#dewdrop is absolutely down bad for his mans

[steven-adler-but-its-me-instead]

*over text*

Mountain: sends an edit of Aether

Dew: woof woof awoo

Mountain, taking a screenshot: I'm sending that to Aether.

Dew: WAIT!-

#dw i'd bark for Aether too #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #dew ghoul #incorrect quotes #incorrect ghost quotes #ghost bc #the band ghost #mountain ghoul #dewther #dewdrop is absolutely down bad for his mans

[ghoultrifle]

Ghouls at the Airport

To preface these silly hcs I want to say that taking the ghouls through an airport is a life-changing experience, in that it will take 10 years off your life span. It's not for the faint-hearted, but alas here is what happens when the ghouls (the characters, obviously) have to take a plane to their next show!

Also consider this a 100 follower special !! Thanks to everyone who decided I was entertaining enough to follow, I love you all <3

Dew is on a leash. That man simply cannot be trusted not to lurch at strangers or run off when he hears the roar of a plane engine. They found out the hard way on his first tour as a water ghoul. They were on the tarmac, about to board the plane and Dew ran off to cosy up in the engines. The band nearly had to tour without a bassist that year...

(I take absolutely no credit for the idea of ghouls wearing these, whoever said it feel free to credit yourself I'm sorry I can't remember you!) Edit: @jesusbutbetterrr big brain monkey bag thoughts

Aurora gets overstimulated really easily (can you blame her?). Mountain lent her his big ear defenders once and she's been hooked ever since. She claimed the camo defenders as hers, even though they don't sit right on her tiny head, she loves them dearly! Mountain had to buy a new pair, but he doesn't mind. He's happy if his pack are happy.

Aether and Mountain are straight through bag drop, security, the lot. They're old ghouls and have the routine down by now. They know the faster they make it through security, the more time they have to sneak off to the disgusting airport toilets for some even more disgusting airport sex.

Cumulus is already high on half a bottle of sleeping pills. She gets restless on the plane so doses up early on. Unfortunately that means she is completely out of it and has to be guided around entirely by the others. She was once put in charge of Dewdrop's leash and, yet again, they nearly had to tour without a lead guitarist.

Cirrus is basically unconscious for the entire journey through the airport, curled up on a luggage trolley being driven by Dew. Travelling really tires her out and the pack don't want to get on her bad side so they leave her be.

Rain is incredibly spoiled. The whole pack know that if you set him loose on his own to catch a flight, he wouldn't make it past the front doors. He's been coddled by everyone since he was summoned, and he lives for it, he never has to lift a finger. Swiss, ever the gentleman, always carries his bags and holds Rain's shoes when they go through security. It's just an excuse to reenact the slipper scene from Cinderella

Phantom tries to order an insanely expensive Starbucks in the airport (it's just a hot chocolate with a marshmallow, why is it £4?!) but misses them calling his human name "Why would anyone name themselves 'Tom'?"

Swiss has a four-wheeler suitcase. He loves to sit on it and propel himself around like a toddler. In fact, the pack bought him an adult-sized one of these after he kept breaking everyone else's bags:

#trifle writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #shitghosting #rain ghoul #aurora ghoulette #dewdrop ghoul #cirrus ghoulette #mountain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #aether ghoul #phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #ghoul hcs

[elytrafemme]

Welp. My brain is fried from testing, but once again this was an absolutely lovely chapter!! My thought process while reading this was either: Wow, this is some beautiful writing! I feel at peace reading such well-developed characters and metaphors! Or: SBDEHBIENFNDJNDSNLISNLOIAN >:( So, let's get into it, shall we? To start, the intro to this chapter was just great! I mean- It wasn't great for Ranboo, but his suffering is entertaining to me. The juxtaposition from the last chapter where Ranboo told Tubbo he was only a little stressed at most and that it wasn't too bad in regards to the Fundy situation vs Ranboo having literal night terrors based on weed which directly links to very traumatizing information that he just received through Fundy. As much as Ranboo wants to believe that mental lows like this are just cuz and not at all related to unaddressed trauma, the fact that he's having nightmares based around it is so reflective of his internal issues. And then the imagery here too was SO good as always. The way you chose to describe it came across as so stressful and desperate, and I could talk about your imagery for hours dude! (I already bring it up every time cs updates already lol) Who knew that an entire section dedicated to weed could be so unfunny and so tense? Now I want to talk about a stupid bastard, or as I described him in my notes, "BitchBitchBitch". I of course am talking about Dream. I hate him. I hate him so much. I want him dead, tossed into a river. So on one hand, excellent characterization. On the other, SFYUDHJLKGJDNA /POS. Dream subtly almost encouraging self-harm and suicidal idealization was enraging. Sure, Dream said a weak ass "I don't want you to die or anything" But he basically told Ranboo that he's going to start hurting himself against his own will and that it's inevitable, and SO CAUSALLY. (not to mention he didn't even talk Ranboo out of the self-harm part). This dumb fucker tells him to his face (not literally since it's a phone call) that he'll die long before him and laughs about all his vague threats, and it's so frustrating that Ranboo thinks he can confide in this green asshole. Like when he was thinking of who he could call to call down, saying no one has dealt with his lows, literally everyone he thought of before Dream would be both more understanding and comforting to him. And it is agonizing to see Dream so casually chipping away at Ranboo's already horrible self-image. I can't wait to see how the tension in their relationship builds and develops as you go on, because you are great at writing Dream scenes to be uncomfortable to read. Scenes with Dream and Ranboo are the equivalent of a festering infection that is both disgusting and uncomfortable, and also needs to be cut away for the wound(Ranboo) to heal. The section with Niki and Ranboo was so bittersweet to me. Because on one hand, awww they're bonding and Niki is being so supportive of Ranboo questioning his gender identity :D But on the other, Ranboo thinks either everyone he cares about will leave him or he'll leave them, which is so...saaaad. Still, this section was so...serene? I have no other way to describe this, but the descriptions and tone just felt like a slightly foggy morning with dewdrops on the grass. It was calm and carried that hidden sadness that not just Ranboo, but Niki has. And I like the touch that even if Ranbbo doesn't feel like he and Niki are real siblings like xe does, that they are through their actions. You excel at show don't tell in regards to characterization and relationship dynamics, because Ranboo knows her tells and when she's concealing pain but knows that there isn't a want to bring attention to it? That's some sibling energy man! And I'm also glad we're getting more cs!Niki, because xe has such a story that you can really feel haunts xem, and I love when sad gay characters interact with each other /hj.

And then that little part with Tommy and Ranboo is suspicious to me. For one, love the partially unspoken tension between the two which continues to be unaddressed out of both fear and contempt. Though the way Tommy seems to be wary of Ranboo's car in relation to Dream is definitely concerning to me (But I might just be thinking too hard lol) Anyway, great chapter! Caused me to angrily scribble in my notes 3 times, so props to you for making me want to punch the characters through my computer screen once again! Before the update, you referred to this chapter as filler, and I think this was no plain boring filler. No, no, no, I think this was like filler from avatar the last airbender! It may not contribute directly to the main plot, but it provides wonderful character insight, development, and builds relation dynamics which make the whole fic feel more connected and dynamic! :] Thank you for writing and I can't wait for the next cs tuesday! Wishing you the best rest of your day or night!! <333

HIII!!! HELP SDFJKFDSHJFDS THOSE R THE TWO MOODS I GET THAT

"but his suffering is entertaining to me" this is a good quote ; NO BUT GENUINELY so happy that you liked that sort of unreliable recounts from ranboo, if i can get all rambly for a sec ranboo's an interesting character to write because when you look at canon he really can't talk about a lot of what he's experienced like experiences this physical blockade, but he's not as secretive and repressed about things in the same way that tubbo is. so writing them is honestly really interesting because i constantly have to figure out how both of them process emotions and how they are with openness. i could ramble more about that but basically super SUPER happy you liked that bit!

you're so eloquent with these analyses i swear -- YEAH i'm really happy people like my dream characterization too because genuinely? he's like. he's REALLY hard to write honestly because the thing about abuse is that even if two people share an abuser that person may respond to them both differently. meaning a lot of what it comes down to with cs!dream and cs!ranboo is drawn from canon and also personal experience but the latter can't really be used so strongly because it varies so much, which is what makes it really fascinating to try and figure out but i'm glad i'm able to write him in a realistic and unsettling way because that's the goal. cs!dream is a person who understands cs!ranboo's insecurities very well and that's the horror of it

i never even imagined that scene being considered serene but it means the world that you called it that and i'm going to remember that forever thank you <3. i'm really happy to hear also that i'm good with show don't tell because admittedly that's one of the weak spots i had especially when i started writing years ago so it's really nice to hear that i'm able to show their bond without saying it :]

>:] so excited to grow their tension fr!!!

youre literally the kindest ever galaxy i appreciate u so much :D thank you thank you thank you

#nightmare.ask #galaxy tag :d #cough syrup spoilers #long post #nightmare.cough-syrup

[kadssp]

ayyo anything would be better than my job, i do before and after school daycare for preschoolers and i absolutely hate it i’m so bad at it and it’s taking a huge toll on my mental health so like. i’ll take anything😂

- 🌸

daycare made me think of sun mskgismfaa HOLDDD ONNNN STAY WITH ME

warnings: none

reader is gn!

”Sunshine! Sunshine! How are ya holdin’ up?” He’s bouncing side to side with his hands holding yours, head tilting back and forth with his movements as children laugh and play near the two of you.

”I’m alright, Sun.” You fake a smile, but he isn’t falling for it and he let’s out a huff before shaking his head.

”No you’re lying! Don’t lie Dewdrop, what is it? Are you tired? Upset? Mad? I have juice boxes if you’re thirsty!” He’s stammering over his words, movements a little frantic as his voice box glitches in worry.

Your head shakes as you let out a sigh, shoulders sore from bending over and picking up items and handing out color sheets to children, especially the ones who weren’t so willing.

“No, I’m really okay Sun, just a little stressed from the kids.” You smile weakly, a small thumbs up to Sun who stares down at you in silence as his metal joints squeak and the bells attached to the ribbons around his wrists jingle with each movement he makes.

He hums defeatedly. “W-we could go have fun when the kids leave! We could do anything yo-“ He stops, feeling a tug on his pants, staring down at a small kid that points up at the both of you.

”What is it, friend? Do ya wanna play a game, or a puppet show?” The small child only frowns with a small shake of their head before pointing at you and then at Sun.

”Marry!” They yelled rather loudly causing your shoulders to flinch up at the sound and then you’re both left stunned looking at the kid.

”What do you mean, little friend?” Sun asks again before the small kid pushes something into Sun’s hands, huffing as their arms crossed and they looked up at you almost in a glare.

Sunny goes to ask what it was but is glitching with a quickly overheating system when he sees two poorly made paper rings in his foam hand. His head is looking at you then at the kid and it goes on for a few more moments before another child comes up, black paper taped around their small body as they come up to the three of you with a child’s book in their hand.

”Everyone come on! They’re getting married!!” The kid with the book yelled, all the kids in the daycare sprung up and dashed over before sitting on the floor and cheering softly, big eyes staring up at you and sun who were both flustered at the situation.

”H-hold on, friends! What is this all about?” He sounds excited but still stuttering with nervousness as he gently holds the rings close to his chest.

”You’re both getting married now, duh! Stand facing each other Sunny!” The kid with the book sighs, opening said book and talking in a deeper tone akin to that of an old man’s voice as they read fake words off the page.

”Sunny! Will you take your sunshine to be your wedded spouse?” The kid says, looking up from the book at Sun who’s nodding almost too quickly causing you to giggle softly at him.

”And will you take Sunny to be your wedded husband?” The child turns to you, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as your cheeks turn red before you’re nodded just as frantically as Sunny did.

The children nod in agreement before all of them yell out in unison, “Sunny kiss your spouse!”

