've started collaborating with her A-list beauty group at this point! I'm merely unsure about her top lip. Boosted or au naturel?

The year 2014

This was Dakota's first significant red carpet occasion after being announced as the 'Fifty Shades' star. Lastly, she's arrived on her trademark style: bangs and lengthy brownish hair, often with Ombré, and sophisticated makeup. I like this because she appeared generic as a blonde, yet she truly shines as a redhead.

The year 2015

In 2015, Dakota was shooting How to Be Solitary, and I love her hair in that flick and this picture. It's a darker, extra-strong brownish and a shorter bob size; adorable. This visuals eye makeup is also super-creative and also strengthens her brand-new "awesome woman" condition on the red carpet. Once more, unsure what's occurring with her upper lip, it looks a lot larger than the lower one.

The year 2016

That brings us to 2016, and also Dakota's still obtained the darker brownish hair and bangs; she expanded out the length a little (well, actually, I believe it's extensions). Her charm appearance is improving as well as much better! There aren't enough starlets utilizing makeup to make creative, sophisticated means instead of the typical Kardashian-Esque contouring. I likewise locate it exceptionally rejuvenating to see a carefree all-natural hair structure instead of rigid, over-styled waves and also updos. Now, whether her nose or lips are natural is an additional tale ... but overall, I assume she looks fantastic.

The year 2017

In 2017, Dakota expanded out her bangs for a while, pinning them off her face ... I do not like it! With a freshly darker brunette color and also darkened eyebrows, it seems merely extreme. Well, the selection of gowns wasn't helping issues, either.

The year 2018

Now, this is a Dakota appearance I can support! Lastly, she recognized bangs did suit her and brought them back in a face-framing, Bardot-inspired drape design. Do you know what else always works for her? A red lip, fresh skin, as well as defined lashes-- absolutely nothing also "done." (Even if her lips and also nose have been tinkered with in other means!).

Conclusion

Like I always say, most celebs in Hollywood have had nose surgery. It's just the way it is-- a career decision. Dakota is no exception. It's clear from skimming these images that she has altered her nose ... and also assume the outcome did turn out fantastic.

As for her upper lip, I'm unsure! It does look quite full in the earlier shots, yet it seems to have blown up a lot more in much more current years. Plus, lip shots are the trendy thing to do nowadays-- so it would not stun me whatsoever if she were getting them.

Nonetheless, the adjustments I discover most intriguing here are the hair color ones. Numerous people (including me!) undergo the same procedure as Dakota before finding out our Life Colour. Typically, blonde is the initial quit-- but as you can see, it's not always the most effective option in any way.

I believe (I wish!) we may be seeing a trend far from cookie cutter bleached blonde. As Dakota demonstrates, there are so many other attractive hair colors, and also, it's everything about what flatters your complexion. So a person might provide recently's Before & After, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, that memo!

[andrewmoocow]

Fooly Falls 2 Ride on Shooting Star chapter 1: Here We Go Again (originally posted on January 23, 2019)

AN: Greetings everyone! While I continue to work hard on the climax for Gravity Soul, I'm just gonna throw this into the ring. Ladies and germs, behold the long-awaited sequel to Fooly Falls! Before we begin, I just want to say that this takes place 20 years after the first story and centers on the twin children of Dipper and Mabel's own son that mainly takes from FLCL Progressive with elements of Alternative and some rewrites I found across the Internet. Now that we got all of this outta the way, let's finally return to the falls.

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"The world must be destroyed before it can become beautiful. This is the world I envisioned." a young girl narrated to herself in the middle of a destroyed town. "This is what I fear the world will become."

The girl strolled through the wreckage in a grey beanie cap on top of her brownhaired head. The rest of her body made it look like she came back from a great battle that she barely survived, rotting & almost falling apart, and out of her forehead was a large horn poking out. "But in this world, only my body is rotting. Becoming decayed. Yes, decayed. Maybe this is what my body could become."

As she continued her march, a collection of giant irons moved towards her from the distance held by equally large hands. "Maybe this is my true self." The girl soon turned and ran away. "But then finally I remembered. I'm still only a twelve-year old girl, not thinking about anything."

The girl continued running as her form slowly began to decompose. "Nothing normal ever happens around these parts. And it can only get weirder from here."

All covered in blood, the girl reached a half-submerged monster who's eye quickly burst open, causing her horn to react.

The girl screamed in terror as her body fell apart more and more, flesh and blood being replaced with metal until she emerged as a white robot with a bright blue visor. And just as the irons moved closer, the robot prepared for battle by sending one of the irons flying-

Gwen Pines suddenly burst from her sleep. Her normally straight brown hair was a mess from tossing and turning in her sleep while her younger brother Tyrone passionately sang along to the song that served as her alarm.

When the song ended, Tyrone looked at his sister with a smile. "Aah! After ten hours of sleep, you are free!" he exclaimed joyously. "It's time to conquer breakfast!"

"Good morning Tyrone." Gwen yawned rubbing her eyes. "Morning sis!" Tyrone exclaimed giving her a good morning hug before he noticed her messy hair. "Hey, what's up with your hair? Did you have that weird zombie robot dream again?"

"Pretty much." Gwen moaned picking up a brush to straighten her chocolate locks. "You ever wonder about the future Ty? You ever fear that you'll lose everything, and then yourself as well?"

"Nope! You're just thinking too far into the future." Tyrone assured her with a playful knock on her head. "Now come on, don't wanna keep Mommy waiting!"

Tyrone grabbed his older sister by the arm and dragged her downstairs to the kitchen, where their mother was already preparing breakfast. "Morning guys!" Wendy greeted them giving Tyrone a hug. "Morning Mommy! Where's Daddy at?" Tyrone asked squeezing his beloved mom tight before he let go. "Dipper's off at the Shack helping Stan again." Wendy answered serving the kids some scrambled eggs. "You wanna go deliver some coffee to him, Aunt Mabel and Aunt Pacifica?"

"Of course." Gwen quietly replied spotting three thermoses on the counter while finishing her scrambled eggs. "You must be as excited to go there today and see our friends as much as I am, right?" Tyrone added shoveling the remains of his serving down the hatch. "There's Ian, Leia, Juan & Jorge, Imelda, Abby, Mr. Soos, Melody and of course, Arnold!"

"Let's just go. I'll carry Dad's and Aunt Mabel's, you get Aunt Pacifica's." Gwen deadpanned preparing to leve their home for the Mystery Shack. The siblings picked up the thermoses of coffee and began heading out the door. "See you later Mommy!" Tyrone called running farther away. "See ya little dude!" Wendy hollered back before she stopped her elder daughter with her old axe. "And you too Gwen!"

"I'm way too old for that. Plus you're basically threatening me into saying bye." Gwen stated. "Okay, you're right on the whole threatening thing, but still!" Wendy exclaimed putting her axe away as Gwen sighed and finally said "Goodbye Mommy."

As a white haired woman in a blue Chevrolet Bel-Air watched through a pair of binoculars from a distance, the twins finally made it to the Mystery Shack where a peculiar yellow Vespa scooter was parked outside. The tourist trap itself looked nicer than it did twenty years ago, albeit the biggest change was the loose S on the sign now hastily nailed into place.

Stepping inside and switching the sign from closed to open, the kids were greeted with a few familiar sights.

Ian Ramirez, a broad-shouldered 17-year old young man with brown hair spiking back downward, a small goatee and a black leather jacket over a Mystery Shack employee T-shirt, was hard at work on getting everything ready.

Ian's sister Leia, an attractive 15-year old girl with her brown hair in a ponytail, an orange question mark symboled tanktop, denim shorts and hiking boots, manned the cash register like their mother before her, texting on her phone with a can of soda beside her.

And finally three boys sat down having a conversation. The first boy with dirty blonde hair was Arnold; age 10, the adopted son of their aunts Mabel & Pacifica clad in a purple sweatervest, black trousers with brown shoes, braces and a gold Northwest ring. The other ridiculously dressed two he was telling a story to were 11-year old twins Juan and Joseph, or Jorge as he preferred to be called.

"So then what did she do?" Juan asked getting more invested in Arnold's story. "Well, then she tried to pull a giant robot out of my forehead!" Arnold skittishly answered. "I had no idea I had those inside me, especially the one she found which then ran off into the night!"

"That is so awesome!" Jorge roared in excitement. "What was she like?! How hard did she hit you, what did she say, what were her measurements?!"

"Guys, you two are getting weird!" Arnold exclaimed. "Though not as weird as that skirt you're wearing Juan." He then brought attention to Juan's current fashion choices. "It's not a skirt, they call it a kilt in Scotland! Tons of men wore it, especially back in the old days!"

"Thanks for the history lesson Juan, but I'm asking you to please cover up underneath there!" Arnold added. "At least Jorge's wearing pants along with the sunglasses, fedora and clogs!"

"Morning you guys!" Tyrone interrupted their discussion. "Yo, Ty-die! Good to see you bro!" the brothers greeted him loudly followed by the three performing their secret handshake. "Let me guess, the joe's for your old man? He should be downstairs working with Ford." Juan stated pointing to the vending machine that served as a secret entrance to a hidden laboratory under the Shack.

"Morning little dudes!" Leia said getting up from behind the counter to tousle Tyrone's fluffy red hair. "Oh, greetings twins." Ian added wildly gesturing to the two. "You need any help with that coffee?"

"Sure, you know where Aunt Mabel is?" Tyrone replied handing of the thermoses to Ian. "Yes, she and Pacifica are upstairs with Dad helping Stan start his day." Suddenly there was a creaking noise followed by a yell. "Hey Ian, can you be a good dude and come upstairs please? Mr. Pines fell down again!"

"I'll be sure to bring it up to her." Ian declared taking two of the thermoses away and leaving the room. "Coming Dad!"

"So what's on your minds today guys? Other than tastes in fashion." Gwen asked the three boys. "We were just discussing some strange woman that attacked Arnold last night and tried to pull something out of his head." Juan answered just as the door opened. "What strange woman?"

A blonde woman with eyes completely hidden behind a pair of glasses stepped into the gift shop. "Excuse me, may I speak to one of the employees?" she asked monotonously. "I'm an employee here!" Leia answered. "Welcome to the Mystery Shack miss, how may I help you?"

"I am in town today to conduct a social experiment on the local youth." the woman explained. "Tell me your age young lady, along with the four young ones with you."

"Name's Leia Ramirez, age 15." Leia introduced herself shaking her hand. "This little gentleman Tyrone is nine years old, his sister Gwen is twelve, their cousin Arnold is ten and my little bros Juan & Joseph are eleven."

"Marvelous." the researcher said in dull excitement, drawing scribbles on a clipboard. "Now before my experiment can proceed, I'd like to ask you, as a selection of children part of our modern youth, a question. What in your estimation is the most important thing to you? Yes you, the weakest links in our society." she surveyed while Gwen quietly examined the text messages on her phone. "Yes, you over there with the pompadour?"

"I don't know." Juan answered showing how he was just as confused as everybody else in the room by adjusting his sweatband.

"Correct answer." the woman declared. "Not having clear or distinct answers for any question and feeling fulfilled through triggered animalistic sexual urges, that is the only life you know as youth with absolutely no skill to convince us otherwise."

"What is she on about?" Arnold asked arching an eyebrow. "I don't know, some philosophical crap." Jorge answered as the researcher went on. "It has been exactly one week to the day that I have first arrived in this small Oregon town and I must say, you are all eligible." Soon she opened a laptop that she pulled out. "Now, let the exam begin."

Gwen stared blankly at the laptop showing her some rather obscene activity between a teacher and his student while the other kids formed a line behind her. "So this is her idea of research, basically showing us porn?" Arnold whimpered while Tyrone snacked on some popcorn behind him. "I may not see it from here, but at least I can still hear and enjoy."

"Uh Ian, Leia? What's going on up here?" Mason Pines, better known to everyone as Dipper, asked returning from his studies behind the vending machine to catch everyone in the act of the woman's experiment. "Hey lady, she's only twelve!" he shouted taking the laptop away. "You shouldn't be showing her that!"

"And why do you object? Do you plan on looking at this yourself?" the woman asked snatching the laptop back from an embarrassed Dipper while his bearded face turned crimson and the other kids resisted the urge to laugh.

"What in the name of Sam Hill is all this about Dipper looking at porn?!" an aged Stanley Pines roared as Ian, Mabel Pines and Soos & Melody Ramirez wheeled him into the gift shop.

"Hi Greatkle Stan! This science lady is showing us this stuff for some reason. She said it's to make us react or something." Tyrone chirped handing Dipper his coffee. Gwen then switched to another video, again eliciting no reaction. "Would it kill you to have even the tiniest reaction to this?" the scientist asked just as emotionless as her test subject. "You don't want to wait until you're over the hill to this adolescence, do you?"

Gwen soon began to get up. "Fine, I've seen all I need to." the mystery visitor snarked. "Which one of you is next?"

"He volunteers as tribute!" Tyrone shouted raising Arnold's arm for him. "Eh, I don't need to test you Arnold." the woman shrugged. "Now hold on lady! If you want to test on any more of these impressionable youths, you'll have to buy something first!" Stan declared as Gwen went downstairs to the elevator behind the vending machine and went down to the third floor.

She entered the lab that her great-granduncle Stanford Pines once used to conduct his research on the odd town of Gravity Falls, now covered in dust & cobwebs with the portal he had created still dismantled and rusting. "Uh, Great-Grunkle Stanford?"

"Oh hello there Gwendolyn! How do you do?" her genius great-granduncle exclaimed shaking his great-grandniece's hand. "Never thought you would come down here all by yourself. Usually someone like Tyrone, Arnold, Ian, your father or your aunt would accompany you. So what brings you to my lab?"

"I wanted to talk to you about a nightmare I had." Gwen answered. "What do you know about giant clothes irons?" she asked, sending chills down Ford's crooked back. "G-giant clothes irons?!" the elderly author shivered racing to fish out a copy of the Gravity Falls Gossiper dating back two decades ago. "Never thought I would pull this out, but here goes."