He’s gasping and his movements are glitchy as he looks down at you who giggles at his reaction before grabbing his circular face softly and pulling him down placing a kiss against his mouth leaving him gasping again and stuttering over his words.

The kids shake their heads as Sunny struggles to stand, you can almost smell his metal heating up before he falls backwards with a dazed giggle.

The children laugh pointing their small fingers at him before circling him and looking over at you expectantly.

”Sunny passed out again!” They all yelled out while laughing at the animatronic. You walked over, crouching over him with a sigh as you thought of how you were going to help him now.

He was such a dork at times, but now you had a reason to tease him about putting the ring he forgot to place on you where it belongs on your finger.

#fnaf sun #sun x reader #fnaf sunny #sunnydrop #sundrop #sundrop x reader #sunnydrop x reader #fnaf sb x reader #fnaf security breach #fnaf x reader #fnaf sb #fnaf #fnaf sunrise #sunrise x reader #fnaf sundrop #fnaf sb sundrop #sundrop and moondrop

[thelampisaflashlight]

Hello and welcome to “Can I cuddle that ghoul?” aka naptime with the ghouls, who’s sharing the blankets, and who’s kicking people out. Below the cut.

Aether: You’ve come to the right place. Aside from the benefits of being able to sprawl out in whatever strange pose he wants, another reason for his big bed is because he doesn’t mind a ghoul or two piling in for a cold winter’s nap, or a rainy spring day snooze. 

Kind of a bring your own pillow situation though, and if he gets too hot he can and will just scoot his bedmate off onto the floor without warning. Does he feel bad about this?

No. No he does not.

Dewdrop: He’s the one who deliberately leaves a space in his sleeping area for someone to come and lay down next to him. He’s hotheaded and won’t ask for people to join him, but he’s not going to kick a ghoul out if they curl up next to him unless they do something weird, which rarely, if ever, happens.

Fire ghouls tend to feel comforted by the sounds of others sleeping nearby, and do better sleeping in groups in general, so even if someone starts snoring he isn’t going to complain much.

He will, however, get cranky if HE gets kicked out of the nap pile, and everyone will hear about it. Very “you kick Miette??” of him honestly.

Multi/Swiss: Cuddle seeking missile. He’s here for one reason and one reason only; He can’t sleep alone. It’s that fire ghoul heritage in the mix making itself known. 

He’s the type who has to listen to podcasts to fall asleep at night if he’s stuck sleeping on his own, with the exception of if he’s on a tour bus, because then everyone is sleeping in the same area.

He whines less than Dew about being booted out, but his sulking isn’t much better.

Rain: You know how some little dogs look all cute and fluffy and wonderful to snuggle and then they turn into an angry rat beast from hell the second you even think about petting them? Yeah. Yeah that’s Rain with sharing his bed most days. 

However, if he’s down for a bedtime buddy, he’s going to be the most clingy person on the planet, which is nice until he starts using the other person as a body pillow and moving them around as such.

Mountain: Have you ever fantasized about falling asleep on the softest bed of moss imaginable on a warm, sunny day in the middle of a forest? Well so has Mountain, and that’s probably where the others will find him if he’s not in his bed.

Cuddling and naptime friends are secondary to that sweet, sweet back support he needs being the tall man he is. If you can squeeze onto the corner of his wedge pillow, you’re in business, but otherwise, do let him know if you need a blanket while you’re sleeping on the floor.

Cumulus: It really, really depends on who you are, because some ghouls get a free “Sure! I don’t mind, pop by and rest whenever you feel like it!” invitation and others are strictly on the, “Not if you were the last ghoul in hell” list.

Cirrus: It’s all fun and games until she gets too warm, and then you’re stuck on the floor again. Although she might change her mind once she cools down again.

Air ghouls are a bit like fire ghouls, in that they like having company when they rest, but they’re less heat tolerant, so unless she’s cuddling another air ghoul, Cirrus is probably going to push them aside.

Sunshine: Like Dew and Swiss, she’s more than happy to have a friend or two take a nap with her, but that bit of air ghoul in her means big nap piles are out of the question in the long term. 

Short naps are nice and cozy, but if she’s laying down for the night, give her some room to sprawl out.

Bonus Copia: People have seen his set up and gone, “On second thought-”, but the ghouls? Copia’s no bedframe, box spring on the floor situation is actually kind of nice. No one is above anyone else, there’s no fighting for who gets to be where, it’s just a big old pile of ghouls... and their poor, poor frontman who is getting absolutely crushed by a hoard of fully grown ghouls.

#Lamp rambles #nameless ghouls #shitghosting #ghost band #the band ghost #Lamp makes headcanons for the hell of it #did some toasty typing here folks

[hotdamnhunnam]

🛀🐎🍷 with Raymond

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

..................................................

Trouble Bath

Pairing: Raymond Smith x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, giving Ray a blowjob while you’re sitting in a bathtub Word Count: ~1.3k Emoji Prompt: 🛀🐎🍷 (key words are in bold)

A hot bath is the answer to all of life’s troubles.

Of this you’re convinced as you soak in the tub with a glass of merlot, candles set on the ledge to suffuse the whole room with a soft golden glow. All your worries dissolve as you bask in the bliss of the bubbles.

That’s when your damn phone rings. You figure it has to be work ‘cause at this hour only your bitch of a boss would be bothering you with ‘incredibly important things.’ Fucking hell. With a loud groan you reach your sud-slathered arm out of the water and dry off your palm on the towel nearby before grabbing your cell.

You don’t bother to check who it is, just assuming it’s business, as you place the phone on the tub ledge and set it to speaker to answer the call. But it isn’t the boss bitch at all.

Well, it is a boss bitch—it just isn’t the boss of your office. Instead it’s the blonde bearded bitch who runs gangster shit all across London and shows everyone who the boss is. The bastard who happens to be just as flawless as he is lawless. You’re a close friend of his, though you’d rather be more to be honest.

Raymond Smith doesn’t know this. You’ve given him hints for fuck’s sake. But he’s too busy buried balls-deep in his own OCD ass to notice. You recently stopped dropping hints when you sensed that a chance at your ass wasn’t something he wanted to take.

At the sound of his voice you just sip at the dark scarlet wine in your glass. Trying not to be bitter that Raymond wants nothing to do with your ass. It’s a good fucking wine, but compared to his gorgeousness nothing seems fine.

Ray just called to ‘check in’ which is absolute crap. Total bullshit. He knows you had made plans for dinner with some random dick from a dating app. Knows this because he was there in the room when you scheduled it.

“I thought you had a date,” Raymond states.

The audacity?! Where is he going with this exactly... “Maybe I’m running late.”

“Or you cancelled on him. Perhaps deep down you know you don’t want him.”

Your jaw drops in shock. Just a little ashamed that you wish he were here to stuff it with his cock. “Y–you know nothing of what I want.”

“I know more than you think,” he says it like a taunt, like he knows he’s a whole fucking kink, and that shit hits you right in the cunt. Rub your eyes with a blink. This is so troubling. Set your wineglass down on the tub ledge with a clink. Craving something quite different to drink.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at—”

“Invite me in and we’ll see about that.”

“Invite…?”

“I’m at your front door and I know where you keep the spare key so just say the damn word and I’m coming inside.”

When Ray Smith requests entry he’s never denied. You tell him that you’re in the bathroom and ten seconds later he’s standing right there, slaying you with the blue of his stare. He says something about how he just kept imagining you out with some other man tonight. Says it just didn’t sit right. Says he’s tried to hold off for the sake of your friendship but now his desire for you has hit heights he can’t fight.

You can’t even remember just what you said next but your words clearly give him a very green light. Next thing you know he’s freeing his cock from his jeans and you die at the sight.

“… Ray, you’re hung like a horse.”

And he knows it of course. All the lust he spent so long suppressing now radiates off him with force. “If you want this it’s all fucking yours.”

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

You’ve never wanted anything more.

Started salivating like a goddamn madwoman the second he stepped through the door—or before—when he called you the rasp of his voice summoned your inner whore.

Before that even, honestly. Just at the thought of this man you’re on fire beyond believing. Constantly. For so long you and Raymond had been thick as thieves. And you are still, but you need him so bad it kills, and his big dick is thicker than thieves or whatever you figure as he stands beside the bathtub with his meat hanging out, right in front of your mouth, and slowly and deliberately rolls up his sleeves.

Fucking rolls up his sleeves. As if this is a task that he takes very seriously. You don’t doubt that it is really. You’re just as serious too about taking in what you’re about to receive.

You shift clumsily till you’re kneeling in the tub, water sloshing around as your torso lifts up. Tits still partially covered in soapy white bubbles but Ray can see more than enough. At the sight he licks his lips and growls low and rough. It’s a faint sound because he’s too much of a gentleman to be a bona fide beast, but with you here the least gentle facet of him is released, and it’s savage and tough.

Icy gaze pierces straight through the suds. Fierce enough to draw blood. Yet it’s soft and controlled; he’s a man who knows well how to manage the power he holds. Turns his gaze to your open mouth drooling so desperately his dick might drown in the flood. “Such a good little slut.”

Hoooly fuck…

He twines one of his hands in your semi-damp hair, as the other grabs onto his shaft that’s so big it’s not fair, and guides it toward the gaping wide hole that exists just to suck.

Flick your tongue in a fluttering lick first. Swipe over the tip, to lap up the sweet dewdrop that drips, taste the flavor that satisfies your every thirst. Your cunt throbs underwater and already feels like it’s going to burst.

“Mmm, that’s it love,” Ray hums in approval while towering so tall above. “Show me how much you love it. All of it.”

Your sorry attempt at a yes sir is muffled by his massive meat, as you instantly take his cock so deep you’re destined to swallow it. Open your whole throat and hollow it. Swell of desire inside you keeps building in frantic heat. Heart hammering at a spastic beat. All you can do now is follow it.

There are no words for just how good he tastes, as his cock slides across your slick tongue while he grabs a firm hold of your skull to start fucking your filthy whore face. So delicious. Your loving eyes roll back in bliss. Lashes batting in ecstasy as he pumps deeper past your lips and picks up the pace. He knows you live for this. Now that he finally has you he gets off on knowing you’re his.

From the moment Ray called you tonight, as if he had a right, you really should’ve known he spelled trouble. The troubles you seek to escape when you’re bathing in bubbles.

But here with his dominant presence demanding you worship his dick which is so damn divine… trouble’s honestly just fucking fine. You would much rather guzzle his cum than a bottle of wine.

And he knows it. He always knew it. Fought against going down the steep slippery slope of this path, but at last now he chose it, and once he’s done filling your throat up he’ll slip with you into the bath. Wash away all your trouble then take you to bed where he’ll fuck you right through it. Just the way only Ray Smith—the boss bitch of London who finally has you as his good little cockslut to play with—can do it.

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

Emoji Fic Tag List – below; if you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

@happyhunnams @band--psycho @est11 @edonaspanca @starbooty @innerpaperexpertcloud @i-love-scott-mccall @six-camelot @alexa-rae-dreamz @coffeebooksandfandom @thesuicidalflower @flaireandsynch @helloheyhihowdyheya @gemini0410 @waywardodysseys @zozebo @bettergetusetoit @emilykjh @little-diable @rocketqueen @mrspeacem1nusone @miss-smutty @rayslittlekitten @abby-splace @chubbychubbs28 @miraclesoflove @tegggeeee @hunnambabe @missusnora @kesskirata @vixenrebellion @thexhostess @pomegranatearildreams @kandii395 @severewobblerlightdragon @itspdameronthings @niki-xie @cind-in-real-life @saweetspoiled @poge-life @few-proud-emotonal @samanthaisnthome @melodranas @soaharleys @charlie-hunnams-old-lady @simpmasterjr @nataliewalker93 @lovebarefootblonde @marvelousmermaid @tsukuyomi011 @sciapod @midnight-dreams-23

#charlie hunnam #raymond smith #ray smith #the gentlemen #charlie hunnam smut #raymond smith smut #the gentlemen smut #charlie hunnam imagine #raymond smith imagine #the gentlemen imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #raymond smith fanfiction #the gentlemen fanfiction #raymond smith x reader #raymond smith x you #ray smith x reader #ray smith x you #charlie hunnam x reader #charlie hunnam x you #emoji fics

[animedaddymilkers]

Kinkmas 2020: Day 20

Prompt: Size Kink w/ Kisame

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Size Kink, Comfort, Tummy Bulge, Cum-Flation, Fingering, Penetrative Sex || Characters: Kisame Hoshigaki, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

"Hi, can I help you find any…anything?" your customer service voice chimed out, only stuttering over your words when you finally looked up and up and up and met the eyes of the customer in front of you.

Said customer was a hulk of a man, though the bluish tint to his skin had you questioning even that part. You were used to being generally small and short but the height of this man made you remember that all the more. Still, you had a job to do and kept the cheerful smile plastered onto your face. The man turned around and looked down at you rather amused, though you were relieved when his face broke out in a smile.

"Why yes, I need help finding some bandages and perhaps a new shirt," his voice boomed out, nearly sending you to your knees at the pure baritone nature of it.

Only now did you notice the tatters in his shirt and the gash covering his torso, "Oh, gosh, okay! H-Here just follow me!"

Clamoring about you collected medical equipment and grabbed his hand, leading him to the back of the shop after flipping the open sign to closed. You sat him down at your simple kitchen chair, which almost looked comical under his large form. But you didn't have time to ogle over the sight of him as he was still actively bleeding. Your hands prepped the supplies quickly and you were about to start fixing him up when his hands wrapped around yours, effectively stopping you.

"You don't need to do this, little dewdrop. I can do it myself."

Besides the affectionate nickname catching you off guard, you steeled your resolve and shook your head at him, "Please, let me do this! I don't see how you can stitch yourself up with your hands shaking so!"

He raised an eyebrow and looked to his hands holding yours. Sure enough, even while clasped around yours, his hands were shaking. Damn, the injury must be affecting him more than he thought. With a defeated sigh he let your hands go and leaned back into the chair, the wood ominously creaking beneath his weight. You sat on another chair in front of him and went to work, first, discarding him of the tattered shirt barely covering him. Still, to see his chest completely bare had your cheeks heating up. Your hands pressed against his abdomen to put pressure on the wound, intent to stop the blood. As you held your hands there the man in front of you rubbed his face.

"How did you get this injury?"

"Best not for you to ask questions, little one," so much for small talk.

"Can I at least have your name?"

The man seemed to think about it for a moment before answering, "Kisame. Yours?"

You gave him your name and reveled in the small smile he offered you after hearing it. After the introduction he seemed to relax slightly, allowing just a bit of small talk between you two. He told you he was injured in a fight, though he wouldn't go into too much detail and you wouldn't ask. The blood flow finally slowed and you took the cloth away, throwing it into a nearby bin. Then you set about cleaning the wound, frowning when Kisame tensed at the antiseptic that no doubt burned. Your other hand grabbed his and held it tight to support him through the pain. Briefly, you took in the sheer size difference of your hands, your own barely as big as his palm. After cleaning, you carefully bandaged the gash, paying mind to patch it up so it hopefully wouldn't rip open again.

"Thank you."

It was a simple statement, but it conveyed a tone of finality, that he was leaving and you turned from putting the supplies away, "You still need a shirt. And please, let me make you some food. It'll help you recover better."

Kisame should have turned down the offer, but you were hospitable and altogether unassuming. So, against the better judgment, he was trained with, he accepted your offer. Thankfully, you had a meal already on cooking since the morning and you dished out two bowls for the two of you. As you ate, it felt natural and easy to sit across from each other and chat. The conversation flowed from topics of your favorite colors, to what you thought about the fate of stray dogs. There was no rhyme or reason to what you talked about and that's what made it interesting. But, as Kisame finished his fourth bowl, you realized it was once again drawing to a close. You weren't sure why, maybe it was his attractive looks, but you didn't want to say goodbye to him. He offered to help do dishes and you actually accepted his help, if only to keep him around that much longer. Again, that only lasted for a handful of minutes until you were left shifting from foot to foot as both of you stood around in silence.

"You… You could always stay the night," you offered boldly before quickly adding, "To help you heal more, of course!"

His eyebrows raised before he nodded at your second part, "Of course, of course. You're right. It would help. I'll stay. Do you have an extra bed?"

Your face dropped slightly and you laughed a bit nervously, "Uhh, well, no, but you can have my bed! There's room enough for you."

"And enough for you too? Well, 'suppose even if not, you could always sleep on top of me, dewdrop," Kisame stated plainly before laughing at your sheepish reaction.

"I-I suppose," your cheeks heated up at the image of you curled up on his chest, another reaction that Kisame didn't miss.

He leaned down until he was eye level, grinning suavely, "I still need to repay you for patching me up, so name your price, and don't be shy about it."

You thought about it for a moment, knowing he wouldn't accept 'nothing' as an answer, "Kiss me."

"Damn, that's a pretty cheap price for a wrap job. But I guess I shouldn't complain. I'll gladly kiss you a million times over," with that, Kisame lifted you from the floor so your face was level with his.

Wrapping your legs around his torso, careful to mind his wound, you rested your hands on his broad shoulders. His smile was contagious and even as he leaned in for the kiss it was all a bit surreal. The soft lips against yours tasted, unlike anything you ever kissed before. Reminiscent of salt with a spearmint kick to it, almost like taffy. It was far from bad and when he went to pull away you found yourself following his mouth, keeping the contact. He exhaled in amusement against you but obeyed your wishes, kissing you again and again. His large hands supported your bottom, one hand easily covering an entire cheek as he held you close. The sheer size of the man had you wet from the second he walked into your store and now that he was kissing you in his arms you were a bit anxious to get the show on the road if you will.

You pulled away to peel your shirt off, white eyes taking in every inch of newly revealed skin. The shirt landed somewhere in the hallway as Kisame wandered through to what he deemed your bedroom. Not like it was hard to spot anyway, it was the only room that had a bed in the middle. Gingerly, he laid you down on the bed and snickered.

"You're definitely going to have to sleep on top of me," He grinned and kissed down your jaw to your neck.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you responded in a breath, moaning at the way he sucked on your skin.

The sharp teeth so close to your jugular had your heart beating a bit faster. Though you were almost positive Kisame wouldn't hurt you, just knowing there was a possibility turned you on even more. He nipped slightly and you gasped at the feeling before letting out a moan. The reaction was exactly what he wanted and he took it as an invitation to do more to you, a hand placing itself between your legs and rubbing you through your pants. A grin spread across his face as he felt your wetness even through the material and went about undoing them, eager to see just how soaked you were. Once completely bare he slipped twin fingers down, damn you really were soaked. He pushed the thick digits inside, slowly working you open and making a comment about how he needed to stretch you.

Foolishly, you thought that just meant fingering you for a few minutes and then the main event, but you couldn't have been more wrong. Just when you thought you were going to get fucked, Kisame instead pushed a third, thick finger inside of you. You were already a moaning mess but he still pumped his fingers in and out, working you open even more. He curled his fingers just right and before long you were having your first orgasm of the night. Finally, he pulled all of his fingers out and began kicking your juices off. His fingers then hooked into his pants and boxers, pushing them down and off, leaving you gasping at the sight of what lay underneath.

Words were unfathomable as you took in the absolute fear-invoked of a cock he had. Truly, when people wrote about a cock able to split a person in two, there was a picture of him next to it. It made sense now as to why he went to such lengths to prep you and still you thought maybe he should go back to prepping you more. Yet you didn't voice any of those fears, the feeling of lust overtaking you and you decided you needed to try and take it right then and there. Kisame seemed to notice though and asked if you had any lube, pouring a copious amount onto his length before flipping you onto all fours. Like the horny bitch you currently were, you pressed your face down and wiggled your ass in the air slightly, begging him to fuck you already.

"You look so good like this, dewdrop. I'm going to fuck you so good. You're gonna look so sexy trying to take as much of my dick as you can."

His lewd words earned a moan from you and the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance. Slowly and carefully, he pushed inside of you, listening for any cues from you for him to stop, but when none came he went as far as your pussy would allow him to. For a moment, he stayed still, the sheer size of him spearing you had you moaning and gripping at the sheets nearly losing your mind. He barely got halfway in, but that was still impressive for your first time taking him. Inch by inch he pulled out until the tip was the only thing left inside of you before pushing back in, forcing you open again. You whined and wiggled your ass slightly, needing more movement from him, no matter how much it could potentially hurt.

Kisame groaned and obliged, pulling his hips out a bit quicker before thrusting back in. His heavy balls slapped against your clit, sending shivers down your spine. Where other lovers would lean down and kiss your shoulder, Kisame easily leaned over and caught your mouth in a kiss, not having to worry about stretching to reach at all. His large hands played with your tits, tugging on your nipples like they were toys. Though even with all the rippling pectorals and sheer body size, each of his touches were soft and playful. He pounded into you and you came at the sight of your stomach protruding with each thrust. The squeeze around him as you came was honestly a bit painful for him, but hey it's a good thing he got off on that. He helped you ride out your orgasm and then continued, almost literally, rearranging your guts.

"Fuck, dewdrop, this pussy feels so good wrapped around me, I could keep you like this forever."

Somewhere, your mind knew you only met this man today, but the overwhelming majority just didn't give a shit. He could keep you forever and it'd be a happy life. As long as it meant he'd fuck you like this, you'd be content. His hips seemed to only go faster, but with the amount of thigh muscle he was working with, it made sense. You came again when his balls hit against your clit particularly rough, sending your thighs shaking and you gripped the bedsheets desperately. Kisame groaned as you came again and his hands never stopped touching you, groping at every inch of your body.

Though it was only after your third orgasm did he start to falter himself. He grunted and gripped your shoulder a bit tighter than before, hips stuttering in their rhythm. But, he wasn't done yet and flipped you onto your back before picking the pace back up, fucking into you like a crazed animal. You weren't about to complain though and not like you could either, at this point you could barely form words longer than his name and various cusses. Kisame nipped along your collarbone, muffling his groans before he growled and shoved himself deep, covering your inner walls in white. It didn't stop there, his load felt like it kept coming and coming, the sheer feeling sending you into another orgasm. By the time he was finished your stomach had a barely yet still there bulge, thanks to the massive load he gave you. You babbled incoherent whines, whimpers, and moans and now this time, it was Kisame's turn to tend to you.

As he cleaned you up and, like promised, settled you on his chest, he grinned while rubbing your back, "Guess I should get stabbed more often."

hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :D

#naruto #naruto x reader #kisame hoshigaki #kisame x reader #kisame x you #smut #naruto smut #reader insert #kinkmas 2020 #size difference

[toothpastecanyon]

We Creatures, Chapter 1

When Alcor felt Mizar calling to him, he came to help. Perhaps, this one time, he should have stayed asleep.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

    Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender was a terrible name, a name spoken by doomsday cults, by grieving widows, by pale newscasters over aerial shots of burning rubble. Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender was a soft name, whispered by children who’d found an unlikely friend.

    And sometimes, it was neither. Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender came out of a bad period, and into a quiet period. He didn’t feel like himself, but he’d gotten bored of the violence, bored of the blood, bored of the world, and for a few centuries he’d just… let it be. He’d sit in the fields of his Mindscape, close his eyes, and rest.

    When he felt like this, only a very special call could wake him from his slumber.

Alcor…

    A wing twitched.

Alcor…

    A brow furrowed.

Help me.

An eye opened.

    That felt like Mizar.