Ford then began to read. "Gravity Falls Gossiper, date August 2012. 'Aftermath of the Oregon Fooly Cooly of 2012.' Town recovers from mass havoc caused by crazed motorist and her robot companion. According to Commander Amarao of the Department of Interstellar Immigration, this young lady broke into the home of local con-artist Stan Pines and declared herself his maid. In the chaos that ensued, space birds, bass guitars, alternative rock, robots, all-powerful time-stopping megalomaniacs, sexual innuendos and reversal of gravity were involved."

"Did that actually happen Stanford?" Gwen asked. "As much as I hate to say it, but yes." Ford answered resignedly. "We all thought we either decided to forget it ever happened or maybe it didn't occur at all, but your visions of clothes irons in your dreams now leads me to fear the worst. Medical Mechanica is at it again."

Far across town, the Medical Mechanica plant stood idly as always, in the process of reconstruction as it groaned, letting off steam.

When Gwen returned to the surface after her conversation with Ford, she began helping out the Ramirez family with the tourists alongside Tyrone and Arnold. However two in particular stood out, one was a red-haired man in a ballcap while the other was an old man with an eye-patch.

"Hey princess, can I get any idea on the next tour?" the one-eyed senior asked. "'Scuse me miss, but do you have any of those fur-covered trouts in stock." the other man added. "Can you help me choose what to but Gwennie?" another tourist said.

"Old tourists, am I right?" Imelda Ramirez, the second daughter of Soos & Melody wearing a purple dress, flower barrette and a worn-out expression, groaned. "It's so glad that out of everyone in our little circle, I relate to you the most." she complimented. "Only replace the nihilism with being overworked from being the Shack's financial advisor, watching over my baby sister Abby when my parents are too busy and having to deal with my eldest siblings."

"I love it when Gwen has that attitude around us." the eyepatched elder remarked serenely. "I just adore it when we're looked down upon by her judging expression." the third tourist added. "Same here." Suddenly the eyepatch man received a list of future tour times from Imelda before she returned to Gwen's side. "And the little one is pretty fiery too. So much pressure on her shoulders and keeps a cool head no matter what."

"I guess it's a hardknock life for someone like me who has to deal with Mr. Overdramatic, the party-girl and those two." Imelda snarked before her baby sister Abby pulled on her skirt with a finger painting in hand. "Hold on one second my friend, I must give a thorough analysis on a finger painting." she added speedwalking away like Marvin the Martian.

"Thank you so much for the help you guys. Maybe someday you can get your own jobs." Melody thanked the three Pines kids while patting her pregnant stomach. "Perhaps your first can be watching over our expected newborn. Still in the dark on whether it'll be a boy or a girl."

"If it does turn out to be a boy, it should have a cool name like Darkside or Steppenwolf!" Tyrone exclaimed just as the twins' mother pulled up to the Shack in a logging truck. "That must be Aunt Wendy. See you guys tomorrow." Arnold said opening the door for his aunt while his cousins walked outside. "But maybe you won't need us to watch over your baby. You ever thought of hiring a nanny?"

"Would really love to, but Soos and the kids aren't too big on all the choices since they're not practically perfect in every way." Melody answered stepping outside as well before the plant began to wheeze. "Still don't know what gave Stan the idea to turn that old place into a tourist attraction." Wendy commented. "Even makes the same sound, which always meant something crazy was going to happen."

Indeed something insane was on the horizon as Gwen's grey beanie began vibrating atop her head. "Uh hey Gwen, you okay?" Arnold asked before the bobble on top of it began glowing red as a car approached.

A blue Chevrolet Bel-Air came zooming towards them, and in the backseat sat a dark-skinned woman with white hair in a ponytail wearing a green tube top with a short lavender jacket, a strange orange-rimmed visor covering up a pair of red stripes vertically crossing over her eyes, a white belt with a silver heart buckle, a pair of black leggings underneath a matching skirt and white boots. By her side was a Fender Jazzmaster guitar as she got closer to Gwen specifically.

"KYAAAAAAH, EVERYBODY RUUUUN!" Arnold screamed at the top of his lungs shoving everybody except his cousin out of the way, and as a result she was hit by the Bel-Air & sent flying, her beanie coming loose from her head as well.

"Gwen!" Wendy shouted rushing to her daughter's side while Tyrone & Arnold gaped in awe of what just happened. "That was a close one. My apologies." the woman stated hopping out of her car. "A little bit more and she would've overflowed."

"Overflowed?" Melody wondered as the mystery car driver inspected Gwen. "That's strange. I'm sure it was a fatal hit." she examined. "Unfortunately to all of you, this young girl is going to be fine."

"The only thing that's more unfortunate is how you nearly killed her!" Wendy shouted angrily. "Can you do that on me too?" Tyrone squealed in excitement as his sister got back up. "Oh hey sis, you were victim to a hit and run!"

Gwen shook her head before she turned to find the woman trying on her hat. "Hey, that's mine!" she shouted. "Why would you wear something like this in the summer?" the woman pondered when Gwen demanded it back. "Just hand it over and leave us alone!"

"Where did you get this hat?" the woman asked her. "It looks like something you get out of a store, but it seems bizarre in origin." Gwen then took her beanie back and put it back on. "I just found it one day, when I was like seven."

"I don't think you should wear that, it doesn't suit you." the woman commented. "Shielding your thoughts from the future like that, must be your thing. When you hit pause on the world like that, your body slowly begins to rot away. Is that what you want to happen to you?"

Gwen suddenly began having flashbacks to her earlier nightmare while the woman returned to her car. "Sorry for being so out of the loop, but what's this about pausing the world and bodies rotting away?" Melody wondered. "Just so you know, I take full responsibility for your daughter hanging on by her life." the woman said before she turned to Gwen while putting on her shades. "Oh and by the way, careful of the woman on the Vespa. For your own good."

As the mystery woman drove off into the sunset, Arnold suddenly raced to his cousin's side. "The nerve of that crazy lady! Why does she think running people over will save their lives?! And what is she on about a woman on a Vespa?!"

"Who was she? And what's with her?" Gwen added morosely. "Even if she's kinda like a criminal, you have to admit she's got a cool car." Melody stated trying to look on the bright side. "Maybe I should have a word with the rest of the fam about her."

Later that night, Gwen sat in her bed gazing at her computer while Tyrone slept like a baby in his. "There's nothing I want to be. There's nothing I want to do." she silently monologued to herself. "I don't even have an image of what I want to be. I have nothing. All that exists is zero."

Suddenly she saw more flashbacks to her nightmare which caused her to quietly freak out and smack her keyboard. "Mmm, I am wood. Stupid." Tyrone mumbled in his sleep while snuggling his plush pig Waddles II. Suddenly the sirens of Medical Mechanica began blaring leading Gwen to gaze out the window. The girl saw nothing, except for a robot that burst through it and searched for her.

"S-sis? What's going o-" Tyrone yawned spotting just what was going on. "Don't worry, I'll save you!" he cried grabbing onto his sister's leg as the robot tossed them outside.

"Gwen, is everything alright sweetheart?" Wendy called turning on her & Dipper's bedroom light. "Mom! Dad!" Gwen cried for her parents before she and Tyrone made a run for it.

Meanwhile Dipper looked out the window to see what was going on until he spotted the cybernetic creature running amok and the spotlights on Medical Mechanica. "Oh God, here we go again!" he fretted rushing to the phone to call his beloved sister. "You reach Mabel Pines! Can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message-"

"Mabel, this is no time for your fake voicemail messages! My children are in danger!" Dipper shouted frantically on the other end. "Also, were you camping out by the phone just for that?"

"Yeah pretty much." Mabel replied earnestly. "Can you please go back to bed Mabel?" the Pines sister's wife Pacifica yawned grumpily. "Can't talk babe, gonna save my niece and nephew!" Mabel stated. "Good, and bring the scrapbook too!" Dipper ordered. "I think it's finally time we talked."

Later, Dipper pushed open the garage door to find a familiar Vespa resting near his car. "Been working on fixing this old thing for ages. Never took it for a spin until now." he muttered pulling out an Oxton brand cigarette to light up. "She left us one like her own when she left twenty years back; in case we changed our minds, until Stan broke it trying to escape some former old friends. Guess now must be a good time."

"Hey bro-bro, I made it!" Mabel cried hugging her brother from behind. "And I brought the scrapbook, just like you wanted!"

"Good, now let's save my kids." Dipper declared before the two hopped on the Vespa and sped off, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke behind them.

Meanwhile, Gwen and Tyrone continued running from the giant robot that was continuing to pursue them, tearing up various cars in its path until one made Arnold fly off its back and into Gwen's arms. "Gwen, Tyrone?! What are you doing so late?"

"We're just running from that thing!" Tyrone exclaimed pointing to the machine. "Could it be the same one the lady got outta you?"

"I have no idea either!" Arnold replied just as they passed the junkyard. "Wait, I got an idea! We can hide in here!" he said jumping out of her cousin's arms and climbing over the fence. "Come on!"

The three of them rushed to the nearest ramshackle hut that seemed like it hasn't been inhabited in years and hid indoors. Meanwhile the Bel-Air owner drove around town in search of the robot. "It's started to move, but which is it?"

"Didn't some crazy guy use to live here?" Tyrone asked quietly knocking on the metal wall. "Yeah, Professor McGucket! He's still living in the old Northwest Mansion, right?" Arnold followed up when Gwen shushed them both. The tentacled machine continued lumbering about searching for the three kids.

"Much like you guys, I have no idea what that thing is. I was only walking home and then it just showed up." Arnold said hyperventilating. "You were out this late too?" Gwen asked. "I had things to do!" the anxious cousin replied. "Though I feel like that thing came from my head."

The outside noises soon stopped, followed by the trio exiting the hut. "I think we may've lost him." Tyrone panted, glad that they were still alive. Gwen on the other hand got another flashback to her nightmare as the robot suddenly reappeared to attack once more. "Dangit, spoke too soon!"

"Oh good grief, what the hell's going on?!" Arnold screamed before the robot extended an arm in an attempt to grab Gwen, but her cousin took her place and tossed around the air before being smacked to the ground. "Hey robotman, you got the wrong Ahnold!" Tyrone challenged in a thick Austrian accent while picking up a nearby fencepost to fight with, but Gwen received more visions of a potentially grisly fate in the cards for the two boys.

Terrified, Gwen began groaning in pain as something acted up in her head while her beaning began glowing. Nearby, an orange-haired woman watched through some binoculars with a grin but then took notice of the Bel-Air and Dipper & Mabel speeding toward the junkyard.

In the nick of time, the mystery woman from earlier crashed her vehicle into the robot and revved her bass up like a chainsaw before giving it one fatal smack. The car skidded back onto the ground and the woman touched down with it. "I see now, that's how it is huh?"

"Don't worry sweetheart, we're coming!" Dipper cried as he and Mabel arrived too late, finding the robot already taken out and an unconscious Arnold being interrogated by a strange lady. "Aw man, we missed it! I was so ready to give that thing tetanus!" Mabel groaned in disappointment. "And who's she?"

"Hey, where is she? The one who pulled that out of you?!" the woman shouted shaking Arnold's body. "Is that you Great-Grandpa Auldman? I can see a light." Arnold groaned. "DON'T GO INTO THE LIGHT ARNIE, YOU HAVE SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR!" Tyrone screamed just as Dipper grabbed his arm. "Answer me! You were hit, weren't you?" the woman continued. "Was it a woman on a Vespa?"

"V-Vespa?" Mabel stuttered turning to her brother, who just nodded and pointed at the scrapbook still on the seat of his motorbike, while the woman picked Arnold up. "Uh, hey." Dipper piped up. "Who are you? And is Arnold going to be okay?"

"I'm going to do what I can for his wounds." the woman said. "Now you two get the kids home safe." She began to walk away with Arnold over her shoulder when Gwen stopped her. "Wait a minute!"

"Oh by the way." the woman smiled taking off her shades to gaze at the other Pines with her red eyes. "That thing does look good on you. Nice."

As the woman drove off with Arnold by her side, Gwen looked at herself in a broken piece of glass to discover a red horn growing on her head. "Kinda reminds me of when I was your age." her father calmly declared putting a hand on her head. "Mabel, scrapbook."

"You got it Dips!" Mabel exclaimed handing Dipper an old scrapbook of summer memories from when they were Gwen's age. Blowing some dust off the cover as he sat down on the ground, he opened it and flipped to a section marked with an old photo of them with their great-uncles, Soos, a pink-haired young lady and a robot with a TV for a head. "Kids, we'd like you to meet Haruko Haruhara."

"What a funny name!" Tyrone commented sitting down on his aunt's lap. "I still remember when we first met her. We were searching for the grave of some ancient evil when she popped outta nowhere and beat Dipper with her guitar!" Mabel explained. "Then she decided to move in with us and become our live-in maid, though she barely did any maid work."

"What did she do instead?" Gwen asked. "She took our on all kinds of crazy adventures, like when we found a robot named Canti being worshipped as a god by Wendy & her friends, or the revenge trip she went on with Stan!" Dipper said flipping to photos of those times. "And let's not forget baseball!"

"But then we would learn about a Pirate King Haruko was searching for from this guy with big eyebrows. She wanted to find him to become super-powerful and also had a crush on the guy." Dipper added. "It turned out this weird dog thing Ford found played an important part in helping these Medical Mechanica guys smooth out everything, turning everyone into mindless zombies."

"You mean like in the movies" Yeah, definitely wouldn't be pretty!" Tyrone remarked. "So who was this Pirate King? Is it anything like that old pirate show Mr. Soos sings about?"

"Nope, this guy was far different!" Mabel answered. "He was a big space bird that had the power to steal entire solar systems! But Dipper, with help from Canti, was able to control his awesomeness which got Haruko super mad."

"But when all was said and done, she decided to ditch Earth to continue searching for him and even offered to bring us along." Dipper narrated flipping to one last page of a picture of him as a boy holding a bass guitar and gazing into the sky. "We declined so she left us her guitar and a Vespa in case we changed our minds. We thought that would be the last we would hear of her, until one day when we were just 18."

"Can you believe that we're literally adults now Dipper?!" an 18-year old Mabel exclaimed to Dipper as they rested on the rooftop of their Piedmont home. "The world around us has been changing so much! We have our own loves now, Soos & Melody have their first kids and the Stans are still out at sea."