______________________________________________________________

    The smell hit him first. It was rank, wet, and pungent like he was standing knee deep in a sewer - and looking around, it seemed very much like he was. Dirty concrete and trash-filled water was all he could see in either direction, and the ceiling was so low his hat was phasing through it. Alcor wrinkled his nose at the mixture swilling around his leggings; he considered just leaving now, returning back to his comfy rest, but-

    “You came.”

    A voice. Her voice. He turned, and saw her standing beside a rough circle scratched into the curving walls. Her face looked strange to him for a second, but… wow. She looked a lot like Mabel.

    “I didn’t know if you would,” she continued, and her voice sounded like Mabel too, didn’t it? “These haven’t worked in over a hundred years.”

    Alcor didn’t know what to say. Maybe he’d forgotten - it was a long time since he’d last spoken. Mizar didn’t wait for a reply.

    “Listen: you have to help me. There’s these - these elves, they think I killed one of their own.” Her fists balled. “I didn’t do anything, but they’re hunting me. You can’t let them get to me.”

    Alcor blinked slowly. Help. He… he could help. He reached out a hand - and frowned when Mizar recoiled.

    “No, no teleports! They’ll, they’ll track the signal, don’t touch me. Just help me lose them, okay?”

    There was something missing, here. Something he needed. Almost on cue, Mizar started fishing something out of her sweater.

    “Hold on, hold on… here it is!” She opened her hand, revealing a tiny crystal twinkling on her palm. “One pristine elder dewdrop. Closest thing to a soul I could give you - just this much could turn New York into the Amazon.” A grin. “So, we doing this?”

    For a moment, Alcor just stared at her. He stared at her brown eyes, at her long flowing hair, at her bright sweater and skirt. He stared at the freckles on her cheeks, and the jangly bracelets on her arms. He stared at her hand, outstretched to take his, and reached out-

    “Hey, we agreed, no touchy.” She stepped back. “Deal?”

    Alcor parted his lips.

    “D̳̭̹̺̲̠̪̼́e̡̯̮͝a̹̥̜̘ͅl, M̰͝i̞̝z͕̙̞͙a͖̥̮̖̗̯͈͝͡r̜̰̗̹ͅ.”

        The sound echoed down the tunnels, and Mizar wrinkled her nose.

    “Real master of subtlety, aren’t you. Well, a deal’s a deal, soooo…” she turned, and tossed the dewdrop over her shoulder. “follow me, big guy.”

    And off she waded, wet trash piling over her white socks. Alcor didn’t quite float behind her as much as he was behind her; he willed himself to always stand a few feet behind her as she moved forwards, and the edge of his shoes clipped through the concrete as the tunnel took a turn.

    After a little while, Mizar glanced back in amusement. “I take back what I say about you being loud,” she said. “I keep having to check you’re still there. That’s a neat trick.”

    Alcor stared at the shine in her eyes, at the little snort she gave.

    “Not a talker, are you?” She turned back, and stepped over a large mound of filthy tissues. “Eh, that’s okay with me, I don’t need you for talking.”

    Talking… Alcor remembered talking. He remembered sitting with his Mizar for hours, talking about emotions, about favourite shows, about grief, about dinner. He frowned at the back of her head.

    “Mizar?”

    “Oh, great. Shouldn’t have said nothing - what?”

    “What’s…” He paused, and thought. “Why… Do you like…?”

    Mizar waited for him to finish, but when nothing came out, she chuckled. “Jeez, you okay, man? You sound like me when I wake up.”

    “Wake up…” He nodded. “Wake up. I wake up.”

    “Wish I could offer you a coffee.” She chuckled. “Anway-”

    “This is-” Alcor frowned. “We’re… running from elves?” He rubbed his head. “I don’t remember them doing this to humans… hunting humans. Why are they-”

    Mizar stopped. “Hold that thought,” she said, and pressed an ear to the concrete. “You hear that?”

    He listened, and he could hear everything. The trickle of water, the hum of a nearby powerline… the flap of a butterfly’s wing on the other side of the planet.

    “Yeah…” Mizar said, nodding. “That’s the sound of you not talking. I like it.”

Alcor watched as she straightened.

“Not trying to be rude, man. But elves can hear you from the surface, so shut up and keep up.”

______________________________________________________________

It was a couple hours of slow, silent, walking, and Alcor was starting to remember why he’d left this human world. The drudgery, the boredom, the sheer human waste he was literally trudging through… what did he like about helping people, again? And where were they going?

    He’d tried to ask, but the most he’d gotten out of her was a “Zip it.” By the way she was navigating the tunnels, though, they were definitely going somewhere; his omniscience wasn’t cooperating on where, so he resigned himself to finding out when they got there.

    He even closed his eyes a little, letting the tether between their souls take him along for the ride. He thought of the soft grass in his Mindscape, and prayed that he could return to it soon.

    Soon…

    “Wake up.”

    Her voice. Alcor opened his eyes, and saw her climbing out of a culvert. She offered a hand - and then quickly retracted it.

    “Come on, this, this way.”

    Alcor climbed out, and found himself standing at the beginning of a little moonlit creek. From the sounds of it there was a highway not far away, but Mizar was stumbling into the forest.

    “Hey,” Alcor frowned. “Uh, shouldn’t we be going away from the forest? The elves-”

    “Shut up!” Mizar snapped. “Shut up, will you!”

    Her hands were shaking, he noticed. He watched her clasp them together, like she was restraining herself.

    “Sorry, just…” she started, and then sighed. “You’re… a lot right now, I need to - I… Just trust me, okay?”

    Alcor cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

    “Just trust me,” she muttered, hobbling past trees. “Just trust me…”

    Frowning, he did follow her. They seemed to be walking some sort of overgrown trail; ferns had definitely broken it up, but he could see the way it still cut through the trees. It wasn’t long until they came upon a small shack in the woods; this too looked abandoned, but by the way Mizar started forwards, it was where they’d been headed.

    “Mizar-”

    “Wait! Wait there. Wait there.” Mizar was biting her knuckle. “Wait there, please. Trust me.”

    His frown deepened. Something was definitely off about this… but he was letting her go, wasn’t he? He heard the door slam, and stood there a little awkwardly. There was an old firepit in front of the cabin, and two mossy logs opposite each other. They were probably benches, but they were damp and slippery… no one had been here in a long time. He looked up at the black sheets covering the cabin’s broken windows.

    Not to camp, anyway.

There was a noise as the door creaked open. Mizar strolled out, hands in her pockets.

“Alright,” she said. “Sorry about that. Anyway, we better keep going.”

“What was in there?”

“Hmm?” Mizar smiled wider. “Oh, just an old shed. Had to get some supplies.” A pause. “You can take a look if you really want to, but there’s nothing in there.”

Alcor hesitated, and then took a couple steps towards the shack. He noticed the smell as he got closer - sewage - and the wards. They were uncomfortably strong, and kept him from looking in until he opened the door, and saw…

...Not much at all. There was an old table and a bed, but the only truly unusual thing was the two piles of magi-orbs sitting in the corner. There was a small pile of working ones, but the other, larger stack was all defunct; their screen had cracked or gone foggy, and they were covered in grime.

“Find any bodies?”

Alcor glanced over at Mizar, who was waving at him from the trees. He made a face, and then closed the door and floated back over to her.

“Glad you got that out of your system. Now come on.”

“What were all those magi-orbs for?”

“It’s a side business, I fix ‘em.”

“In an abandoned shack in the woods?”

“I like the solitude.” Mizar bared a smile at him. “Speaking of solitude-”

He reached out and grabbed her arm. He felt her stiffen, and then relax… and nothing more than that.

“Do you mind?”

Alcor was frowning as he took his hand away. “You’re… strange. You’re hiding something.”

“If you say so.”

“I know why the elves are chasing you.” He felt the dewdrop in his pocket. “Your end of the deal… you stole that from them, didn’t you?”

Mizar shrugged.

“Why would you do that? How did you do that?” He rubbed his head. “You… I wasn’t thinking about it earlier, but you’re just a human, how on Earth did you-”

“Shh.”

“No, don’t shush me this time, I-”

“Shut up.”

Mizar had gone very still, and that was when Alcor noticed the forest had gone absolutely silent. There wasn’t a cricket to be heard; in its place was something ancient, something angry, something… watching him. He locked eyes with Mizar, and her subtle nod said everything.

They were here.

Alcor didn’t see a knife coming until it opened his throat. He whirled around, and a shadowy figure was there - no, gone, and vines were erupting around his feet. It was strange magic, harder to break, and he gave a roar before incinerating it with a blast of blue fire.

Now he looked for elves, and he could see four souls shining bright as day as they were pinning Mizar down. He launched himself at one and tore its throat out, relished in the gargled cry it made. Oh, this he missed. It was- ack!

Magic… magic that hurt. He fixed his eyes on the elf that had come from, and-

A blade erupted out of its belly. Alcor could see its aura flash with surprise, and as it fell he saw another elf standing behind it. Mizar was standing beside it, smiling.

“Good, you got it. Excellent.” She spoke in perfect elvish, and hefted one of their blades. “You’re bleeding. Stand still, let me…”

And she lopped its head clean off. Its body hung there for a second, then dropped to the ground, spurting and convulsing. Mizar stared down at the body with an unreadable expression.

“Mizar?”

Almost unconsciously, she traced her finger across the bloodied blade, brought it close to her lips. Alcor made a tentative step forwards.

“Mizar?”

“Huh?” Mizar looked up, and saw him. “Oh… some fight, huh?” She tossed the blade away. “Saw what you did to that guy - glad you’re on my side!”

“Yeah…” Alcor traced his eye across the battlefield. He’d downed one elf, there were the two he saw Mizar take out… and there was the fourth one, lying some ways away, still breathing. He could see a deep, sucking chest wound, like a bear had slashed him down the middle, and next to him was a strange shattered visor.

All of the elves had been wearing those - it struck him how strangely… artificial they were, compared to their enchanted bark armour and bone-carved swords. He made to pick one up, but-

“Hey, no time to admire your work, we gotta move!” Mizar glanced over at him. “Oof, is that one still alive? Poor guy.”

Alcor looked at her, then back down at the elf. It… he looked young for an elf, and scared. He was staring up at Alcor with wide eyes, shaking his head, trying to speak through the blood pooling in his lungs…

Alcor closed his eyes. He snapped his fingers once, and when he opened them, the soul had left. It was just a body, now.

Just another petty mortal he’d killed, but it wasn’t quite as fun anymore. The pit in his stomach - was this his conscience coming back? It had been a while, for sure.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he saw Mizar standing there with him. When he met her eyes, she gave a little smile, and motioned him to follow.

She stepped over his body and continued forwards. After a moment, Dipper stepped around, and followed.

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #magic lore #elves #worldbuilding #toothwrites

[pixielix]

୭̥⋆*｡ royal christmas!au felix

pairing: prince!felix + gn journalist!reader genre: fluff, slight enemies-to-lovers word count: 1.7k warnings: none ― @districtninewriters​’ winter fic exchange for the lovely @freckledberries​

a/n: hey jules :] i’m so happy i could write this for u. ur someone who’s been so sweet to me since the very start, i’m so grateful for u !! i hope u have a merry christmas n happy holidays <3 love, angie

it’s infuriating that the prince still looks as good as he does in the world’s ugliest christmas sweater

he meanders through a crowd of thousands carrying a subtle air of grace that catches everyone’s eye and the kind of exuberant warmth that holds their attention

it feels like every movement he makes is filled with an intention to charm 

one example is his habit of pushing back his hair after he bows

fingers weaving back through strands of strawberry blonde that gently frame his freckled cheeks

even you can’t deny he’s almost enchanting to watch

but it doesn’t make it any less excruciating that you’re being paid a mediocre wage to watch him smile and shake hands for hours on end

you don’t hate the prince, or anyone from the royal family really, but you hoped that your first assignment as a real journalist would be something that you’re actually passionate about

and unlike everyone else in the country, you really couldn’t care less about the royals

the feeling’s somewhat mutual

it’s a well-known fact that the royals are ‘indifferent’ to journalists

they say if the king had his way, he’d have banned every news outlet in the country years ago

maybe that’s why felix’s eyes shift to the opposite direction whenever he sees someone with a camera and a bright red press lanyard

so naturally, when you catch him trying to escape his own guards and make an early escape from the winter parade, his first instinct is to put on a charming smile and try to slither his way out of the situation

“your highness?” you find him straddling a wooden fence at the back of the park just as you’re stepping away from the crowded parade to get some air

his lips stretch into a bashful grin, avoiding your eyes as he swings one leg back over the fence and lands on both feet in front of you

“hey uh.. how did you know it was me?”

“the sweater” you point a finger at the the tinsel-covered, burgundy fabric still visible under the hem of his hoodie, unintentionally grimacing at the sight of it

“oh… is it that bad?”

“to be honest, it’s the ugliest thing i’ve ever seen. uh- no offense-” you blurt out, eyebrows knit together apologetically as soon as you realise you just insulted the prince

“none taken” he breathes a soft chuckle, “thank you for your honesty”

you both stand there in a stalemate for a few seconds, feet shuffling awkwardly in the snow as you carefully consider what comes next

felix’s eyes grow increasingly troubled as he realises how screwed he is if you rat him out to the guards, or worse, to the media

as desperate as he was to get away from the crowds and have the day to himself, ‘runaway prince’ wouldn’t be a good look

meanwhile, you have the thrilling realisation that if the prince were to somehow slip away, there’d be no need for you to stick around

sure you’d come back to the boss empty-handed, but at least you could save him and yourself from many more brain-numbing hours of smiling and shaking hands

“go.”

“what?”

“i won’t tell anyone, i promise” you assure him

“really? why should i trust you?” felix quirks his brow in suspicion as he leans back against the fence with arms crossed over his chest

“cause i want to get out of here just as badly as you do”

both of your heads whip around at the sound of footsteps approaching

“go.” you repeat firmly in a hushed tone

before he can argue, a group of his guards falls into view

“your highness, please, come back! just one more question!” you yell, but in the complete opposite direction of the park, diverting their attention and giving felix enough time to jump the fence and hide in the bushes

he peeks out and you turn back towards him with a relieved smile

“merry christmas” you mouth

all he can do is return the smile, watching speechlessly as you turn and walk away

the next time you’re assigned coverage of the prince’s activities is at the annual christmas eve performance of the nutcracker

once again, you find yourself watching from a distance as the prince captivates the crowd

taking the time to greet each of the young performers dressed as snowflakes and dewdrops with an enthusiastic high five

the lights dim as the performance starts and you use it as your chance to take a break from the noise

it doesn’t take long for you to notice a familiar young man in a hoodie walking slowly behind you down the empty corridor

“i’m supposed to be the one following you, you know”

“sorry i didn’t mean to- well i did but i-” felix stutters, frozen in place as you turn towards him

“i’m kidding. can i help you?” you smile with your head tilted and your hand on your hip

he scratches his neck, scrambling to remember the reason why he’d been looking for you in the first place

“um- oh! i uh- i didn’t get to thank you last time”

“for what?”

“helping me escape the parade”

“oh”, you smile and felix can swear he feels his heart start to tremble, “it’s no big deal”

“no really, you saved me, thank you” he bows deeply, only realising how overly courtly he’s being when he catches you stifling a laugh

“sorry” he blushes, “habit.”

without missing a beat, he threads his fingers back through soft tresses of blonde hair and you watch them fall perfectly over his handsome features

he’s even more enchanting up close

a few seconds pass as you both ponder the absurdity of a friendship between a prince and a journalist

but felix breaks the silence with the exact suggestion that you’ve been waiting for

“i’ve seen this performance of the nutcracker about twenty times before so i wasn’t really thinking of sticking around. did you want to…?”

“absolutely” you nod firmly and his eyes light up like stars

you tug the press lanyard from your neck as he holds open the exit door for you

“after you” he grins

“thank you, your highness-”

“felix.”

“thank you, felix”

as you get to know felix on a spontaneous trip to the outskirts of the city, it seems like everything you thought about him was wrong

the warmth and sweetness of his persona as the nation’s beloved ‘fairy prince’ is completely real

and despite only being the second-in-line, he still feels a strong sense of responsibility towards the country, especially to inspire and empower young people

seeing the way his face lights up in excitement when he gushes about all of the organisations that he’s taken up an ambassadorship with, you can’t help but start to admire him

he opens up to you about the struggles of growing up in the public eye and the media storms that almost tore his family apart

it’s no wonder that when felix invites you as his guest to the royal family’s christmas ball, it causes quite a stir

“no journalist has stepped foot inside the palace in the last fifty years, felix” you repeat, pacing frantically in your bedroom as he tries to calm you down over the phone

“you’re not coming as a journalist, you’re coming as my guest.”

“i can’t even dance!”

“i’ll teach you. you know i’ll look out for you, don’t you?”

“i know it’s just- are you sure about this? about me being there?”

“it has to be you.”

you can almost hear the smile in his voice, warm and reassuring

“okay… only if you’re sure”

“i’m sure. a hundred and one percent.”

the whole interior of the palace is more rustic and homely than you’d expected

and the music is lively, so are the laughs

his sisters are the most beautiful, sweetest girls you’ve ever met and your heart instantly feels warm in their presence

along with the hospitality of his parents (besides the occasional side-eye you get from the king)

in a conversation with one of his sisters, who speaks as fondly about felix as everyone else seems to, she mentions hearing about you

“my brother is an affectionate person, but i’ve never seen him gush about anyone as much as he has about you” she beams

flustered, you look over at him, only to find him looking straight back your way

leaning back against a wall with a glass in his hand, almost oblivious to the group of people that are circling him and instead fully focused on you

he hands his drink to one of his friends and proceeds to slowly walk away

but not before tilting his head and giving you a mischievous look that you immediately know the meaning of

let’s get out of here

“this is nothing like i imagined” you breathe shakily, following felix down the stairs as he leads you out of the ballroom

“what were you expecting?”

“chandeliers, statues, maybe a dragon” you laugh

“i wish” he sighs playfully as he nudges open a door to the outdoor courtyard

felix hurries a few steps ahead so that he can extend his hand to you as you step out onto the glacial footpath

but he ends up almost slipping over his own feet in the process, so you interlace arms and cling to each other for dear life

“ah-!” you stifle a squeal, instinctively tightening your grip on the sleeves of his flowy white dress shirt with every step you take

you glide around each other on the frosted concrete for a few seconds trying to regain your balance

“hey look, we’re sort of dancing” felix chuckles, twirling you under his arm with ease as you gently fall forwards and laugh against his chest

“i don’t think this counts”

“then let me teach you properly like i promised”

light snow continues to fall as you find your rhythm, guided by the soft echo of people clapping along to a lively acoustic beat inside the palace

“am i doing this right?” you ask softly as you watch your feet while carefully mirror his steps

“yeah” he whispers against your hair, warm breath tickling your ear, “you’re doing it perfectly”

the distant roaring of crowds indicates that it’s come to that part of the night where the royal family gives their christmas address to the public at the front of the palace

but felix just continues to hold you close, humming blissfully as if to drown out the noise

“i think the whole world’s waiting for you out there...”

he pulls away, just for a second, and looks at you with those doey brown eyes that seem to hold the expanse of the entire sky on the clearest winter night

“the world can wait”

m.list

#districtninewriters #skzwriternet #bystay #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #reader x stray kids #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz drabbles #skz fluff #reader x skz #felix scenarios #felix imagines #felix drabbles #felix fluff #reader x felix #writing this my brain was just that meme of the horse on the beach #'man'.... like IDEK #but i was so excited that i got jules :(( i hope u like it bb #not my best but i had fun w it #love u jules i hope i did prince!felix justice </3 #m; au

[copias-thrall]

Ok, it’s cold out and I’m getting snow. So I wanted to know how papa III and Copia would be like doing fun snow activities with their s/o? Like going sledding, ice skating, snow ball fights, etc and then cocoa at the end of the day???

Well hello, marionette-ghoulette! Thanks for bearing with me! 

I know it’s spooky season right now, but we’ll just say that this a head start on winter fun! I already have a full list of sledding HCs, so you can check them out there!

Content under the cut for length!

Papa III: I’ve already headcanoned that Papa was an excellent ice skater in his youth, so expect to be woken up to his luminous visage as he tugs you out of bed, pairs of ice skates slung over his shoulders. Like a kid on his birthday morning, he’s excited that it’s finally cold enough to go skating on the lake on Abbey grounds. As you groggily eat some oatmeal with cinnamon for fortification, Papa is bouncing about and showing you all the designer outerwear he got you to keep warm, but not overheated. 

Once on the lake, you’re like a baby fawn—mincing along on the ice and trying not to let your legs splay apart too far. Papa does a few rounds—backwards—then tries a few jumps whose landings he just manages to stick. (You’ll admit to hoping unkindly he’ll land on his ass at least once.)

You finally get your “ice legs,” and have at least been able to skate in a straight line while he lapped you time and time again … but after a while, your muscles are screaming “uncle.” He’s still got the muscle memory (and the bubble butt), but running around and thrusting on stage ≠ the same tone he needs to keep up with skating around for hours like he used to. Slyly using your discomfort as an excuse, he ushers you off the ice.

Still breathless, blood pumping, except for Papa to “accidentally” fall down into the snow, taking you with him. As he presses you into the powder, you squeal at the cold damp beginning to seep into your outerwear, but he just gives you a line about the ice-cold being a balm to your throbbing glutes. You’re of a mind to indulge his lascivious advances, but the instant snow creeps down your pants, you’re pushing him off you and telling him to use that snow to ease his throbbing …

Even as you try to build a snowman, Papa’s still more interested in getting into your snow suit and absolutely no help at all! You do end up constructing a snowman, despite his pawing—but it’s ill-proportioned and lopsided. When you pout at him, Papa does feel a little bad and tries to fix it for you. And the creation is … better, but the two of you watch as one of the stick arms droops, then falls.

He’s contrite, but you just laugh and kiss him. You tell him that now he has to make it up to you. Eyes shining, he pulls you back toward the Abbey (you both were beginning to feel the chill now that you weren’t moving about as much, anyway), and ushers you into his bathroom suite. 

After adding some Epsom salts and getting the temperature just right, Papa helps you into his tub and turns on the jets—a perfect remedy for your increasingly sore leg muscles—but he doesn’t join you right away. He disappears for at least 10min—during which you add more hot water and try not to doze off—but when he comes back, it’s with a tray and steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

The beverage is a welcome one, but when you bring the mug up to your mouth, you see that the mix is still grainy and floating a bit above the water. Papa looks so proud, though, that you take a few (lukewarm) sips and tell him it’s yummy. You smile at the thought of teaching him how to make the proper kind—it’s going to be a long winter and you can’t wait for more snow dates.

Copia: He likes to be warm—you’re more likely to find him snuggled up by the fire with an ancient tome than frolicking in a fresh snowfall. He’s easily convinced, however—especially if it’s by you or one of his feral children Ghouls. The silly man will attempt to go out in just his overcoat and a wool scarf and then complain about the chill; you’re going to have to make sure to dress him appropriately … and be prepared for him to grumble about the constricting layers the whole time.

Once you get outside, you’ll be clambering to make snow angels, but Copia is dubious—a damp bottom should only be because of one thing (him). He watches bemused as you lay down and start moving your limbs to displace the power. He tries to remain distanced from this whole snow endeavor—that is until Swiss creams him in the face with a bodacious snowball. His dislike of cold snow is trumped only by his need to be The Best, and after everyone holds their breath to see if he’ll flip out, Copia dives down to pack snow together to prove he’s king of the snow hill.