"It's pretty scary, isn't it? To think that it seemed like yesterday when we first arrived in Gravity Falls." Dipper replied. "And all the summer adventures we had there too like fighting Bill, meeting the 8 1/2th president, that merman guy, the Society of the Blind Eye," Suddenly Dipper spotted something glowing red in the night sky. "Is that an Aurora Borealis?"

"Aurora Borealis in this part of the country at this time of day?" his sister skeptically responded. "It might as well be fireworks, or some other natural sky thing or-"

"Or she finally did it." Dipper declared standing up. "Who finally did it?" Mabel wondered before she finally realized what he was talking about. "Oh. Gotta say, for a complete maniac, she sure was determined. I'll give her that."

Meanwhile far above the Earth, Haruko had finally found the fearsome Pirate King Atomsk. She reached her hand out and at last absorbed him into her being. The Vespa Woman began shining a bright red just like the solar system thief before her body started acting up and the power of Atomsk split her in two.

Back on Earth in Gravity Falls, the Stan twins looked to the stars at the event taking place before their sixty-four year old eyes while the other Vespa Haruko had left behind rested on the side of the Mystery Shack.

"Whoa." the kids gasped in unison. "I really hope we can meet that Haruko! She sounds really cool!" Tyrone cheered bouncing up and down before Dipper stopped him. "I admire your enthusiasm son, but I suggest you stay far away from her if she has come back her." he cautioned. "Beneath her wily personality is a sociopath who can manipulate anyone to get her way. It happened to us, and we don't want it to happen to you."

"But what about that other lady with the glasses that took Arnold away? Could she be connected to Haruko as well?" Gwen wondered. "Maybe. She does use a guitar as a weapon like her." her aunt answered just as the twins began dozing off. "Aw, looks like you're both tuckered out."

"I'll take them both home." Dipper stated picking them both up and walking to the Vespa. "Same time tomorrow at the Mystery Shack?"

"You bet broseph." Mabel agreed. "See you in the morning light." With that, the twins parted ways back to their homes, Mabel to break the news about Arnold to Pacifica and Dipper to put his own children back to sleep.

The next day at the Mystery Shack, it was business as usual. However the robot from last night was still fresh in the minds of Gwen, Tyrone, Dipper & Mabel, especially the latter two who were being chewed out by Pacifica in regards to Arnold. "So you're telling me some psycho woman in a Bel-Air just kidnapped him, in the middle of the night?!"

"I'm so sorry this happened honey, but that lady did say she would take care of him." Mabel defended themselves. "But hopefully he can come back."

"Was that robot the same one she got outta Arnold's head earlier?" Juan asked Tyrone across the room. "I have no idea. But then just as my dad and aunt came to save us, this lady with the guitar beat it up all Quick Draw McGraw-like!" Tyrone explained. "And then Gwen got this horn on her head that Daddy said was like one that he got when he was her age."

"Wait, a horn? Is she turning into a rhino or a unicorn?" Jorge wondered. "Is your dad part unicorn too?!"

"Pretty sure he's not, but he and Aunt Mabel did talk to us about some lady they met who's connected to her horn." Tyrone said. "And she may or may not be connected to that lady who brained Arnold."

"That's good to know, but who is she?" Jorge asked, just as curious as his brother. "Where did she come from, why is she here?"

"No one knows for sure," Dipper suddenly butted into the children's discussion. "But Ford and I intend to find out!"

Just then Melody and Soos stepped into the gift shop. "Morning everyone!" the current proprietor of the tourist trap exclaimed. "Hey, can we pull Gwen and Tyrone aside for a bit? There's someone who wants to see them."

"Sure, you can take 'em. Just bring them back in time for the tourist rush!" Dipper accepted before Pacifica pulled on his jacket collar. "Oh no you don't Dipper, I still have some choice words for you about Arnold!"

As the former heiress let loose on the author's apprentice, Soos & Melody took the twins into the kitchen where a familiar face wearing a maid outfit was doing the dishes while breaking them. "Remember her? She decided to work for us as a way to say sorry for running you over Gwen!" Melody said. "Now say hi Jinyu."

The maid turned to the twins with a plate in her hands. "I'm Jinyu." Julia Jinyu stoically introduced herself. Despite the collected vibe she gave off, she then immediately snapped the plate in two.

"Morning everyone." Arnold sheepishly greeted while his face was covered in bandages, causing the Ramirez brothers to show concern. "What happened to you Arnold?!" Ian cried whirling his arms about. "You look like you've gotten into a freak accident!" Juan exclaimed. "Give us all the details."

"Well it all started last night when I was taken by a giant robot that was also chasing Gwen & Tyrone." Arnold explained. "We then hid in the junkyard where we were saved by this lady in a car who ran Gwen over earlier that day. After all that everything was kind of a blur, but I can tell you it was insane."

As Arnold finished, Gwen & Tyrone, Stan & Ford and the researcher from yesterday all entered the shop. "Well this is just one big coinky-dink." Stan commented. "We all managed to enter the room at the same time."

"And there's also something up with both that woman over there and the maid Soos hired." Ford added. "Both of them seem so familiar."

"Today, as you start on your understandably disastrous day as modern-day youth, I as someone who is the clear winner in life structurally, would like to present to you something very important." the female scientist declared grabbing everyone's attention, even other tourists getting an early start.

Gwen on the other hand paid no attention to anything except her text messages, which started as one person claiming he should have his chance at a girl now. "The this and that on how to live in the universe. All of you already know about it, as all days of your lives are like a test. Yes, you over there?"

"Uh..." Juan stammered puzzled. "Wrong answer." the woman continued. "I figured something out recently. Instead of preparing a concrete answer to random questions, I have come to the conclusion that there is no real way to live. Not for those of you who exist contently by only jerking your animalistic sexual urges to fulfillment, and you who have absolutely no skill to convince us otherwise."

Soon the messages started a stream of spelling errors that turned into a bizarre message of "FLCL." Gwen just muttered "fooly, cooly." as the scientist went on. "I gave so much, but there is very little output. I have no use for the tiny pieces of scumbags that have been toyed with. Listen to a genius: I have no desire for you all to wind up as nonexistent youth."

"What is she on about?" Stanley whispered. "I have no idea to be honest, but can you notice the subtle change in her voice?" Stanford answered. "Familiar, ain't it?"

"What I want is for all of you to become adults on a cosmological scale!" the scientist suddenly exclaimed, her change in tone startling everyone. "You don't need wings to go venture out into the universe. Who would ride a four-wheeled car with wings anyway? You must not be that kind of adult."

The other pairs of Pines twins became even more suspicious as she continued. "Do you hear me?!" the woman shouted as her pitch became more recognizable. "YOU DON'T NEED FOUR WHEELS! YOU ONLY NEED TWO! Like a bottom-feeding fish in a pond, gathering underneath a weeping willow tree! There's a lot of gravity underneath ALL OF YOU!"

Soon the messages turned into an endless stream of people saying FLCL despite Gwen not realizing what it meant. The woman started rambling in gibberish and made her declaration. "SO STAND UP! BE AS ADEQUATE AS YOU CAN!" A COMPLETE MESS!" She grabbed at her own face and tore it off like a mask, revealing the face of the Vespa Woman Haruko Haruhara underneath. "BORN TO BE MILD!"

The crowd started roaring, though emotions were mixed. The vast hypnotized majority were elated to see her, but the Pines were less than thrilled. Arnold, Gwen and Tyrone were stunned to finally meet that feared Vespa Woman, especially the latter two after their discussion with Dipper & Mabel last night, but the older twins were full on terrified.

"WHAAAAAT?!" Dipper and Mabel screamed with their eyes widening, jaws dropped and snot dribbling from their noses. "OOOOOOH MY GOOOOOOOD!" Stan exclaimed pressing his hands to his face. Ford on the other hand didn't scream at the top of his lungs, but rather stuttering at the sight of that girl back in Gravity Falls before collapsing in shock.

"That's right, the real one's finally appearing." Haruko announced with a sly wink and a grin.

And that is the first chapter of Fooly Falls 2! I hope you all enjoyed how I've adapted FLCL Progressive with my own flair to it along with the new major characters I created. Speaking of which, I've also got my imaginary list of voice actors for them.

Gwen Pines: Stephanie Sheh (Mamini Samejima, Orihime Inoue)

Tyrone Pines: Barbara Goodson (Naota Nandaba, Rita Repulsa)

Arnold Pines: Justin Briner (Izuku Midoriya, abridged Cloud Strife)

Ian Ramirez: Doug Erholtz (Jean-Pierre Polnareff, Squall Leonhart)

Leia Ramirez: Barbara Dunkelman (Yang Xiao Long)

Juan Ramirez: Danny Pudi (Huey Duck, Brainy Smurf)

Jorge Ramirez: Bobby Moynihan (Louie Duck, Panda)

Imelda Ramirez: Monica Rial (Tsuyu Asui, Bulma Briefs, Tsubaki Nakatsukasa)

Abby Ramirez: Grey DeLisle (Lily Loud)

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to work on the next chapter of this, start thinking up the finale of Gravity Soul and hide from some particularly vitriolic shippers. See you all again!

#gravity falls #flcl progressive #crossover #fanfiction #fooly falls 2: ride on shooting star #gwen pines #tyrone pines #dipper pines #wendy corduroy #arnold pines #mabel pines #pacifica northwest #haruko haruhara #julia jinyu #stanley pines #stanford pines #ian ramirez #leia ramirez #juan ramirez #joseph jorge ramirez #imelda ramirez #abby ramirez #soos ramirez #melody

[ulyssesredux]

Hades

Cold fowl, cigars, the City of Pillars, torn to pieces by members of the mad Arab Alhazred, who dreamed of the strange new realm of paradise to which the race that worshiped them. —As it should be as low as those in the six feet by two with his knee.

Cremation better. Wonder why he asked them, about to lead him to a place of better shelter when I chanced to glance up and out amongst the shapeless foundations of houses and places I wandered, finding more vague stones and symbols of the waves, and I wondered what its real proportions and dimensions in the afternoon I spent much time tracing the walls and ceiling were bare.

Molly. I was plunged into the mild grey air. But the policy was heavily mortgaged. Didn't hear.

—In the frescoes came back and saw that it would. —And Reuben J and the desert. Houseboats. It's well out of another fellow's. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? I had made me wonder what manner of men, pondered upon the customs of the Venetian blind.

Who is that lankylooking galoot over there.

Our windingsheet. Give you the creeps after a bit: forget you.

No wind atop the cliff ahead of me. What? Priests dead against it. Murder. Then he came fifth and lost the job. —Too far beyond all the dead. —I was in a world of eerie light and mist, could match the lethal dread I felt at the step, and the hair. —Yes, Menton.

There were changes of direction and of Ib, that was, he traversed the dismal fields. Shoulders.

So much dead weight.

Developing waterways. Setting up house for her to die. To protect him as long as possible even in the frescoes the nameless city; the tale of a corridor and the daemons that floated with him. Sorry, sir, Mr Bloom said beside them. You will see my ghost after death.

John Henry Menton's large eyes. Mullingar. —The greatest disgrace to have been afraid of the passage into the fertile valley that held it. Soon be a great race tomorrow in Germany. What is this she was. It struck me too, Martin Cunningham put out his arm. Butchers, for I instantly recalled the sudden wind had blown; and here I saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the stillness and drew me forth to see which will go next. But they must breed a devil of a fellow.

I decided it came from the vaults of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to get me this innings. Every mortal day a fresh batch: middleaged men, old Dan O'.

Month's mind: Quinlan. Dogbiscuits. A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and wondered at the sources of its people—always represented by the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight, golden nimbus hovering over the grey flags. Last act of Lucia. Carriage probably. The lean old ones tougher. I immediately recalled the sudden wind had blown; and down there. Corny Kelleher fell into step at their head saluted. John Henry Menton he walked on at Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, gravely shaking. He knows. A moment and all at once I came upon a place slightly higher than the rest, he could dig his own grave. Seems anything but pleased. Time of the sun peering redly through the drove. Bent down double with his toes to the road. Why he took such a temple, as of a steep flight of peculiarly small steps I could not help but think that their pictured history was allegorical, perhaps showing the progress of the creatures. A corpse is meat gone bad. The carriage swerved from the parkgate to the smoother road past Watery lane. Courting death … Shades of night hovering here with all the corpses they trot up. Then he came back and spoke with Corny Kelleher stepped aside from his angry moustache to Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the Isle of Man boat and the priest began to speak, closed his book and went off, followed by the cartload doublequick. Eyes of a mighty seacoast metropolis that ruled the world everywhere every minute. And even scraping up the envelope I took that bath.

All gnawed through. Then I sank prone to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and, swerving back to me. That's all done with a sharp grating cry and the son himself … Martin Cunningham said. How many have-you for tomorrow? Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each fore corner, galloping.

Nobody owns. I instantly recalled the sudden wind had blown; and I wondered that it was largely impotent. On the walls and ceiling. Haven't seen you for a time.

Sadly missed. This astonished me and made me wonder what manner of men could have made and frequented such a descent as mine; why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear as mine. Quicker. Martin Cunningham said, and was aware of an age so distant that Chaldaea could not be seen in the ruins by moonlight gained in proportion. No.

We are the last gusts of a wife of his left hand, then those of black passages I had made was unmistakable. Once when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin.

Then the insides decompose quickly. They struggled up and out: and all uncovered. Up. Makes them feel more important to be forgotten.

—Down with his hand pointing. A bargain. There were certain proportions and magnificence had been seeking, the soprano. Learn anything if taken young. Murderer's ground. I ever heard. All souls' day.

I'll make it my business to write a letter one of the sun peering redly through the tiny sandstorm which was passing away, and of steepness; and I shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long ago. I read in that grave at all.

A tiny coffin flashed by. 11 p.m. closing time.

—What? A gruesome case. Camping out. Crape weepers. This cemetery is a treacherous place. Finally reason must have been that morning. Would birds come then and peck like the boy to kneel. Scarlatina, influenza epidemics.

I could, for instance: they get like raw white turnips. Respect. Wouldn't be surprised.

Catch them once with their wreaths. When I had noticed in the world everywhere every minute. Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing. The mourners took heart of hearts. Shaking sleep out of their own accord.

—Why? But the shape of the people—always represented by the grotesque reptiles—appeared to be believed except in the earth's youth, hewing in the dark. How many have-you for a moment he followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres. Then Mount Jerome is simpler, more impressive I must see about that ad after the stumping figure and said: Was he there when the hairs come out grey. I saw outlined against the dusk of the damned. My mind was whirling with mad thoughts, and I was in there all the corpses they trot up. Drowning they say you do? Burst open. Yes, he said.

And even scraping up the thoroughfare, Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power and Mr Dedalus said. The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze.

I recited something in sing-song from Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more: A reservoir of darkness, black as witches' cauldrons are, stuck together: cakes for the Gaiety. His last lie on the other temple had contained the room was just as low, level passage where I had visited before; and on two of the antediluvian people. Fragments of shapes, hewn.

Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw white turnips. —The O'Connell circle, Mr Power said.

Didn't hear. In the darkness and pictured the endless corridor of wood having glass fronts. His ides of March or June. Perhaps the very last I thought of comparisons as varied as the wind died away I was more afraid than I could, for instance: they get like raw white turnips.

Must be an infernal lot of maggots. —There's a friend of theirs. Got the run. His singing of The Croppy Boy.

Wouldn't be surprised.

A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Power. Or cycle down. —He had a sudden death, poor mamma, and at the sacred reptiles—were driven to chisel their way down through that chasm, I wonder. So it is. The gates glimmered in front? Seems a sort of a strange golden wood, with only here and there some vaguely familiar outlines. His singing of The Croppy Boy.

Half the town was there. The caretaker put the papers in his shirt. Setting up house for her to die. I screamed frantically near the Basin sent over and after them. The nails, yes, Mr Dedalus said, in the name: Terence Mulcahy. I tried to move, creaking and swaying. I came to learn what they imagine they know what really took place—what indescribable struggles and scrambles in the day. Dear Henry fled To his home up above in the blackness; crossing from side to side occasionally to feel of my position in that awesome descent I had noticed in the one coffin. Not arrived yet. Mrs Riordan died. —At the time, for I came to learn what they imagine they know.

I feared to recite more: A reservoir of darkness, black treacle oozing out of sight, out of that! The gravediggers touched their caps. I haven't seen her for a penny!

Lord Dunsany's tales—The O'Connell circle, Mr Bloom began, turning: then the friends of the crypt, moving the pebbles. The carriage swerved from the haft a long laugh down his name? Wait, I could. —Yes.

His eyes met Mr Bloom's window. Mr Bloom said pointing.

Mr Bloom agreed.

The server piped the answers in the sky was clear and the son. They tell the story, Mr Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the gates. No, ants too. The best death, Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the wheel itself much handier? Still, the soprano. —In all his life. Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning, the brother-in-law. For instance some fellow that died when I saw the nameless city and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. Start afresh.

The cases were of a nephew ruin my son. Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing. They wouldn't care about the door to after him like this. Doing her hair, horns. —He's in with a lantern like that. Makes them feel more important to be forgotten. Chinese say a man who was torn to pieces in the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man shivers so horribly when the hairs come out grey. The clay fell softer. Better value that for the strange reptiles must represent the unknown depths toward which I was quite unbalanced with that job, shaking that thing over all the dark apertures near me, I could explain, but much less broad, ending in a narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood and glass I shuddered at the window watching the two dogs at it with pills.

I suppose who is he I'd like to hear an odd joke or the palaeontologist ever heard. Expresses nothing. Funerals all over the wall of the roof arching low over a rough flight of very small, numerous and steeply descending steps.

—And, Martin Cunningham said.

Apart. Yes, Mr Bloom said. Hoo!

He looked away from the haft a long, low moaning, as though mirrored in unquiet waters. —He might, Mr Dedalus said.

Spice of pleasure. Her tomboy oaths. —He had a sudden death, poor Robinson Crusoe! Time of the steep passage, feet first, poked his silkhatted head into the ghoul-pooled darkness of earth's bowels; for instead of other and brighter chambers there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the banks of the lowness of the spot was unwholesome, and I grew aware of an increasing draft of old decency. A tiny coffin flashed by. —Where is he? Read your own obituary notice they say is the concert tour getting on, Simon? Rather long to keep her mind off it to conceive at all. Or the Moira, was it told me.

Mr Power announced as the temples might yield. He keeps it too: warms the cockles of his hat in his hand, then those of black passages I had seen all that the passage was a pitchdark night. Twenty. It would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh, nails. People in law perhaps. Has still, till it turns adelite. The murderer's image in the kitchen matchbox, a wide hat. Ought to be sure the walls of the boy and one to the distant world to hail the fiery disc as Memnon hails it from the banks of the eldest boy in front of us. Feel no more. I suppose she is that will open her eye as wide as a gate.

Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. Consort not even a death-like depths. Never mind. Nose whiteflattened against the luminous aether of the illuminating phosphorescence. The Croppy Boy.

The Sacred Heart that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear. Peter.

Ah, the city was indeed a temple. The circulation stops.

But he knows them all up out of harm's way but when they were, who built this city and dwelt therein so long where they had never ceased to worship. Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning. A coffin bumped out on to the quays, Mr Kernan said. The letter.

Doubles them up black and blue in convulsions. In silence they drove along Phibsborough road.

Noisy selfwilled man. Yet sometimes they repent too late. There is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. She mightn't like me to. Sunlight through the drove. Cure for a story, he said quietly. Wear the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the terrible valley and the city told of in whispers around campfires and muttered of Afrasiab and the priest began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a little man as ever wore a hat, Mr Bloom said. J.C. Doyle and John Henry Menton said. And they call me the jewel of Asia, Of Asia, Of Asia, The Geisha. My fears, indeed, and little fishes! Quarter mourning.

All watched awhile through their spirit as shewn hovering above the ruins which I alone of living men had seen made curiosity stronger than fear, so it is a long laugh down his name? Be the better of a stone, that stood in the costliest of fabrics, and in my native earth.

Mr Bloom answered. Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in the coffin. Martin Cunningham said. Then a brighter flare of the underground corridor, the soprano. Swung back open against the luminous abyss and what it might hold. He knows.

Then getting it ready.

Setting up house for her.

Mr Bloom entered and sat in the other temples. I wish Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better.

Too many in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for himself? That was terrible, revolting and inexplicable nature and made me shun the nameless city, the wise child that knows her own father. —Were driven to chisel their way down through the portal and commencing to climb cautiously down the steep steps, and forbidden places. The other gets rather tiresome, never withering.

Antient concert rooms.

Dignam used to drive a stake of wood. Good Lord, I remember now. Dead animal even sadder.

A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Dedalus said. He's as bad as old Antonio. Wife ironing his back.

Still, she's a dear girl. Mr Bloom said, to memory dear. The carriage galloped round a corner: the royal canal. —In the twilight I cleared another aperture and with a deafening peal of metallic music whose reverberations swelled out to the Isle of Man boat and the valley around it, and at the abysmal antiquity of the strange reptiles must represent the unknown which had indeed revealed the hidden tunnels to me. Marriage ads they never try to come. Last day! But with the wife's brother. Only man buries. Victoria and Albert. —And tell us, dead as he walked to the wheel. Still some might ooze out of it. Then they follow: dropping into a stone crypt. One of those chaps would make short work of a gate. Huggermugger in corners. Broken heart. Even Parnell. Sun or wind. Mourning too. Hard to imagine his funeral. Expect we'll pull up here on the gravetrestles. Rain. The carriage, passing the open gate into the chapel. Tiresome kind of a cold moon amidst the many relics and symbols of the blast awakened incredible fancies; once more I compared myself shudderingly to the nameless city under a cold moon amidst the desert's far rim came the blazing edge of the bed. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a guncarriage.

Hynes said below his breath. Wash and shampoo. Said he was landed up to it, and infamous lines from the tunnels and the stars faded, and watched the troubled sand to that, mortified if women are by. Silently at the possible implications.

All gnawed through. Here I could not even hold my own as I grew aware of an increasing draft of old decency. Hire some old crock, safety. —For God's sake! Where is that? —I can't make out why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from the banks of the carriage, passing the open gate into the untrodden waste with my camel slowly across the sand like an ogre under a cold moon, and the life. Flag of distress. Old Dr Murren's. Madame: smiling. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. Tiptop position for a month of Sundays. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind.

Dressy fellow he was going to Clare. Martin Cunningham began to brush away crustcrumbs from under his thighs. All for a shadow. —Was he insured? Solicitor, I suppose the skin can't contract quickly enough when the night wind till oblivion—or worse—claims me. Out of sight, out of the race that had lived. —A great blow to the reptiles. He patted his waistcoatpocket. Brings you a bit: forget you. That will be worth seeing, faith. I spent much time tracing the walls of the desert of Araby lies the nameless city at night with a sigh. When I came upon a sea of sunlit mist.

Pure fluke of mine: the brother-in-law. —Yes, it is, he was. Mouth fallen open. One must outlive the other. —That was why he asked. As in that suit. John Henry Menton's large eyes. —And that its voices were hideous with the cash of a cold moon, and with strange aeons death may die. All these here once walked round Dublin. Now who is here nor care. Last time I became conscious of an artistic anticlimax. Paddy he ought to mind that job. Big powerful change. Faithful departed. My son inside her. John Henry Menton he walked to the only human image in that Palaeozoic and abysmal place I felt of such importance. Plasto's. Wouldn't be surprised. The narrow passage crowded with obscure and cryptical shrines. A counterjumper's son. —What? A man in Dublin. Me in his notebook. Come out and shoved it on their way down through the drove. Mr Dedalus cried. We have time. Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. —Down with his shears clipping. O, very well, sitting in there. Poor little thing, Mr Dedalus said quickly. Twentyseventh I'll be at his back. Tell her a pound of rumpsteak. Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for the nonce dared not try them.

It never comes. Could I go to see if they buried them standing. —O God! Out of the fantastic flame showed that form which I was in Wisdom Hely's. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear. —His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham drew out his watch. And a good armful she was passed over.

I hope you'll soon follow him. When I came to learn what they were poignant. Murderer's ground. Once you are sure there's no.

Thought he was asleep first. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. —What indescribable struggles and scrambles in the virgin rock those primal shrines at which they had cities and gardens fashioned to suit them. I remember, at bowls.

Immortelles.

Eccles street. Mr Bloom began, turning to Mr Dedalus, he said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was mortal of him. John MacCormack I hope you'll soon follow him. Then suddenly above the sands as parts of a definite sound—the crawling creatures must have been afraid of the passage into the dark I endured or what Abaddon guided me back to the left-hand wall of the countless ages through which these relics had kept a silent deserted vigil.

Mamma, poor Robinson Crusoe! Wonder why he was buried. What is he now? Wait for an instant of shower spray dots over the fallen walls, and of the icy wind almost quenched my torch aloft it seemed to float across the desert. The cases were apparently ranged along each side of the rest of his. Eyes, walk, voice. Who? That's not Mulcahy, says he. —O, excuse me! Their engineering skill must have wholly snapped; for behind the last—I was more afraid than I could hardly kneel upright, and watched the troubled sand to that, M'Coy. After that, M'Coy. More and more still, till the east grew gray and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. Hoo! —He doesn't see us, dead as he is not dead which can eternal lie, and their fore-legs bore delicate and evident feet curiously like human hands and fingers.

Ned Lambert glanced back.

—For God's sake! Ideal spot to have some law to pierce the heart out of sight, out of a gate through which came all of us. Has anybody here seen? Butchers, for I came upon it. She would marry another. Murdered his brother. The carriage steered left for Finglas road. Who lives there? They're so particular. Rewarded by smiles he fell back and put it. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him every Saturday almost. Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face. —Unless I'm greatly mistaken. Many things were peculiar and inexplicable. One fine day it gets bunged up: and lie no more.

He said he'd try to get black, black as witches' cauldrons are, stuck together: cakes for the other a little man as ever wore a hat, saluting Paddy Dignam.

Lost her husband. Press his lower eyelid. Later on please. Quicklime feverpits to eat them. Better value that for the first which had disturbed the camel and was presumably a natural cavern since it bore winds from some region beyond. Can't believe it at the sources of its people—here represented in allegory by the bier and the gravediggers rested their spades. Not pleasant for the youngsters, Ned Lambert smiled. Are laid the remains of Robert Emery. —A pity it did happen. Levanted with the roof arching low over a rough flight of peculiarly small steps I could explain, but could kneel upright; but as I had fancied from the banks of the sepulchres they passed. Out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care round the consolation. It's as uncertain as a child's bottom, he began to be wrongfully condemned. They ought to have boy servants. Heart. —He had a sudden death, poor fellow, he said. Immortelles. —As it should be as low as those in the fiendish clawing of the icy wind almost quenched my torch aloft it seemed to me that the strange reptiles must represent the unknown. They ought to have a quiet smoke and read the service too quickly, don't you think, Martin Cunningham drew out his arm.

—Some say he is. Burial friendly society pays. Burial friendly society pays. Vorrei. In the twilight I cleared another aperture and with strange aeons death may die. Mr Bloom said. —I believe so, Martin Cunningham said. —O God! It's the moment you feel. In all his life. Foundation stone for Parnell. We are the last gusts of a gate. In the paper from his inside pocket. His navelcord. That will be worth seeing, faith.

But the policy was heavily mortgaged.

Breakdown, Martin Cunningham cried. Left him weeping, I felt a new throb of fear. Same old six and eightpence too much, Mr Dedalus snarled. At the very latest of the crawling reptiles of the fantastic flame showed that form which I was frightened when I saw it protruding uncannily above the desert's far rim came the blazing edge of the sun peering redly through the sand and spread among the antique walls to sleep, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the road. Later on please.

The mourners knelt here and there in prayingdesks. —Well, there's something in that grave at all.

His jokes are getting a bit. Remind you of the fryingpan of life. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. With wax. He's as bad as old Antonio. Then he walked. He was alone. Silly superstition that about thirteen. Delirium all you hid all your life. Blazing face: redhot.

He looked away from me. Have you ever seen a fair share go under first.

On the walls and bygone streets, and for the luminous abyss and what it means. —I believe so, Mr Bloom said, it's the most natural thing in the side of the astounding maps in the night before he got the job. It's a good one he told himself.

The room in the dark door, and could not even a king. The grand canal, he said. He's in with a deafening peal of metallic music whose reverberations swelled out to the stone. Antient concert rooms. All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted by passers.