An all-out snowball fight ensues with tenuous alliances, shifting loyalties, and utter betrayal. Don’t expect being Copia’s lover to stop anyone (including him) from shoving snow down your shirt during this battle royale. You learn that he’ll absolutely play dirty after he seems to tug you in for a kiss … only to smash a snowball into you before whooping at your shriek and pirouetting away. (It’s ok: you sneak attack him and stuff a nice, icy snowball down the back of his pants, chortling when he squeals the instant it melts down to his balls.)

By the end, you’re both glowing from the exertion with ruddy cheeks from the cold air. Copia is looking at you with bright eyes and tries to initiate a makeout sesh under a snow-covered Evergreen—that’s rudely interrupted by Dewdrop tugging on the branch above you, covering both of you in a drifts of snow. You’re both indignant, Copia ready to bury the Gremlin up to his neck, until Aether gathers him up and dumps him in the freezing stream.

You and Copia choose to take that moment to make your getaway from the squad of troublemakers—admittedly you’re beginning to feel the creep of the chill in your snow-damp clothes, and some hot chocolate in front of his fire sounds like an amazing idea. Copia still tries to steal a kiss or two—to warm his lips up, he says—on the slog back.

Back in his quarters, Copia has fluffy robes for you to change into, even though you’re actually feeling overheated now that you’ve gone from the brisk winter air into the heat of the Abbey. When you see that he’s not in his study, you do a search only to find him in his kitchenette making hot chocolate from milk, baker’s bars, and a little sprinkle of cayenne, “just for kick.”

As you curl up on his sofa next to him, you finally feel the activities of the day in your marrow: all the running around and wading through snow, coupled with a warm belly in front of a fire is making your limbs and head feel heavy; you doze off to the sound of Copia reading, the crackle of the fire, and the feel of him stroking your hair.

#marionette-ghoulette #asks #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #papa iv #reader #fluff

[infcstissumam]

Hello! I hope you're having a good day! 💖 I find you writing absolutely amazing! I love reading all of your stuff! I was wondering if I could ask for some ghoul HCs for when their S/O is sick with something like a bad flu; like their fever won't break, they can't keep any food down, a persistent cough, and pain from head to toe. Thank you so much! 🖤💙

Hey-hey!! Thank you, Nonny! I’m feeling good, probably because I just finished the last of the exams for my second term! Haha. I hope you’re feeling the same way!!

This got way longer than expected during writing, so I had to cut it down to Aether, Dew and Mountain!

Aether

Aether is an old ghoul, one of the oldest still remaining in the church. Decades have passed, as he’s silently served the clergy, through death and hardship, into joy and prosperity. He saw the end of Elder Zephyros (later known posthumously as Papa Zephyros), he watched as it split the clergy between his sons, he watched as the mantle was adopted and humiliated then brought back into glory. 

He served when many of the clergymen dropped from pestilence, rotting alive where they stood. He saw the bloom of new members in the twentieth century, the baby boom, and so forth. So needless to say, he knows that even the greatest will fall, he knows death and new life, he can tell when a man is in their last days, and you aren’t at yours.

Unlike other ghouls (*cough**cough*dew*cough**cough*), he’s entirely calm when you start to enter the worst of it. As your skin flushes to the shade of a freshly boiled lobster and shines under the blurry overhead light, he’s beside you, holding a wet cloth to your forehead and urging you to drink, just a little bit more.

Yet, that doesn’t mean he’s not worried, in fact, the truth is the contrary. Once he’s out of your eyesight and hearing range, he’ll collapse against something solid and bury his head in his hands, a deep hissing sigh escaping his lips. His body quakes, like a leaf in the wind, but no tears fall, your misery is his misery. Seeing you there in that bed, pale and devoid of you, that spark of life that makes you so ebullient against the faceless crowds. It hurts, it hurts like a bitch, especially when he can’t do a damn thing.

Still, he’ll always return with that small smile and stoic attitude to you, he’ll be your rock in this storm, and he’ll see you through until your rainbows peek through the gray clouds.

Dewdrop

This lad, whew boy.

He’s terrified, unlike Aether, he’s a relatively new summon, he isn’t nearly as wisened to the nature of human fragility or the difference between death and disease.

As far as he’s concerned, you’re dying, and there isn’t dick for shit that he can do about it. You’d expect rage, but no, he’s a self-imploding storm of anguish and misguided anger.

He blames himself for this, he let you, his greatest treasure, the only human in the godforsaken clergy he can stand, walk headfirst into danger and look at what he’s done now. He did this, it’s his fault, he hurt you.

For days he lays at the foot of your bed, standing guard against some unseen enemy. Only moving to curl up beside you when you cry for his natural warmth amidst cold shivers, even then, he won’t meet your gaze. Guilt is eating him alive.

That is until Aether manages to break through to him by explaining what a disease is. That it isn’t his fault, it’s just an unfortunate side effect of being human, spread in close quarters and far from as fatal as he’s treating it.

Then all hell breaks loose. No humans are allowed in your room anymore. Dew won’t have it, they did this to you, they spread the disease and got you sick. He’s practically spitting flames whenever an unfortunate sister or brother stops by to check on you.

Now, he’s taken to leaving your side, only in search of medicine from a local pharmacy or to personally see food and water brought to you. He’ll make sure you get better, come hell or high water.

Mountain

Mountain notices the changes far before even you do. Waking up one morning, he could hear the light spasms of your diaphragm, an omen of an oncoming storm. Your complaints of a sore throat in the morning only confirmed his suspicions. You’re coming down with something.

Still, he doesn’t know what, and his concern is piqued. First, he turns to the gaggle’s leader, what should he do? What is this? Expectedly, Aether is no source of information on the matter and directs him to the clergy’s clinic, they’d know more than he does and is far more reliable than certain websites.

Following some brunt and straightforward conversations with some very confused sisters, Mountain finally has some sort of answer. They said it was likely the flu, a common ailment for this time of year. Now with an answer to his nagging question and uneasy nerves, Mountain starts a research binge and stockpile, but not before curtly stating that you were sick, to which you scoffed, you had an itchy throat and little cough, no need to call the doctor.

When your flu came around to make you eat your words, both you and he were thankful for his worrying, you had no wants that he wasn’t prepared for in some way or another.

Still, no matter his preparations, your sharp decline, the way you drained and spluttered half-heartedly, it shook him to his core.

When you’d quake and clutch him for warmth, he’d want nothing more than to hold you and warm you back into your old self. But as you’d turn away, still pale and sweat lined, breathing hard and shallowly in an attempt to get oxygen to your lungs.

It broke his heart, made him want to cry, but he didn’t, he won’t, not until you’re better and back to him with that sly smile and contagious laughter. Until then, he’d be strong for both of you.

[yourlongsufferingsister]

Just some very vague headcanons about how the ghouls might fuck you-

Rain: I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen a few other posts with similar concepts, but I would like to show my support by publicly agreeing that Rain is a harsh dom. So much so that it can border on unpleasant at times. He’s generally new to being in intimate situations with humans, so he can get a little carried away- which isn’t to say that he is anything but an intuitive lover. If you let him know that you aren’t really into being pushed so far, he’ll be very quick to shape up and loosen the reigns (maybe literally.)

Dewdrop: Suprisingly good at taking control in a way that doesn’t challenge your needs. Ironically, he’s a little more reserved with you than the other ghouls. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still super into catching you off guard, he just makes an effort to do so in a way that benefits you. He’ll surprise you here and there with really gentle touches that feel extra meaningful in contrast with, well- the entire rest of him. And don’t even get me started on how he might preoccupy you with that tongue of his.

Side note, having Dew and Rain at the same time would probably make for the best sex you’ve ever had- Dewdrop would be more than happy to have you propped up against him while Rain has his fun with you, talking him down whenever he starts to take things too far.

Aether: He’s so considerate- like seriously the sweetest. One big teddy bear. He’s just one of those people who tries his best to make a positive impact on the people around him, even when those people aren’t compelled to do the same. He’s always very good at communicating and helping to guide you through anything that you aren’t familiar with. Don’t let that fool you though, he can get a little possessive himself. Definitely gets a kick out of certain power-play dynamics and titles.

Swiss: The most unpredictable switch on earth, even to a fault. You know how the writers for Game of Thrones pissed a bunch of people off when they changed the ending last minute just to make sure nobody could have guessed where the story was going? Yeah, that’s Swiss. He will not stop until you are as frustrated and confused as you can possibly be. He likes watching you flounder as he fluctuates between unparalleled sadism and near overwhelming altruism.

Mountain: Tall, but a sub no less. He’s just too nervous to take your pleasure into his own hands that way. He’s honestly just worried that he’ll disappoint you somehow. You’re all too happy to show him that he couldn’t if he tried, and you find out very quickly what an insane amount of stamina this man has. Sweaty.

Cumulus: This woman will absolutely wreck you if you let her. She genuinely could spend hours working you up, only to hold off on you right as you’re about to come tumbling over the edge. Just hearing the noises you make is enough for her. But having you make those noises between her legs wouldn’t be half bad either.

Cirrus: She’s pretty shy for someone with such a commanding stage presence. A little bit of a pillow princess to be honest, but she has her moments. The BEST at dirty talking. When you get her going, she’ll just babble the nastiest shit and it’s fantastic. Absolutely needs to be as close to you as possible, will hold you if she can and struggle to do so if she can’t. Likes to wear cute lingerie.

#I didn’t proof read this at all #sorry #Ghost BC #Ghost bc #ghost swedish band #the band ghost #Ghost #Nameless Ghouls #Dewdrop Ghoul #swiss ghoul #multi ghoul #cirrus ghoul #cumulus ghoul #ghoulettes #but i hate calling them that #you dont call a human a humanette if its a girl lol #rain ghoul #aether ghoul #mountain ghoul #idk probably some others

[betaadmin]

-

STEPS. “Do you speak Zemnian?”

The man’s shoulders tense, his eyebrows curve upwards and there’s the slightest tilt to his head. The floor can only be so interesting, after all. Now the wall… much more enticing.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.” (tw torture, descriptions of violence)

The soldiers of the Aurora Watch surround the man like a swarm, whisk him away through the dark streets or Rosohna with the silence of a well-practiced exit. The Mighty Nein witness it all, following the prisoner to the dungeons on request of the Shadowhand.

It does not take long for Caleb Widogast to figure out why.

They’re just outside the entrance when Essek turns to face them, raising a hand to ask for silence and attention. He does a once over of the group, and then his gaze settles on the wizard, all sooty fingers and palms covered in components.

“You spoke of your ties with their inner circles, yes? And of your training. ” Caleb nods, with far less conviction than he should have. “I have something to ask of you. Come along, Caleb Widogast.”

There’s no waiting for a reply— Essek turns without making a sound, and glides his way through the heavy set doors of the Dungeon on Penance. Six of the Mighty Nein tentatively step forward, the epitomy of a not-so-well oiled machine after the events of the last couple days, but Caleb’s grip is tight on Nott’s hand and she ends up yanked backwards instead. He looks so conflicted that she thinks his eyebrows would fall off if he were to relax his expression.

“Nein, I—“ he clears his throat, “He asked for me alone, so I’ll… go alone. Let’s not test their patience.”

There’s a pensive hum from Fjord as Caleb walks past him, and grunt of acknowledgement from Beau, who leaves him with a be careful so quiet that he almost misses it, and then the door creaks and locks and he’s in here and they’re out there, and he can’t help but feel the coil tighten around his lungs as he wordlessly follows the guard that had so kindly been waiting for him.

It takes them 7 minutes to be allowed to the farthest section of the dungeon, passing through gates and doors where guards would inquire the human’s business, and Caleb would just straighten his back to shine light on the emblem on his chest and stride past without a word.

Essek is waiting for him in front of a door, tense and pensive, with an ear carefully turned to catch any whispers escaping the room— but it is dead quiet. The Shadowhand looks right through him, and Caleb knows, oh he knows what’s about to happen. Essek had shown Caleb how he worked his magic… and it was Caleb’s turn to return the favour.

They stand there in silence 1, 5, 10, 20 minutes, during which Caleb just breathes and counts, thinks about his friends outside who are hopefully on their way home already, as far away as possible from whatever was going to be asked of him. He fears he might not be able to comply. Not like this, not out of nowhere.  Proving loyalties hadn’t ended so well for him last time. 

There’s a thud from the room, and the metal door slides open and closes with a shriek. The drow man who steps out is a bundle of nerves, tense and frustrated with a jaw clenched so tightly that it might crack. He sharply turns to Essek, and hisses a curse.

“It’s like his head’s on lockdown. It’s not a spell, we’ve checked. The little insect doesn’t even react.” 

Essek nods, waves the other man away as he turns to face Caleb.

“I was thinking perhaps you could shine some light on this… resilience of his.”

-

When he steps into the cold tiled room, the prisoner’s eyes are glued to the floor, to the particularly interesting spot between between his bare feet. He does not look up when Caleb walks around the room, the clack of the hard heels of boots pleasantly filling the air. The redhead hums in contemplation— he doesn’t need to try casting to know that magic is suppressed in this room. Charming someone… would not work. This really was a back to basics kind of challenge.

As he walks, Caleb takes his sweet time to think. The man’s hands are tightly bound, his lush coat and possession removed to leave him only in his shirt and breeches. His hair is light, curled in a pleasant wave that frames a face so fresh that it’s all roses and dewdrops— but he knows better. There’s a line of perpetual frown between the man’s brows, hands too soft and new to belong to anyone who gets their hands dirty, with fingernails filed too short for comfort.

It rings some bells.

Bells about etiquette in a place where presentation is half the fight to be acknowledged.

Another hum, this time followed by a drawn out sigh. The scrape of the other chair against the tiles is deafening in the quiet chamber, but Caleb sits as if he had no cares in the world. He foregoes Common without a second thought.

“Do you speak Zemnian?”

The man’s shoulders tense, his eyebrows curve upwards and there’s the slightest tilt to his head. The floor can only be so interesting, after all. Now the wall… much more enticing.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

His accent is thick in his Common, and it serves its purpose well— the prisoner’s eyes finally dart in Caleb’s direction, with the intent of stealing a passing glance at whatever krick spoke the tongue of the Zemni Fields, only to end up absolutely glued on the figure sitting in front of him instead.

In all his grimy glory, a human in faded breeches and a shirt so worn that it just could not have been white in the past, with a halo of frazzled copper hair that really needed a wash to complete the questionable contact look that Caleb was clearly, absolutely, obviously aiming for when he followed Essek into the dungeon 42 minutes ago. 

They stay there for another while, and Caleb counts the seconds it takes for the prisoner to go back to the oh so interesting wall. He stands up at 382, and the eyes follow him.

He can’t help it, the disgustingly dreamy smile that comes with knowing he’s being watched, a predator circling its prey with the pressure of someone who’s got all the time in the world. He’s in no rush. He’s learning, and it takes him five walks around the chamber to finally catch something.

“You know, I’ve been wondering— why, instead of someone more seasoned, they sent… you? Such a fresh face… accomplished in your studies, I’m sure. They cherry pick with the utmost diligence back in Rexxentrum, after all. But still… so young.”

Caleb stands to the back of him, hands gingerly placed on his shoulders. He can feel the tension under his thumbs, every shift in his posture and every shuddering exhale. The man’s bindings look so terribly tight, don’t they?

It’s a reaction more than anything else, bending forward, and now his lips are against the shell of the prisoner’s ear and it’s as if he were back in the marble floored basement, sharing his own secrets with people who had just spilled everything in return.

“The ropes are like a breeze compared to the stitches, aren’t they.”

The man’s face visibly tilts upwards, and the clack of the boots as Caleb steps away does nothing to break the silent tension that emanates from the prisoner. 

Caleb counts the steps he takes as he waits for any lingering doubts and questions to settle. It’s a long shot, or maybe it’s not a long shot at all, but he dreams about them too often to forget what your skin turns to when it’s stretched and etched with things that don’t belong.

“I know you’re good at this, I’m sure. He thinks so too, for you to be here.”

He circles back to the chair, and he sits down and sighs again, feels the weight of the man’s gaze on him.

Good, perfect, even— poor little prisoner, looking right at you inquirer as he rolls up his grimy sleeves, his icy glare catching your own inquisitive eyes that now widen with realization and fear.

And Caleb, Caleb smiles.

“I want you to know I’m good at this too.”

-

One hour later, the silence has upgraded to whimpers. 

The captive’s hands are unbound, now, clasped tightly in his lap, poised and proper and tensing every time Caleb’s ghostly touch traces the clean faded scars. He has just finished recalling a particularly bad day, when a shard had buried so deep into his flesh that he had passed out from the pain as they tried to remove it.

“A real problem here is that there’s so much hassle with regenerating limbs. Has he ever asked you to rip yourself out of restraints?”

The whiplash of the bloody mental image paired with the feather-light touched on his skin make the man shudder, and he shoots another look in the hopes of catching something in Caleb’s face, something that would dispel the terrifying buildup of torture methods that have been relayed to him throughout the interview, in the hopes of washing them off as bluffing. Caleb just sighs in disappointment.

“Denial can only help you for so long, my friend. And it will make things so much worse, you know that. Come on. You know that.”

Caleb leans forward, and their foreheads touch. His voice is a whisper, intimate, laced with the kindness of someone you want to trust, because they will get you out of here if you just help them out first. A far away voice rings with laugher in the back of his head, and the crystal clear memory bubbles up in all its light hearted mockery.

Oh, Bren, you’re playing too nice today.

He welcomes it with a smile.

“Tell me. Do you remember a time when you were scared for your life? The strain as you tried to resist, do you remember?”

There’s just the slightest of nods in acknowledgement. Caleb takes it and rolls with it, unfolds his own fears in return for knowing the other’s. He feels his eyes sting with unshed tears, and he has to keep himself from grimacing— he hates how good he is at this. 

“When I woke up and didn’t remember, I thought it was a blessing.”

The prisoner’s lips are shut in a tight thin line, and it would be so easy, so easy to just start snapping fingers to get them to open, but Caleb knows, Caleb knows it won’t work, that this is a matter of patience and exhaustion as he peels off the layers that keep this pawn grounded. In a different time, with the recklessness of youth, he wouldn’t have been so keen on waiting.

“Not remembering the pain is a privilege, makes the next challenges easier to face. It takes away the fear.”

His hands cup the man’s face, all kindness and empathy, with the slightest glimmer of hope in his glossy blue eyes as his shoulders slump with a wave of sadness, and gods forgive him, he loves how good he is at this.

“There’s no forgetting what I’ll do if you don’t start talking.”

#critical role #caleb widogast #critical role fanfiction #wrote this RIGHT after Scourgers Confirmed and since then...ive been thinking...caleb widogast Interrogate One PLE A SE #torture tw #like kinda??? #vanni arts #again...unedited....just...wouldve remained unposted if not for Recent Events #djhfgdfjkhgd

[ghostheadcanons]

Nameless Ghouls: S/O is a Transmale

Anonymous said:

How would the Ghouls react to their s/o coming out as a transmale?

Well, first of all, absolutely none of them would think it’s weird or would leave you for it. I think it’s important to emphasize that, first-off. 

Settle in, lads. This is a great jumping point for my next installment of...

So. Ghouls and gender. 

This might surprise you (or not)...but down in Hell? Ghouls don’t really have a concept of gender! Not the same way we do. You have some Ghouls who can give birth, and some Ghouls who can’t. That’s it! That’s the only distinction between the two, and there are no gender roles or restrictions. Mates aren’t strictly birth-giver/non-birth-giver either--there’s all kinds of combinations! 

The term ‘Ghoulette’ is a human invention to distinguish the birth-givers from the non-birth-givers. Ghouls don’t really understand human gender or why people make such a big deal out of it, but they’ve tried to adapt. Most don’t really mind one way or another what pronouns you use for them. ...except Cirrus and Cumulus. Both are adamant on being called ‘she’ and ‘her’. 

Aether would be very supportive. And he would start using ‘he/him’ pronouns for you right away! If you want to change your appearance, he’s more than happy to try and help you there. He’s an Ether Ghoul, so even though his magic isn’t very strong, it’s powerful enough to help you in this case. He would charge a makeup brush with shapeshifting magic so you could take your preferred look for awhile, and continually recharge it as needed. 

Dewdrop is confused. Not that you’re a man, but that there are people who don’t respect that. Gender roles are stupid!! If you need hormones or blockers, binders, even just a pair of socks to shove down your pants, he will break into a pharmacy and steal them for you if you can’t get them legally. Fuck the rules! If he hears anybody call you anything but ‘he’ and ‘him’, you can bet he’s going to get all up in their face about it.

Mountain just. nods. Alright. You want to be called this now instead of that? He can do that. That’s easy. And he’d be really confused that other people seem to have a hard time with it. You would have to explain a lot of what you’re going through to him, but he might actually have an easier time understanding, because he doesn’t have any preconceived notions about human gender.

Rain has so many questions. What’s it like, realizing that you’re one instead of the other? Can you shapeshift? What can he do to help you? He would do his absolute best to help you during your time of need. His mate needs him! And if anybody gives you shit for it, he’ll actually speak up for you. “Don’t call him that. He’s a guy. Do your eyes even work??” 

Cirrus and Cumulus have got your back! They’re the best pep squad in existence. Any time you’re feeling dysphoric, they’ll thump your back and praise you for being a strong, handsome human man! Their mate is the best looking guy in the WHOLE CLERGY. And don’t even get them started with that transphobic shit. You don’t know fear until you have two hissing Ghoulettes in your face because you said something bad about their man. 

Swiss has no problem accepting you as a transmale. What is gender, anyway? He knows shapeshifting magic that’s way stronger than Aether’s. He’ll hook you up with that good shit, brother. He can alter your form permanently if that’s what you want. Just be careful and specify exactly what you want to look like, or else you might end up with some wiggling appendages you never asked for...

#ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #cirrus ghoul #cumulus ghoul #ghoulettes #swiss ghoul #trans s/o #transmale s/o #the nameless ghouls say 'trans rights!' #lore

[depressedtransguy]

hey if you’re not @thedragonemperess keep scrolling or I will take your eyeballs and glue them to your grandmas butt

Loki sobbed harder as the body he loved so much slumped against the wall with a trail of blood and other internal entities following him on the way down, squeezing one hand across his heart and one on the gun that he was still holding. Both were trembling badly. I had no choice, I had no choice, I had no choice, he repeated over and over in his head, trying to remind himself that he did the right thing, but his heart just couldn't accept that. Yet it was too late to go back. He was dead. And it was all Loki's fault. 

The crying soon enough overtook his whole body and he was forced to drop down onto his knees, folding over until his pale forehead was resting against the cooling concrete and his tears were soaking the part beneath him. "I never wanted to hurt you, by god I never wanted to hurt you," Loki choked out with a following wail. Only then did he finally let go of the gun to claw at his neck as if that would open up his trachea from being strangled by tears. "I loved you. I love you." 

"Oh my god, what the-? LOKI?" 

A new and very familiar voice echoed against the hard surfaces and forced Loki to snap his head up to look him in the eye. His frightened eyes. Eyes that unfortunately had just doomed their host's life. 

Within just seconds a knife had been yanked out of Loki's weapons belt and more blood was pouring out onto the floor, this time from a neck. Loki felt less bad that time. Although since it wasn't part of his original mission, and he didn't need to die in order for Loki to live, it still twisted up his guts. Collateral damage. Not great. 

Loki dropped the blood covered knife with a clatter onto the floor and collapsed down to his knees once more, the second death for some reason pushing his oppressive sorrow into nothing but crushing apathy. They were dead. Because of him. 