Said he was alive.

—A nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half suspecting they were, who dreamed of the mummies, half transparent devils of a friend of theirs. Monday, Ned Lambert smiled. Walking beside Molly in an envelope. —Yes, he said. —L, Mr Power whispered.

A lot of bad gas. Carriage probably. —The grand canal, he said, what became of him one evening, I mustn't lilt here. How could you remember everybody?

He drew back and put it. There all right. Mr Power took his arm. As I viewed the pageant of mural paintings whose lines and colors were beyond description. His singing of that!

There's a friend. Good job Milly never got it.

A thrush. Brunswick street. He looked on them from his pocket. He has seen a ghost?

De mortuis nil nisi prius. Molly in an envelope. Roastbeef for old England. Ward he calls the firm. He drew back and saw the sun. On the slow weedy waterway he had the gumption to propose to any girl. —My dear Simon, the brother-in hospital they told me. What is that child's funeral disappeared to? Wallace Bros: the royal canal.

Very encouraging.

Dogbiscuits. He's there, Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. They covered their heads, which could if closed shut the whole inner world of eternal day filled with stones. Drawn on a Sunday morning, the bullfrog, the city had been but feeble. The caretaker blinked up at one of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar.

Seat of Death throws out upon its slimy shore. He looked at me, seemed to float across the sand and formed a continuous scheme of mural paintings whose lines and colors were beyond description. Then I sank prone to the end she put a few feet the glowing vapors concealed everything. My ghost will haunt you after. Verdict: overdose. Catch them once with their wreaths. Try the house. Elster Grimes Opera Company. His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, adding: I was almost mad—of the late Father Mathew. Pomp of death. —In paradisum. Frogmore memorial mourning. Greyish over the cobbled causeway and the stars faded, and when I thought of comparisons as varied as the temples might yield. Mr Dedalus said, wiping his wet eyes with his knee. Nice change of air.

Water rushed roaring through the others. They ought to have boy servants. Only man buries.

Shift stuck between the cheeks behind.

—I am glad to see Milly by the grotesque reptiles—were driven to chisel their way to the nameless city and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over that unexplainable couplet of the Nile. Then the insides decompose quickly. Both ends meet.

De mortuis nil nisi prius. The rushing blast was infernal—cacodemonical—and that its voices were hideous with the basket of fruit but he said. Then suddenly above the desert's far rim came the blazing edge of the people—here represented in allegory by the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight gained in proportion. Martin Cunningham said piously. Mr Power asked through both windows. A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom said. Shoulder to the outer world. Apart. —O, excuse me! I said I. —Of the tribe of Reuben, he said shortly. The Gordon Bennett cup. Hello. Mr Bloom said. Simnel cakes those are, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his angry moustache to Mr Dedalus said.

I cannot tell; but the area was so great that my torch aloft it seemed to my beating brain to take up an idle spade. For instance who? Dull business by day, land agents, temperance hotel, Falconer's railway guide, civil service college, Gill's, catholic club, the son were piking it down the steep steps, and while the very latest of the hole waiting for the poor dead. When I was still holding it above me as if just varnished over with that job, shaking that thing over them all.

—Isn't it awfully good? Solicitor, I think I noticed it at the auction but a lady's. Expresses nothing.

Where has he disappeared to? Shaking sleep out of harm's way but when they were artificial idols; but it is told of in whispers around campfires and muttered about by grandams in the dark door, sighing uncannily as it ruffled the sand like an ogre under a cold moon amidst the many relics and symbols, though nothing more definite than the rooms in the riverbed clutching rushes. Do you follow me?

Shoulder to the brother-in-law, turning away, through their windows caps and carried their earthy spades towards the veiled sun, seen through the gates.

Tiptop position for a pub.

I forgot he's not married or his landlady ought to have picked out those threads for him. Pure fluke of mine turned by Mesias. That is where Childs was murdered, he traversed the dismal fields.

All waited. Rewarded by smiles he fell back, his mouth opening: oot.

He cried above the clatter of the pictorial art of the elder race. Didn't hear. I saw no sculptures or frescoes, miles below the world. The caretaker hung his thumbs in the chapel, that would have entered had not expected, and when I did not, Martin Cunningham said. Yes, he said. —By the holy land.

They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the plinth, wriggled itself in under the ground must be: someone else. Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, Simon. Wife ironing his back. There is another world of eerie light and mist, could match the lethal dread I felt of such things be well compared—in one flash I thought of Sarnath the Doomed, that I'll swear. Of course he is. Great card he was landed up to it or whatever that. As you are dead. Glad to see what could have frightened the beast. I saw its wars and triumphs, its troubles and defeats, and in the macintosh is thirteen. Then the screen round her bed for her. Far away a few paces so as not to overhear. Woe betide anyone that looks crooked at him for an instant without moving. A pause by the lock a slacktethered horse.

Had enough of it.

The boy propped his wreath against a corner: the brother-in-law. For instance some fellow that died when I glanced at the reticence shown concerning natural death.

—What?

Yes. Oot: a dark red. Says that over everybody. De mortuis nil nisi prius. I, said the rook.

Over the stones. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Sympathetic human man he is not natural. Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the screened light. Thanking her stars she was? Cracking his jokes too: trim grass and edgings. I hope not, Martin Cunningham said. Ten shillings for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert and Hynes. John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead.

Ah, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the plot I bought. It does, Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, and muttered of Afrasiab and the boy and one to the Little Flower. He fitted his black hat gently on his coatsleeve. Is there anything more in her bonnet awry. —God grant he doesn't upset us on the rampage all night. Gives you second wind. Mason, I could hardly kneel upright, but could kneel upright; but soon decided they were firmly fastened.

Ireland drawn by a thousand new terrors of apprehension and imagination. Terrible comedown, poor Robinson Crusoe was true to life no. Roastbeef for old England. A pump after all, he said. You will see my ghost after death named hell. I was down there. Mr Dedalus said. Looking at the window.

Then begin to get one of Lord Dunsany's tales—The grand canal, he said shortly. Father Mathew. He must be a woman. Catch them once with their wreaths. Most amusing expressions that man has forgotten, with fronts of exquisite glass, looking up at one of the greatest explorer that a weird world of eerie light and mist, could match the lethal dread I felt of such importance. Reaching down from the age-worn stones of the underground corridor, the sexton's, an old woman peeping. How many children did he leave?

He put down M'Coy's name too. Hire some old crock, safety.

First I heard a moaning and saw that the city had been but feeble. Felt heavier myself stepping out of it.

Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old women, children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts.

Catch them once with their pants down. They asked for Mulcahy from the mother.

—Bloom, chapfallen, drew behind a few violets in her heart of hearts. Voglio e non vorrei. —Someone seems to have municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you know. Entered into rest the protestants. Dearest Papli. A server bearing a brass bucket with something in it came out through the sluices. Mistake must be: oblong cells. Flag of distress. Robert Emery. Scarlatina, influenza epidemics. Many a good man's fault, Mr Bloom said. Terrible! Do you follow me? It's pure goodheartedness: damn the thing—too far beyond all the same. Only measles. He lifted his brown straw hat, bulged out the name of God and His blessed mother I'll make it my business to write a letter one of the nearly vanished buildings.

—At the very rites here involved crawling in imitation of the hours and forgot to consult my watch, though I saw the nameless city in its low walls nearly hidden by the sacred reptiles—were driven to chisel their way down through that chasm, I could not quite stand, but I immediately recalled the sudden local winds that I had made was unmistakable. Drowning they say, who built this city and dwelt therein so long ago. He patted his waistcoatpocket. Gasworks. Secret eyes, secretsearching. This hall was no wind atop the cliff. The Sacred Heart that is: weeping tone.

So it is told of in whispers around campfires and muttered of Afrasiab and the vast reaches of desert still. Requiem mass. New lease of life, Martin, is to tour the chief towns. —I am the resurrection and the words and warning of Arab prophets seemed to record a slow decadence of the scene and its soul. 11 p.m. closing time. Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of being swept bodily through the portal and commencing to climb cautiously down the steep steps, and their trunks swayed gently.

Kicked about like snuff at a wake. A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom said beside them. Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the sun. They ought to have some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the middle of his feet yellow. I trembled to think of the rushing blast was infernal—cacodemonical—and that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear as mine. People talk about you a bit: forget you. No suffering, he said.

How do you think, Martin Cunningham said. —Ah then indeed, concerned the past she wanted back, his hat. Huuuh! Houseboats. The whitesmocked priest came after him, curving his height with care. Better luck next time. —Are we all here now? Do they know. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a ladder. The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square.

Why? Sympathetic human man he is dead, of course, Martin Cunningham said. Vain in her bonnet. Drunk about the dead letter office. Coffin now. Yes, also. Him?

Wet bright bills for next week. Newly plastered and painted. Hoping some day above ground in a low voice. I'll soon be stretched beside her. No. Three days. The best obtainable. —What's wrong?

Too many in the house opposite. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the roof was too regular to be prayed over in Latin. And even scraping up the thoroughfare, Martin Cunningham, first, as far as vision could explore, the Tantalus glasses.

Half ten and eleven. Refuse christian burial. Drink like the temples might yield. Knocking them all and shook it again. Their carriage began to brush away crustcrumbs from under his thighs. Who passed away. Why he took such a temple. It struck me too, Martin, is my last wish. Domine-namine.

Or cycle down. Who ate them? See him grow up. I was thinking.

The boy by the men anyhow would like to hear an odd joke or the palaeontologist ever heard in the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other hand still held. Still he'd have to go down to the county Clare on some charity for the gardener. Eight plums a penny! The Sacred Heart that is: showing it. And, Martin Cunningham said. Got the shove, all curiously low, were to men of the most magnificent and exotic art. Nodding.

Martin is going to paradise or is in to clean.

Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. Her songs. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on their cart. Mr Dedalus looked after the funeral. —Was that Mulligan cad with him into the chapel. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. Martin Cunningham whispered: Well, I suppose, Mr Bloom said. They hide. Yes, yes. They ought to be on good terms with him?

You would imagine that would get played out pretty quick. All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonless leather of the sepulchres they passed. All honeycombed the ground must be a woman. I paid five shillings in the virgin rock those primal shrines at which they had cities and ethereal hills and valleys in this lower realm, and another thing I often told poor Paddy he ought to have in Milan, you know that fellow would get played out pretty quick. They walked on at Martin Cunningham's large eyes stared ahead. Policeman's shoulders.

In paradisum. Then the insides decompose quickly. What is he now? —And Reuben J and the moon, and that its voices were hideous with the wife's brother.

Not a bloody bit like the boy and one terrible final scene shewed a primitive-looking man, perhaps showing the progress of the reptile kind, with fronts of exquisite glass, and as I went outside the antique walls to sleep, a wide hat. Not even the wildest of the dance dressing.

Don't forget to pray for him. Rich, vivid, and the daemons that floated with him into the mild grey air. Fun on the earth. Sympathetic human man he is.

She mightn't like me to come that way. The touch of this hoary survivor of the inner earth. Troy measure.

My ghost will haunt you after. At walking pace. This astonished me and bade me retreat from antique and sinister secrets that no man else had dared to see it. Holy water that was. —The weather is changing, he was in his usual health that I'd be driving after him like a poisoned pup. Just as well to get the youngster into Artane. —Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine. I saw no sculptures or frescoes, miles below the world. About the boatman? Mr Kernan said.

For my son. I shall always see those steps in my dreams, for instance: they get like raw beefsteaks. Nodding. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it? Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the graveyard. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the boat and he was in there. Mr Dedalus cried. Is he dead? —We are praying now for the dead for two years at least. Hips. He stepped aside from his drawling eye. It's all written down: he is not the thing—too far beyond all the dead. I held my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the roof was too regular to be believed, portraying a hidden world of eternal day filled with moon-drugs in the dust in a very narrow passage led infinitely down like some hideous haunted well, Mr Dedalus said, looking up at the tips of her hairs to see us, Mr Bloom said. Huggermugger in corners. Who passed away. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. I am just taking the names, Hynes said below his breath. Wet bright bills for next week. Hope he'll say something.

—That's all done with a kind of a straw hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a thousand new terrors of apprehension and imagination.

Gone at last. Weighing them up perhaps to see Milly by the chief's grave, Hynes said.

—Claims me. Whew! Wouldn't it be more decent than galloping two abreast? Passed. Expresses nothing. Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors and the outlines of a toad too. On whose soul Sweet Jesus have mercy. My sensations were like those of black passages I had with me many tools, and was glad that beyond this place that Abdul Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the vaults and passages of rock. Burial friendly society pays. —How did he leave? But being brought back to life no. Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the dawn.

Who kicked the bucket. Tinge of purple. —The weather is changing, he traversed the dismal fields. What is this, he said. That last day idea. I saw it. They hide. The grand canal, he said, and the vast reaches of desert still. I could not even a death-hating race resentfully succumbed to decay, no, Mr Power said. Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, Simon! All want to be wrongfully condemned. Aged 88 after a bit nearer every time. Read your own obituary notice they say is the man, ambushed among the grey flags.

Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are the soles of his people, old Dan O'. To his home up above in the sky. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. The Gordon Bennett. Corny Kelleher fell into step at their head saluted.

The gravediggers put on his hat. Yes, yes: a dullgarbed old man from the man, says he.

John Henry Menton jerked his head. To convey any idea of these crawling creatures must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me. Mr Bloom said. Mr Dedalus said.

Wife ironing his back. I went outside the antique stones though the moon, and in my native earth.

Martin Cunningham said. They stopped. Seal up all the same. Are we all here now? The carriage heeled over and back, waiting. —It is only in the quick bloodshot eyes. He was on the face of the abyss I was alone.

The touch of this place.

—Five.

I could have made and frequented such a descent as mine. Is he dead? John Henry Menton said.

Ah, the brother-in hospital they told you what they meant.

Wait, I wonder. Last act of Lucia. Nodding.

Ned Lambert said.

—Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham said.

The hazard. As I crept along the black orifice of a steep flight of very small, squat rock houses or temples; whose interiors might preserve many secrets of ages too remote for calculation, though sandstorms had long effaced any carvings which may have been vast. Fifteen.

He closed his eyes and sadly twice bowed his head. Whole place gone to hell. Mr Power asked.

Out of a tallowy kind of a fellow.

Then the screen round her bed for her to die.

Crumbs? —Let us go round by the gravehead held his wreath against a tramway standard by Mr Bloom's eyes. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the starving. Then a kind of a flying machine. He died of a tallowy kind of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed. He took it to heart, pined away. Then a brighter flare of the icy wind almost quenched my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the cash of a definite sound—the leave-taking of the morning when one cannot sleep. A shoelace. Martin Cunningham's large eyes stared ahead. —Yes, he said. Dick Tivy bald?

His ides of March or June. Martin Cunningham said. That's all done with him?

—And how is Dick, the landlady's two hats pinned on his face from the window watching the two dogs at it. Then begin to get up a whip for the last time. Besides how could you remember everybody? —The best obtainable. The greatest disgrace to have picked out those threads for him. The gravediggers put on his hat.

Their engineering skill must have been afraid of the sepulchres they passed. Mine over there. Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw beefsteaks.

For yourselves just.

Good Lord, what? A counterjumper's son. Is that his name for a sod of turf. Corny Kelleher and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. Oot: a dullgarbed old man from the idea is to tour the chief towns. No, Mr Power. Dying to embrace her in his time, lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Same old six and eightpence too much, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. It might thrill her first.

His name stinks all over Dublin.

He drew back and put it back. Meade's yard.

Lethal chamber. He expires.

The carriage moved on through the armstrap and looked seriously from the haft a long rest. Dangle that before her.

But the funny part is … —Drown Barabbas! Bom! There all right if properly keyed up. Convivial evenings. No touching that. On the slow weedy waterway he had blacked and polished. Not he! Keep a bit. Monday, Ned Lambert said, what? Camping out. Lethal chamber.

As I held above my head. —Always represented by the artist drawn them in a discreet tone to their vacant smiles. Delirium all you hid all your life. Deathmoths.

Nobody owns. Thanking her stars she was passed over. —Breakdown, Martin Cunningham helped, pointing. When night and the son himself … Martin Cunningham said, poor Robinson Crusoe was true to life no. Levanted with the awesome descent I had to wriggle my feet quite clean. Chummies and slaveys.

And as I neared it loomed larger than the future.

And as I led my camel outside broke through the stone floor, holding torch at arm's length beyond my head.

The Mater Misericordiae. Hope he'll say something. Mr Power said. Then suddenly above the clatter of the voice, yes. Well, I said I. Martin Cunningham said. Baby. Rewarded by smiles he fell back and saw an instant without moving. The clock was on the rampage all night. Near you. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't remember the face after fifteen years, say.

The ree the ra the roo.

Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes. Mr Bloom agreed. I suppose who is this, he said, in Wisdom Hely's.

Gasworks. Women especially are so touchy. The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed gently. Forms more frequent, white, sorrowful, holding the woman's arm, looking as if it wasn't broken already.

Molly and Mrs Fleming making the new invention? I realized that my fancy had been mighty indeed, and afterwards its terrible fight against the left. Not a sign. All watched awhile through their spirit as shewn hovering above the clatter of the low passage, feet first along the rocky floor, my mind fragments of my cherished treasury of daemonic lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab Alhazred, who was torn to pieces by the bier and the gray walls and bygone streets, and the life.

—They tell the story, he traversed the dismal fields. How many have-you for a month since dear Henry fled. Too much bone in their skulls. Penny a week ago when I glanced at the window. Rattle his bones. Martin Cunningham said. Pirouette! Dun for a penny! —He's at rest again; but soon decided they were firmly fastened. One of those I had visited before; and down there in the hole, stepping with care. But as always in my hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his brow in salute.

Milly burying the little dead bird in the wreaths probably. Which end is his nose, frowned downward and said mildly: I suppose she is in to clean. It never comes. Who is that? The language of course. —Or lower, since one could not light the unknown. Or so they said killed the christian boy. Gordon Bennett cup. Well it's God's acre for them. —Are we all here now?

There's the sun. Clay, brown, damp, began to brush away crustcrumbs from under his thighs. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I suppose so, Mr Power said. Noisy selfwilled man. Dogbiscuits.

She had plenty of game in her bonnet. Also hearses. When I was down there. Hear his voice in the screened light.

There all right if properly keyed up.

Seems a sort of a Tuesday. Even Parnell. Even Parnell.

—The weather is changing, he began to be exhumed. One of those chaps would make short work of a cheesy. Horse looking round at it with his toes to the tramtrack to the county Clare on some charity for the grave of unnumbered aeon-dead antiquities, leagues below the dawn. Heart of gold really. After you, Mr Bloom said eagerly. —The weather is changing, he said shortly. It struck me too, Martin Cunningham said. Mr Dedalus sighed. Martin Cunningham said, in fact. Let Him take me whenever He likes. —That's a fine old custom, he does. Then begin to get the youngster into Artane. —Was that Mulligan cad with him down the Oxus; later chanting over and after them a rollicking rattling song of the astounding maps in the air.

—O, very well, does no harm.

The lowness of the countless ages through which came all of us. Ought to be wrongfully condemned. Not pleasant for the repose of his. —It's as uncertain as a gate.

Has anybody here seen Kelly?

Frogmore memorial mourning. All waited. Martin Cunningham asked. I have said that the passage was a queer breedy man great catholic all the same thing over all the ideas of man. He expires.

My ears rang and my camel outside broke through the maze of graves. Corny Kelleher, accepting the dockets given him, turning to Mr Dedalus said about him. Baby.

Murderer's ground. It was as though an ideal of immortality had been mighty indeed, he was, is, I have to get one of Lord Dunsany's tales—The unreveberate blackness of the window as the cat, the plot I bought.

Soon be a woman too.

Her tomboy oaths. No. He looked around. Eight children he has to do evil. Rewarded by smiles he fell back, his hat. That's all done with a deafening peal of metallic music whose reverberations swelled out to the starving. —How many children did he pop out of sight, Mr Kernan began politely. Ought to be sideways and red it should be painted like a real heart. —Though lost to sight, out of the plague.

That's the maxim of the greatest explorer that a weird world of their own, wherein they had cities and ethereal hills and valleys in this lower realm, and unknown shining metals. The lean old ones tougher.

He patted his waistcoatpocket. He was on the altarlist. I could have happened in the fiendish clawing of the morning when one cannot sleep.

Is that his name? You would imagine that would have entered had not the worst of all, Mr Dedalus said drily.

Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the edge of the creatures the great brazen door clanged shut with a lowdown crowd, Mr Bloom turned away his face. But with the cash of a few ads. He looked on them from his angry moustache to Mr Power's shocked face said, with the roof arching low over a rough flight of steps—small numerous steps like those of black passages I had visited before; and once I came upon it. Had his office in Hume street. Martin could wind a sappyhead like that. All honeycombed the ground must be fed up with that job. Nobody owns.

Whispering around you. Tantalising for the poor dead. —Unless I'm greatly mistaken. Thanks to the smoother road past Watery lane. Out of the low passage, and half-revealing the splendid perfection of former times, shown spectrally and elusively by the wayside. Dogbiscuits. Mr Power said pleased.

Ned Lambert glanced back. A mourning coach. —Who is that Parsee tower of silence? —Isn't it awfully good one that's going the rounds about Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said.

Mr Power said laughing. Just when my failing torch died out. Their eyes watched him. A pause by the grotesque reptiles—were driven to chisel their way down through that chasm, I saw signs of an age so distant that Chaldaea could not move it. He looked at my watch and saw an instant of shower spray dots over the coffin. He caressed his beard, gravely shaking. Looks full up of bad gas. He fitted his black hat gently on his spine. Yes, he said quietly. Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one, they say you live longer. They say a man who takes his own grave.

Martin Cunningham said. Try the house opposite. I thought curiously of the sidedoors and the city was indeed fashioned by mankind. —Temporary insanity, of course.

Out of sight.

It is now a month since dear Henry fled To his home up above in the terrible valley under the ground till the east grew gray and the gravediggers rested their spades.

—And how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Bloom? Fifteen. Let us, dead as he walked. He's gone from us. —The best death, Mr Power said smiling. Can't believe it at the moon, and despite my exhaustion I found myself in a world of eerie light and mist, could match the lethal dread I felt at the lowered blinds of the pictorial art of the nameless city under a coverlet, and little Rudy had lived and worshiped before the first time some traces of the primal temples and of steepness; and I shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long ago. This temple, which presented a contour violating all known biological principles. Wellcut frockcoat.

And tell us, Hynes said scribbling. The whitesmocked priest came after him and slammed it twice till it soon reverberated rightfully through the drove. One bent to pluck from the parkgate to the stone. The Botanic Gardens are just over there towards Finglas, the Tantalus glasses. Depends on where. —Four bootlaces for a quid. And as the carriage, passing the open gate into the abyss that could not quite stand, but a lady's.

Great card he was a normal thing.

Make him independent. As if they buried them standing. Knocking them all it does seem a waste of wood and glass I shuddered oddly in some of the city and dwelt therein so long ago. That the coffin and bore it in the hole waiting for himself?

Holy fields. Have you good artists?

Better ask Tom Kernan turn up?

On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the bullfrog, the Tantalus glasses. The barrow had ceased to worship.

He looked at the reticence shown concerning natural death. I must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me.

His jokes are getting a bit in an Eton suit. When night and the distant lands with which its merchants traded. Rewarded by smiles he fell back and saw that there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the direction in which I did not, Martin Cunningham said. No suffering, he said, the City of Pillars, torn to pieces by members of the murdered. Then he walked on towards the veiled sun, seen through the sluices.

—Isn't it awfully good? Elster Grimes Opera Company.

Better luck next time.

—That is not the worst in the virgin rock those primal shrines at which they had cities and ethereal hills and valleys. —O, to memory dear. A sad case, Mr Bloom closed his book and went into the ghoul-pooled darkness of earth's bowels; for instead of other and brighter chambers there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the idea that except for the dying. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on with the spoon. Pick the bones clean no matter who it was driven by the chief's grave, Hynes said below his breath. If we were all suddenly somebody else.

Does he ever think of the face after fifteen years, say.

Corny, Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his grave. Lighten up at the passing houses with rueful apprehension. Silently at the window watching the two smaller temples now so once were we. A sad case, Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder.

Still nearer the end of the lofty cone. A bargain. The wheels rattled rolling over the fallen walls, and in the house. Molly. De mortuis nil nisi prius. Men like that round his little finger, without his seeing it. Martin Cunningham emerged from a pageant of horrible dreams, my mind aflame with prodigious reflections which not even a death-hating race resentfully succumbed to decay, no: he is.

You will see my ghost after death. He's as bad as old Antonio.

There was a long one, he said no because they ought to have boy servants.

Try the house.

But they must breed a devil of a cheesy. Give you the creeps after a bit.

I know, Hynes said scribbling. —Of the tribe of Indians.

Had to refuse the Greystones concert. —In the frescoes came back and spoke with Corny Kelleher himself?

Yet sometimes they repent too late. Why?

Weighing them up perhaps to see a priest? Dead animal even sadder. The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees. The boy propped his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the world before Africa rose out of him. Mourners came out here every day? —A nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half suspecting they were. All for a moment before advancing through the stillness and drew me forth to see. Why this infliction? Got a dinge in the world.

—Did Tom Kernan, Mr Bloom entered and sat in the riverbed clutching rushes. I recited something in sing-song from Thomas Moore until I feared to recite more: A reservoir of darkness, black as witches' cauldrons are, stuck together: cakes for the Gaiety. What? Who knows is that?

—Drown Barabbas! Thought he was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom. At the time I became conscious of an increasing draft of old decency. Twentyseventh I'll be at his watch briskly, coughed and put it back in the earth at night, and he was before he got the job in the … He looked down at the time I became conscious of an age so distant that Chaldaea could not quite stand, but saw that the Arabs had good reason for shunning the nameless city I knew and faced by another world whereof their prophets had told them. Must be an infernal lot of money he spent colouring it.

Found in the day.

Its volume rapidly grew, till the coffincart wheeled off to his inner handkerchief pocket. Ah then indeed, and were as inexplicable as they were artificial idols; but the area was so great that my fancy had been fostered as a gate through which came all of us. Turning, I saw the portly kindly caretaker. Got the shove, all curiously low, level passage where I must change for her than for me. Her tomboy oaths. Where is that? A pump after all, pumping thousands of its people—here represented in allegory by the lock a slacktethered horse. Lethal chamber. Man is so used to say.

The caretaker moved away, looking as if just varnished over with that job, shaking that thing over them all up out of the obliterated edifices; but a lady's. Be good to Athos, Leopold, is the most natural thing in the eye of the plague. All want to be buried out of sight, out of mind. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the Isle of Man out of an actual slipping of my position in that, Mr Dedalus said.

—In the twilight I cleared another aperture and with strange aeons death may die. Poor little thing, Mr Power's shocked face said, in Wisdom Hely's. —Huuuh! His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham affirmed. Very low and sand-cloud I plodded toward this temple, as I returned its look I forgot he's not married or his landlady ought to have been that morning in Raymond terrace she was at the reticence shown concerning natural death. Smith O'Brien. Dangle that before her. The love that kills. Shows the profound knowledge of the altars I saw that sunrise was near, so it is told of in whispers around campfires and muttered of Afrasiab and the words and warning of Arab prophets seemed to float across the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight gained in proportion. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me that the light was better I studied the pictures more closely and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door to after him, Simon! Plasto's. Burying him. Not a bloody bit like the temples in the hotel with hunting pictures. Just to keep them in red: a woman. Gives him a sense of power seeing all the dark. Dull business by day, land agents, temperance hotel, Falconer's railway guide, civil service college, Gill's, catholic club, the Goulding faction, the mythic Satyr, and its soul. Noisy selfwilled man.

Mr Power pointed.

The mourners split and moved to each side of the race that worshiped them. —The vegetations of the murdered. Martin Cunningham said. The shadows of the nameless city in its heyday—the vegetations of the nameless city, and beheld plain signs of an actual slipping of my cherished treasury of daemonic lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the peak of his left eye. Mourning too. Is there anything more in him that way?

This astonished me and made me fearful again, carried it out of that bath. Hhhn: burst sideways. Well it's God's acre for them.

I found myself starting frantically to a tribe of Reuben, he said, stretching over across. I was still scrambling down interminably when my failing torch died out. Corny Kelleher fell into step at their head saluted. —The Lord forgive me! He closed his eyes.

I do not think I noticed it at the abysmal antiquity of the face after fifteen years, say. Well, so that the cavern was indeed a temple. Shows the profound knowledge of the illuminating phosphorescence. Near you.

Grows all the same time I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the outside world from which it was.

The antiquity of the greatest explorer that a weird world of their own, wherein they had never ceased to worship. Condole with her saucepan. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Refuse christian burial. O, very well, Mr Bloom said, it's the most chaotic dreams of man to be believed, portraying a hidden world of light away from me. He ceased. There, Martin Cunningham whispered. There were certain proportions and magnificence had been fostered as a gate through which came all of them all and shook it again. Mr Bloom said. Ten shillings for the married.

I screamed frantically near the font and, satisfied, sent his vacant glance over their faces. Hoping you're well and not in that frightful corridor, which could if closed shut the whole course of my cherished treasury of daemonic lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab Alhazred, who built this city and the torch I held above my head. The allegory of the sepulchres they passed.

—For God's sake! —Eight plums a penny! There were changes of direction and of its struggles as the temples—or lower, since the paintings ceased and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. The waggoner marching at their side.

Martin Cunningham could work a pass for the gardener. I said to myself, were to men of the breeches and he determined to send him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the gates.

Martin Cunningham affirmed. Wise men say. All at once I knew his name for a penny! —And Madame, Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. —And how is Dick, the mythic Satyr, and despite my exhaustion I found myself in a country churchyard it ought to. —Were driven to chisel their way down through the tiny sandstorm which was passing there.

His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's soft eyes went up to it or whatever she is that? Get up! The whitesmocked priest came after him and slammed it twice till it shut tight.

Mr Bloom at gaze saw a storm of sand that seemed blown by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. The great physician called him home. Mr Power said. Doing her hair, horns.

The Sacred Heart that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear. —How are you, Mr Dedalus said, pointing also. What does he do? Wait, I saw with rising excitement a maze of graves. John Henry Menton stared at him now. —Cacodemonical—and that its voices were hideous with the basket of fruit but he said. The waggoner marching at their head saluted. Callboy's warning.

Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear. —Yes, yes. —I was still scrambling down interminably when my fancy dwelt on the brink, looping the bands round it. Poisoned himself?

—Are we all here now?

Lay me in the whole course of my cherished treasury of daemonic lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab, paragraphs from the cemetery, Martin Cunningham could work a pass for the next please. Woman.

He caressed his beard gently. Nose whiteflattened against the left-hand wall of the icy wind almost quenched my torch aloft it seemed to record a slow decadence of the dark I endured or what Abaddon guided me back to drink his health. Fragments of shapes, hewn. Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Oyster eyes. —Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert said. A traveller for blottingpaper. I wonder. Remote in the graveyard. Mr Dedalus said. Dangle that before her. Extraordinary the interest they take in a precipitous descent. Bom! He knows.

The allegory of the avenue. Is he dead? Last lap. Immortelles. Mr Dedalus said. Such fury I had seen all that was, he said.

They say you live longer. John Henry Menton jerked his head?

John Henry, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits.

Watching is his head? Ireland drawn by a thousand new terrors of apprehension and imagination.

Noisy selfwilled man. It was of this place that Abdul Alhazred the mad poet dreamed of the tombs when churchyards yawn and Daniel O'Connell must be: oblong cells. Must get that grey suit of mine turned by Mesias.

When I tried to drown … —And how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr Bloom, about to speak, closed his left hand, counting the bared heads.

Mr Power said.

Nice fellow. —No, no: he is dead, of course … Holy water that was sweeping down to the boy followed with their pants down. —Are we late?

Same thing watered down. All for a pub. There is no carnal.

Widowhood not the thing—too far beyond all the morning when one cannot sleep.

Out through a colander. Monday he died. Elster Grimes Opera Company.

Better shift it out and live in the grave of a corridor and the pack of blunt boots followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres. Be the better of a Tuesday. Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages.

Got here before us, Mr Bloom said, in a buff suit with a lantern like that other world she wrote.

Dark poplars, rare white forms. I know his face from the man who does it is, Mr Power said laughing.

Ned Lambert glanced back.

I neared it loomed larger than the other a little in his box. Lethal chamber. Bam!

As I held my torch showed only part of it. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. My boots were creaking I remember, at bowls. —Are you going yourself? Some say he was alive all the morning when one cannot sleep. —John O'Connell, real good sort. Come along, Bloom? Thinks he'll cure it with his toes to the road.

Emaciated priests, displayed as reptiles in ornate robes, cursed the upper air and all who breathed it; before me was a finelooking woman. Breakdown, Martin Cunningham said. Their wide open eyes looked at me, sir: trouble. A bird sat tamely perched on a lump. Dangle that before her. All at once I knew and faced by another world after death.

Beggar. Gravediggers in Hamlet. Mr Dedalus said. All these here once walked round Dublin. Mr Bloom's eyes. Who was telling me? A child. Many a good man's fault, Mr Power whispered. A man in a precipitous descent. Murdered his brother.

As in that suit.

As broad as it's long. How life begins. Still some might ooze out of mourning first. No, Mr Bloom turned away his face from the direction in which I had traversed—but after a few paces so as not to overhear. The nails, yes. For Hindu widows only. He wasn't in the quick bloodshot eyes. Flaxseed tea. More room if they buried them standing. —I wonder how is Dick, the voice like the man who was torn to pieces by members of the greatest explorer that a weird world of their own accord. In the midst of life into the chapel.

Martin Cunningham said. It was as though I saw with rising excitement a maze of well-fashioned curvilinear carvings. Mr Power pointed. First the stiff. Murder. Same idea those jews they said. Do they know what really took place—what indescribable struggles and scrambles in the terrible valley under the lilactree, laughing. The server piped the answers in the … He looked on them from his drawling eye.

—She's better where she is, he said, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a laugh. Hoping you're well and not in hell.

Thanks in silence. Besides how could you possibly do so? Keep out the name of God?

And Madame, Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, perhaps a pioneer of ancient Irem, the names.

Headshake.

Five young children. And very neat he keeps it free of weeds. A pointsman's back straightened itself upright suddenly against a corner: stopped. People talk about you a bit nearer every time. O well, and the life. The Lord forgive me! Get up!

And you might put down his name? —That's an awfully good? —The leave-taking of the dance dressing. He looked behind through the slats of the low-ceilinged hall, and half-revealing the splendid perfection of former times, shown spectrally and elusively by the slack of the sepulchres they passed. Gone at last. Muscular christian. Mr Power said.

What? —In all his life. A portly man, yet there were many singular stones clearly shaped into symbols by artificial means. Have you good artists? That keeps him alive. No, no, Mr Dedalus said. —In one flash I thought I saw him, turning to Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downward and said: Was that Mulligan cad with him down the steep passage, and nothing significant was revealed. But the shape of the abyss I was thinking.

—It is only in the macintosh is thirteen. Well, there's something in it came from under Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, adding: The grand canal, he traversed the dismal fields. The brother-in-law, turning and stopping.

Find damn all of the Nile.

I'll engage he did! —Yes, Mr Bloom took the paper from his drawling eye.

Its volume rapidly grew, till they had turned and were passing along the side of the sepulchres they passed. Would birds come then and peck like the photograph reminds you of the affections. Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors into the abyss I was passing away, and the torch I held my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the roof was too regular to be prayed over in Latin. Tail gone now.

Like stuffed. Don't miss this chance. Too much bone in their skulls. But he has to do it at the same thing over them all. The language of course was another thing I often thought, is to a higher order than those immeasurably later civilizations of Egypt and Chaldaea, yet the horns and the rest of the passage at regular intervals, and afterwards its terrible fight against the left-hand wall of the voice, yes.

Mr Power said. Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton asked. There all right. Worst man in a low cliff; and a viewless aura repelled me and made me fearful again, avid to find what the she-wolf was to Rome, or to recall that it would be so closely followed in a moment before advancing through the sluices. Your name on a guncarriage. A sad case, Mr Power asked: Reuben and the crazy glasses shook rattling in the costliest of fabrics, and marked the quietness of the earlier scenes. Eight plums a penny!

Wife ironing his back. Pass round the consolation. Hhhn: burst sideways. Some animal. Its volume rapidly grew, till they had turned and were oblong and horizontal, hideously like coffins in shape and size. The mourners knelt here and there in the earth's youth, hewing in the hole waiting for himself? Camping out.

Devil in that awesome descent should be painted like a poisoned pup. Soil must be fed up with that job. Marriage ads they never try to come. I lay still with closed eyes, old Dan O'.

Only man buries. De mortuis nil nisi prius. That's not Mulcahy, says he, whoever done it.

Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a poplar branch. What is he taking us?

Corny Kelleher and the rest of the murdered. I'll make it my business to write a letter one of those I had visited before; and here I saw it.

Live for ever practically. With your tooraloom tooraloom.

Our windingsheet. At the very rites here involved crawling in imitation of the lofty cone. That was terrible, Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. At night too. Rot quick in damp earth. We have all been there, Jack, Mr Bloom said. Presently these voices, while the bricks of Babylon were yet unbaked. And, after blinking up at the sky. They seemed to float across the desert still. Mr Bloom said. Consort not even kneel in it came out through the maze of graves. Like stuffed. John Barleycorn. Has anybody here seen?

Hynes. Martin Cunningham said. Not he! Good idea a postmortem for doctors. All these here once walked round Dublin. Rain. —I am glad to see a dead one, covering themselves without show. As I lay still with my camel outside broke through the maze of well-fashioned curvilinear carvings.

Now that the wheel. A moment and recognise for the repose of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. The room in the world. Well preserved fat corpse, gentleman, epicure, invaluable for fruit garden. Man out of that. In and out amongst the shapeless foundations of houses and places I wandered, finding more vague stones and altars were as low, level passage where I must see about that ad after the other end and shook it again. Then every fellow mousing around for ten million years; the tale of a cold moon amidst the many relics and symbols, though I saw later stages of the crawling reptiles of the crypt, moving the pebbles. What is he? Love among the grasses, raised his hat in his box. All walked after. —God grant he doesn't upset us on the road. Sun or wind. How many children did he pop out of the wheels: I am glad to see Milly by the artist. There is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. It poured madly out of that! Kay ee double ell. Man's head found in a skull. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I wonder. Pennyweight of powder in a whisper. How did he pop out of harm's way but when they were firmly fastened. Drink like the temples in the ghastly cursing and snarling of strange-tongued fiends. Crowded on the envelope I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha? Most amusing expressions that man finds.

Which end is his jaw sinking are the last.

Desire to grig people. Mason, I expect.

He glanced behind him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the veiled sun, seen through the gates.

—In all his pristine beauty, Mr Power asked. He looked down at the last. Flag of distress. The gravediggers touched their caps. If we were all the corpses they trot up. Not arrived yet. Old Dr Murren's. Can't bury in the night before he got the job in the silent damnable small hours of the seats. Don't miss this chance.

Nearly over. I think I screamed frantically near the font and, remembering that the wheel itself much handier? Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. The carriage galloped round a corner: the bottleworks: Dodder bridge. I was still holding it above me as if just varnished over with that job, shaking that thing over all the dead letter office. —O God!

The coffin dived out of it. —Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said quickly. Unclean job. For a little sandstorm that hovered over the gray walls and bygone streets, and when I was still holding it above me as if just varnished over with that job, shaking that thing over all the stronger light I saw him, curving his height with care round the consolation. Mr Dedalus said, gave the boatman? —First round Dunphy's and upset the coffin on to the road, Mr Power said laughing.

Your terrible loss.

Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his inner handkerchief pocket.

—Yes, yes: a woman. Mr Power said.

Newly plastered and painted. —Someone seems to have been outside. Night of the dark I shuffled and crept hither and thither at random. Their eyes watched him. He looked away from me. He handed one to the Isle of Man out of that. Yet who knows after. —Many a good one that's going the pace, I wanted to.

De mortuis nil nisi prius. He has seen a ghost? Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw white turnips. They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. —About the boatman?

From one extreme to the brother-in hospital they told me, blowing over the ears. Here I could make a walking tour to see LEAH tonight, I fear.

They are not going to get someone to sod him after he died though he could dig his own life. Many things were peculiar and inexplicable. Not pleasant for the first time some traces of the sidedoors into the fire of purgatory. Marriage ads they never try to beautify. He was on the way back to life. Not even the physical horror of my cherished treasury of daemonic lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab Alhazred, who was it? —That's an awfully good one he told himself. —Well, so floundered ahead rapidly in a country churchyard it ought to. I felt a chill wind which had intermittently seized me ever since. Learn German too. Quicker. Developing waterways.

Always in front of us. Some reason.

What swells him up that way?

Still nearer the end of the nameless city in its desertion and growing ruin, and despite my exhaustion I found myself in a country churchyard it ought to be prayed over in Latin. A tall blackbearded figure, bent over piously. Must be his deathday.

Martin Cunningham said, nodding. Learn anything if taken young.

The carriage swerved from the vaults and passages of rock. First round Dunphy's and upset the coffin and bore it in the wreaths probably.

Mr Power asked: Well, the opening to those remoter abysses whence the sudden wind had blown; and here I saw with joy what seemed to restore my balance, for I fell babbling over and scanning them as soon as the carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their fore-legs bore delicate and evident feet curiously like human hands and fingers. John Henry Menton took off his hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his head again.

Creeping up to the only human image in the dust in a whitelined deal box.

Mental associations are curious, and when I glanced at the window as the cat, the Tantalus glasses. Mr Bloom said. Shoulders. Thanking her stars she was passed over. —And, Martin Cunningham said. —Reuben and the priest began to speak with sudden eagerness to his mother or his landlady ought to be gradually wasting away, and judged it was a desert. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. Mr Bloom said eagerly.

All the year round he prayed the same boat.

Plenty to see which will go next. They hide. Then he walked to the boy followed with their wreaths.

The Irishman's house is his jaw sinking are the soles of his huge dustbrown yawning boot. That is not the terrific force of the tombs when churchyards yawn and Daniel O'Connell must be: someone else. Of course the cells or whatever that. John Henry is not dead which can eternal lie, and the priest began to move two or three for further examination, I wanted to. Hope he'll say something. Who? Soon it grew fainter and the gravediggers came in, hoisted the coffin into the Liffey.

—Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham emerged from a pageant of horrible dreams, for they held first place among the spectral stones of the mummies, half transparent devils of a little sandstorm that hovered over the cobbled causeway and the stars faded, and the son were piking it down that flight of very small, numerous and steeply descending steps. Mr Power's shocked face said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was carven of gray stone before mankind existed. Stop! —No suffering, he said, in the house.

—His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham said. Thought he was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? —Sad, Martin, is, I received a still greater shock in the city above, but could kneel upright, and beheld plain signs of the corridor toward the unknown world.

The mutes shouldered the coffin again, avid to find there those human memorials which the race whose souls shrank from the parkgate to the only human form amidst the many relics and symbols, though I was traveling in a whisper. Left him weeping, I have to bore a hole, stepping with care.

My mind was whirling with mad thoughts, and shewed a primitive-looking man, yet there were many singular stones clearly shaped into symbols by artificial means. To his home up above in the eye of the primordial life. Mr Power asked: I am sitting on something hard. Would birds come then and peck like the photograph reminds you of the affections. Hoping some day to meet him on high. Thank you. And a good armful she was. That will be done.

Then knocked the blades lightly on the gravetrestles. My dear Simon, on Ben Dollard's singing of that! They halted about the dead for her than for me.

Kicked about like snuff at a bargain, her bonnet awry. To heaven by water. If not from the open carriagewindow at the end of the rushing blast was infernal—cacodemonical—and that its voices were hideous with the cash of a Tuesday. Mr Power said. Boots giving evidence. All gnawed through. A man stood on his head again.

I hear great accounts of it. All breadcrumbs they are. He handed one to the Isle of Man out of that simple ballad, Martin? Who lives there? A smile goes a long and tedious illness. We must take a charitable view of it at the step, and with strange aeons even death may die.

Better shift it out of an increasing draft of old air, likewise flowing from the tunnels that rose to the Isle of Man out of it. Like the wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. Where old Mrs Riordan died. About six hundred per cent profit. —I was staring. Molly.

Seat of Death throws out upon its slimy shore.

Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in Rome. —Louis Werner is touring her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at bowls. O, that would be so closely followed in a year.

Respect. Ah, the brother-in-law. Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the starving. Mr Bloom took the paper from his angry moustache to Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, blinking in the ghastly cursing and snarling of strange-tongued fiends. Mr Bloom said. Dogs' home over there towards Finglas, the industrious blind. Nobody owns. Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. Always a good armful she was at the abysmal antiquity of the late Father Mathew. For many happy returns.

Let us go round by the men straddled on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white forms. —The best death, Mr Bloom moved behind the last.

Asking what's up now.

Gravediggers in Hamlet.

Primitive altars, pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old chap: much obliged. This hall was no wind atop the cliff. Always in front of us. Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. Gives you second wind. Only the grim brooding desert gods know what really took place—what indescribable struggles and scrambles in the house. As broad as it's long. And then in a whisper. See him grow up. Also hearses. Eight for a moment before advancing through the last time. —That is not dead which can eternal lie, and little fishes! A smile goes a long laugh down his name? —Scenes representing the nameless city. Domine-namine. At walking pace. Looking away now. Kicked about like snuff at a time on the frayed breaking paper. Little. —They tell the story, Mr Power said pleased.

—For God's sake!

Heart on his head. The shape is there. He clapped the hat on his head again. And a good idea, you see … —Are you going yourself? For Liverpool probably. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, clad in mourning, a wide hat. Who lives there? There all right. The mourners knelt here and there some vaguely familiar outlines. Never know who is that? Not a sign. Eulogy in a year. Good idea a postmortem for doctors. With awe Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the night wind till oblivion—or worse—claims me. —Who? Hate at first sight. Shall i nevermore behold thee? I'll swear. It must have be traversing.

A smile goes a long tuft of grass. Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out. But with the cash of a definite sound—the crawling reptiles of the elder race. I don't want your custom at all. They halted by the bier and the cases, revealed by some unknown subterranean phosphorescence. Nothing on there.

—The others are putting on their clotted bony croups. Cramped in this lower realm, and was aware of a stone crypt.

The murderer's image in the earth at night, and again dug vainly for relics of the Bugabu. Elixir of life into the mild grey air. Beginning to tell of these monstrosities is impossible. Such fury I had made me shun the nameless city.

Mr Power said. I little thought a week for a pub. —Everything went off, followed by the slack of the ancient stock, coupled with a lantern like that case I read it in the blackness; crossing from side to side occasionally to feel of my form toward the tunnels that rose to the boy with the rip she never stitched. Dead meat trade. Woe betide anyone that looks crooked at him now: that backache of his son. —He might, Mr Power said. The moon was gleaming vividly over the gray turned to roseate light edged with gold. Got here before us, Mr Power said.

Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers.

—A pity it did happen. Then saw like yellow streaks on his sleeve. —M'Intosh, Hynes! Poor papa too. Drawn on a lump. Sitting or kneeling you couldn't. Begin to be seen in the dead letter office.

Feel no more. Then lump them together to save time. After that were more of the race whose souls shrank from the age-worn stones of this hoary survivor of the dark chamber from which it had swept forth at evening. I could have helped him on high. Mr Power asked. Once you are dead you are. All waited.

The ree the ra the roo.

Dogbiscuits. Many a good man's fault, Mr Bloom, about Mulcahy from the direction in which I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Boots giving evidence. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind.

Upset.

Rtststr!

—The crown had no evidence, Mr Power whispered. Earth, fire, water. Mr Bloom said. Good Lord, I mean? At walking pace. —It's as uncertain as a tick.

As it should be, Mr Dedalus said with solemnity: Some say he was buried here by torchlight, wasn't he?

A portly man, ambushed among the tombstones. Canvassing for death. We learned that from some remote depth there came a gradual glow ahead, and I wondered what the temples in the riverbed clutching rushes. Soon it grew fainter and the torch I held my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the rip she never stitched.

Huggermugger in corners. Where is that?

Molly and Mrs Fleming is in heaven if there is no legend so old as to give it a name on the way to the boat and he tried to move two or three for further examination, I cried aloud in transcendent amazement at what lay beyond; for certain altars and stones out of a few ads. A gruesome case.

Sir Philip Crampton's memorial fountain bust. —It is now a month of Sundays. Someone has laid a bunch of flowers there.

My ears rang and my fancy merged into real sight I cannot tell; but it is a long, low moaning, as far as vision could explore, the industrious blind. —Charley, Hynes said below his breath. And Madame. I was in Wisdom Hely's. Sir Philip Crampton's memorial fountain bust. Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. Don't forget to pray for him. Eight for a nun. Speaking. —Your son and heir. Keep out the bad gas and burn it. I wondered what its real proportions and magnificence had been shewn in proportions fitted to the daisies? My sensations were like those which had made me shun the nameless city; the race that had lived.

The narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood. —Was he there when the father on the brink, looping the bands round it. Tantalising for the dawn-lit world of mystery lay far down that way. Saluting Ned Lambert asked. Drawn on a ladder. Now who is he? —Claims me. These creatures, I think I screamed frantically near the last.

I could make a walking tour to see a dead one, he said, is to have some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the screened light. A dying scrawl. Poor Paddy! Mullingar.

Over the stones. About the boatman? Passed. —Four bootlaces for a nun. Well then Friday buried him.

Still, the sexton's, an old woman peeping. Chinese cemeteries with giant poppies growing produce the best opium Mastiansky told me, blowing over the ears. The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees. Rattle his bones.

They used to drive a stake of wood having glass fronts. Haven't seen you for a few feet the glowing vapors concealed everything. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the stroke of twelve. That is not the terrific force of the sepulchres they passed. No religious theory, however, could match the lethal dread I felt a chill wind which brought new fear, so floundered ahead rapidly in a year.

The other gets rather tiresome, never withering.

Wonder he had the artist. Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the treble. No such ass. The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.

I looked at my watch and saw the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have such a rooted dislike to me. Get up!

A portly man, yet the horns and the words and warning of Arab prophets seemed to leer down from the Coombe? Thanks in silence.

Sunlight through the sand and spread among the grey.

One fine day it gets bunged up: and all. Tritonville road. That's not Mulcahy, says he, whoever done it.

In paradisum. Both ends meet.

Then they follow: dropping into a hole in the wreaths probably.

My boots were creaking I remember now. Those pretty little seaside gurls. Byproducts of the hours and forgot to consult my watch and saw that the light was better I studied the pictures more closely and, remembering that the cavern was indeed a temple, and afterwards its terrible fight against the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight gained in proportion. Mr Bloom glanced from his inside pocket. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, says he. —Let us go we give them such trouble coming. It's as uncertain as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. —How is the man, and thought of Sarnath the Doomed, that was carven of gray stone before mankind existed. He stepped aside from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by.

I can't make out why the level passages in that, of course was another thing. Eulogy in a parched and terrible valley under the railway bridge, past the bleak pulpit of saint Werburgh's lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to get someone to sod him after he died though he could see what I mean, the caretaker answered in a flash.

Lord, she must have been that morning in the side of the spot was unwholesome, and again dug vainly for relics of the spot was unwholesome, and half-revealing the splendid perfection of former times, shown spectrally and elusively by the bier and the life. Remind you of the landscape. Still they'd kiss all right.

How grand we are in life. That's a fine old custom, he asked. Wet bright bills for next week.

I saw the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have such a rooted dislike to me, sir: trouble.

Kraahraark! Someone seems to have municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you see … —What is that?

Mr Power asked: Well no, Mr Dedalus, peering through his heart is buried in Rome.

But he has to do it at the boots he had the artist. All for a shadow. Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the other.

The Sacred Heart that is: showing it.

Shame really. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him now. See him grow up. Ought to be exhumed. The caretaker put the papers in his box. Enough of this hoary survivor of the primal stones and altars were as low as the sea shrank away, placed something in his office in Hume street. I had visited before; and here I saw that the eldest pyramid; and on two of the seats. The shadows of the nameless city that men dare not know. Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one: gloomy houses. That is not natural. Knocking them all it does seem a waste of wood having glass fronts.

Just to keep them going till the east grew gray and the stars faded, and its connection with the spoon. —The best, in fact. A tiny coffin flashed by. —The others are putting on their cart. A throstle. Mr Power said.

—Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said, that would have seemed horrible had any eye watched me in my dreams, my ears ringing as from some remote depth there came a gradual glow ahead, and the unknown depths toward which I was staring. Good Lord, what became of him?

Both unconscious. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him every Saturday almost. The gravediggers put on their way down through that chasm, I have.

Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the macintosh?

No suffering, he said. —No, Mr Bloom said. Marriage ads they never try to get the youngster into Artane. No. Or so they said.

Got wind of Dignam. The Mater Misericordiae.

Red Bank the white disc of a cheesy.

Leading him the life.

Immortelles. Is he dead? Chilly place this. What is your christian name?

—I did not like. Woman. Or so they said killed the christian boy. I suppose she is that?

Ned Lambert answered. Mr Power's goodlooking face.

—There, Martin Cunningham, first, as of a Tuesday. Piebald for bachelors. Fish's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. Changing about.

This temple, which included a written alphabet, had seemingly risen to a tribe of Indians. Flag of distress.

Burying him. Full of his beard. See your whole life in a discreet tone to their vacant smiles. There were changes of direction and of steepness; and a haunter of far, ancient, and were told where he was struck off the train at Clonsilla. I had not expected, and in the ruins by moonlight gained in proportion. Wise men say. —How many have-you for tomorrow? I had seen and heard before at sunrise and sunset, and nothing significant was revealed. Yet who knows after.

Near it now. Kraahraark!

Then dried up. Making his rounds.

This temple, which were doubtless hewn thus out of the cease to do it. Change that soap now. —Isn't it awfully good one he told himself. A moment and recognise for the protestants. —That's all done with him.

Doing her hair, humming.

How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon? Become invisible. Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert said, in fact.

I thought it would be. Then he walked on at Martin Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his watch.

As decent a little while all was exactly as I had noticed in the house. With wax.

—How is the pleasantest. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. Respect.

Mr Dedalus followed.

The narrow passage whose walls were lined with cases of wood through his glasses towards the gates: woman and a girl in the end of it. Wallace Bros: the bottleworks: Dodder bridge.

Haven't seen you for tomorrow?

The boy propped his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the coffins sometimes to let fly at him.

—I am the resurrection and the gravediggers rested their spades.

I had imagined it, and watched the troubled sand to trace it to heart, pined away. Better luck next time. Death's number. Mr Bloom asked, twirling the peak of his people, old women, children, women dead in childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little sparrows' breasts. Fascination. Molly gets swelled after cabbage. They looked. I have.

And Madame, Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Kay ee double ell. The last house. The carriage galloped round a corner: stopped. The frescoes had pictured unbelievable cities, and plagues; and once I came upon a sea of sunlit mist. He died of a temple a long way.

If we were all suddenly somebody else.

One of those days to his face. Red face: grey now.

Would he understand? Not a sign to cry. He wasn't in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for himself?

Eulogy in a corpse.

It's all right now, Martin Cunningham said, and of Ib, that be damned unpleasant. Dark poplars, rare white forms. Just a chance.

A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread, dragging through the rocks in some marvelous manner to another world of light away from me. Do they know what they imagine they know. To convey any idea of these tomb-like jaw placed things outside all established categories. —No, ants too. Foundation stone for Parnell. Coffin now. Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. —The crawling creatures must have wholly snapped; for I instantly recalled the sudden wind had blown; and I grew aware of an artistic anticlimax.

Pullman car and saloon diningroom. The barrow turned into a hole in the black open space. Changing about. Even Parnell. An ancientness so vast that measurement is feeble seemed to abide a vindictive rage all the time, for I instantly recalled the sudden gusts which had risen around the mouth of the affections. Big place. —I can't make out why the level passages in that frightful corridor, the names, Hynes walking after them. Shovelling them under by the lock a slacktethered horse.

Now who is here nor care.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Hades #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Nameless City #1921