When the door opened back up behind him Loki jumped up to his feet once more, only to stop when he saw that it was Odin. 

"Good, the job’s done." 

Fingernails dug into Loki's palms. He was the one who set him up to this in the first place. Maybe he should kill him. 

"Don't even think about it, I know you've heard the stories, and I'd hate for you to become nothing but a nightmare," Odin instructed after basically reading his mind. "With your powers, there's no way we're letting you become the victim of this horror. No... no... you're going to be the monster." 

All of the oxygen exited Loki's body. "Monster..." he whispered under his breath as Odin stepped away from him to survey the dead. 

"That's right. Monster. We're going to make sure you're what keeps children up at night." 

If not for a man already threatening his life in the room, Loki would have outwardly sobbed and crumpled into a ball. He was going to be the monster that parents told their children about at night. No matter what he did. He had no control over his own destiny. Odin and... him... had already decided. 

~~

Loki felt two arms wrap around him from behind and a head flop down on his shoulder as he slipped his boots on and tightened the laces, only then pausing at the feeling of his husband latching onto him. "Nightmare, huh?" Stephen whispered against the skin of his neck. "You always get up early for work when you have a bad one."

After seventeen years together Loki was practically an open book that his husband had memorized by heart. "Yeah. It was... bad." A shiver ripped down his spine as he felt familiar fingers slowly dragging themselves over the brand on the back of his neck.

"Was it about this?" he questioned without stopping.

Wordlessly, Loki nodded. Although most of his past he still kept locked up out of fear, and Stephen respected it, he did have a vague idea. And much of that idea came from the thick red ringed brand of the numbers '4269'. It was discovered only a few weeks into their relationship, as it wasn't exactly in a hidden area, but Loki released bits and pieces of an explanation over the years without pressure from his partner.

From those alone Stephen basically knew that that Loki was abandoned by his parents as a baby and handed over to some sort of group or organization that branded him as one of theirs and forced him to do many many things against his will, even after he left, and he only managed to escape very closely to the time that they first met.

That was just enough for Stephen to be satisfied and have enough to comfort his husband, while Loki still had enough hidden that he could sleep at night knowing that his husband was still far from the entire truth.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Honestly he did. Every day he wanted to rant to Stephen about the trauma of his past and just how much they still affected him up to the present. But that came along with the risk of losing him and absolutely everything else, so he kept it all locked down. "Not today, I actually should get to the shop early. I owe Nebula for leaving her with a double shift last time."

Stephen accepted it, but only released one arm from his midsection, first pushing his head over to the side for a sleepy kiss which Loki enthusiastically returned. "Come to me at any time. Okay? I'm not going anywhere."

He could still read him even without knowing everything. "I will. I promise."

With a small smile, Stephen pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth before reluctantly slipping off of him and flopping back onto the mattress. "I love you Dewdrop."

"I love you too." Loki stood up after one more kiss was shared, snatching up his phone and keys as he quietly made his way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. There he ate a bit of a leftover bagel and cast nothing but a sideways glance at the mess on the counter, knowing that it was most likely from one of his daughter's midnight stress baking sessions, which she'd clean up once she woke up within the hour for high school. I'll have to talk to her about that, he thought as he plucked his biker jacket off the coat rack and tucked some of his handheld items into the pockets, already pushing the nightmare out to make room for his daughter. Just one reason out of many why he adored his family. As for his daughter, Hela's, problem, he was pretty positive that it was most likely about her upcoming finals, as she was a huge perfectionist that could barely handle getting a B, and her practice tests hadn't been going too well. Stephen had mostly been handling that, since Loki didn't go to any sort of real school, but he figured that maybe giving up a bit of his unorthodox learning strategies as a child could help her. After all, it did eventually lead to him speaking seven languages and knowing just as much (if not more) about medicine than his doctor husband did. Who knows, but he had to try something to stop watching his daughter suffer over her own expectations.

Right before he was about to step out the door and get to his six AM shift a half an hour early, the thoughts of his daughter reminded him that he should check on his children before he left. Many mornings he had opened his kids doors to find out that they never went to sleep in the first place: Hela from either school or YouTube and Thor from his books.

So as quietly as possible he crept up the stairs up to where dim light was seeping in through windows from the early morning sunrise, carefully twisting the knob to his son's room first and pushing it in. There he saw Thor curled up in his bed with his favorite frog stuffie gripped tightly to his chest, the small lullaby that was usually played to help him sleep floating softly through the still air, and his glow and the dark stars on the ceiling shining down on his apparently sleeping form. But Loki was smarter than that.

"Oh alright, I guess Thor is asleep then. Too bad. I guess I can't give him this brand new Frogger game boy then," Loki acted out as he moved farther into the room, doing worse at holding down his smile than his own fidgeting son. "Maybe I should just donate it since he's not awake to take it." Based on his little facial expression alone, he was having a little battle with himself.

But, eventually and inevitably, the frog side of him won.

"No no, Dad, I'm awake!" he exclaimed. "Just give me it!"

Loki grinned at his victory and kneeled down carefully next to his son's low bed, then peeling back the covers a little more to reveal a dog-eared book with a miniature flashlight both hiding under there. "Another all nighter for... Warrior Cats? Thor, you have school today."

"I'm sorry Dad, I lost track of time. I kept reading and reading and then suddenly I saw the sun start to rise and you were coming in," he hastily explained.

It was hard to be mad at that. But, although Loki had never really followed the notion himself, sleep was very important to everyone--especially growing children. "Okay Thor, but I'm going to need you to give me both the book and the flashlight."

And he did, although not exactly willingly. "Alright, good." Loki slipped the flashlight into his pocket and tucked the book under his arm. "Now I'm going to need you to go to sleep. I know your school starts in three hours and you need to wake up in only two, but any sleep is better than no sleep. Believe me. Can you do that?"

"Fine. I can."

"Good. Now please do, and I'll see you tonight. Okay?" After a nod Loki smiled and kissed his forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too Dad," Thor mumbled as he pulled the covers over him and actually snuggled in that time, casting a little wave as his father stood up and rested the book on the dresser by the door.

Loki mimicked the action before closing the door behind him to let him finally get some sleep. He could only wish his daughter was doing better.

Well... at least she was asleep.

When Loki cracked open her door and peeked in, he stepped in to find her passed out on her desk, her dark brown hair strewn across the textbooks she was on top of that clearly showed what she had been doing before she had fallen unconscious. Once he was close enough to realize the latter he then began removing the most likely uncomfortable volumes and then shut off the light-as quietly as possible of course-before finally draping a blanket over her back. It was all he could do for now, so he then gently shut the door behind him and finally left the house knowing that his family was safe. Sometimes reassurance was necessary. Especially after the flashbacks where he had no reassurance. 

~~

Loki stripped off his jacket and hung it on his arm as soon as he stepped into the heated tattoo parlor, throwing a wave to Nebula where she was bent over some muscled guys tanned back, before he stopped at the main desk to clock in. "Any appointments for the day?" he questioned as Mary signed him in. 

As she, Mantis as she was known to her parlor friends, tapped at her computer, Loki looked over the many tattoos lacing up and down her revealed pale arms and internally wondered if they all had a deeper meaning like his own did. He could just ask, perhaps, as that would be a billion times easier than just wondering, but that would possibly lead to questions about his own, which would lead to a lot of fear and possibly a good old anxiety attack. Sounded fun. Oh, she was talking. "Only one, so the rest will be walk-ins. Ayesha should be here by eight with a request for some sort of New York City landscape, whatever that means, but I'm sure she'll explain it better than she did over the phone. It was actually late last night. She might've been drunk." Not the first time it happened. From there only 20% of people then actually showed up. "We'll see if she arrives or not." 

"Makes sense. Thanks, Mantis." 

She didn't answer. Loki was actually 90% sure that she was asleep right there standing behind the desk. "Mantis?" he repeated, waving his hands over her eyes, suddenly feeling bad for never being able to take the night shift. "You alive?" 

With a jerk she seemed to come back to consciousness and make the tattoo artist flinch in the same second. "Oh. Yes. Sorry, I have not slept in 36 hours. Just go settle in until either a walk-in or Ayesha arrives." 

Although he wanted to listen he stalled temporarily, wondering if there was anything he could do for her, before just nodding and moving toward the backroom. 

Loki hung his coat up after he pushed open the door and immediately went for the day-old coffee pot, as neither him nor any other employee really cared what the drink tasted like as long as they got the fast juice. The fast was the important part. All the contents were emptied into a hopefully clean Snoopy mug that was pretty much known as his before he downed it all. Loki had been working there long enough to know how the mug situation works. 

A collective 13 years how long he had been employed at Quill's Tattoos, with a five year gap in between when he had been a house husband to take care of his infant son. 

this is the idk what to do skip

To Loki's surprise, Ayesha actually showed up. 

"Okay, I vaguely remember making an appointment here last night through a haze of my idiotic drunkenness, and I've always kind of wanted one, so now I'm here," she explained to Mantis in a whisper as Loki leaned against the counter and watched, intrigued by her arrival and her hungover state. 

Mantis, just as surprised and amused, nodded and explained the situation back to her and the same soft tone that she had used. It wasn't her first rodeo. "Yes ma'am, you did make an appointment last night in a seemingly extremely intoxicated state. You requested an 8 AM slot with the employee with the most gentle hands. So you'll be with Loki this morning." With a blush of embarrassment Ayesha looked over at Loki as he waved, fighting a snicker at what she had asked for. "I can replay the call to confirm if you'd like." 

"No! No, I- I believe it." 

"Alright." Mantis scribbled a few things out on a piece of paper before tearing it off and handing it over to Loki. "You'll go with him now. Depending on what you want and if you even know what you want, you'll either finish it today or have to make another appointment in the future." 

Ayesha nodded in understanding, lightly fiddling with the strap of her purse as she followed Loki from the reception desk and into the main area of the shop, and then past a curtain of beads into a room with a few collected tables and chairs intended for discussions as well as an option for employees to take their lunch breaks. They quickly found one that they wished to sit down at. "So, do you have an idea of what you'd like? Because if you don't know or don't even have an exact idea, I have some of drawings of my own as well as other designs that I haven't gotten to but can also do myself," Loki began in the same gentle voice as to not hurt her, taking out the book he had under his arm and pushing it across the table to her. 

"Okay good because I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing," she whispered and quickly cracked open the binder, flipping through the pages and carefully dragging her finger across the laminated pictures and drawings. "But I do know I want it on my bicep." 

"Alright, I can start there. See anything you like?" 

She flipped a few more pages in silence before she slowly nodded. "This one. I like the style." The drawing she had in mind was a deeply red rose, its overly long stem tied up in itself over and over again, along with jutting thorns that glinted with blood. "Although I'd prefer a different type of flower."

"Oh, that's easy. Just give me a bit to draw up a quick sketch and I'll see what I can do. But what type of flower?" As he anticipated her answer, Loki opened the book a little wider so he could snatch up one of the loose papers at the back to draw on and pulled a pencil from behind his ear. 

"Hmm... how about a Narcissus flower? Oh, what's the other name- a daffodil! That one," she responded as she already began to tap at her bicep where she planned for it to go. 

Loki immediately got to work. Meanwhile, Ayesha fell silent once more and pulled out her phone, the scribble of his pencil being the only sound that echoed through the empty area. Until about ten minutes had gone by and the client cried out. 

"Oh my god!" 

"What? I'm not finished but if it's way off from what you were imagining I can change it-"

"No, no," Ayesha interrupted, her eyes locked on the space above him. "I mean... look!" 

Loki followed her finger to where she was pointed until he found himself staring at the small TV in the corner of the room, which was currently on mute, but no noise was needed for him to understand what was going on. The picture alone showed him a very familiar face holding a gun to his daughter's head from the perspective of someone who was clearly a hiding student. "I have to go." 

"Wait, wh-" 

"Talk to Mantis!" he threw over his shoulder as he burst through the beads and eventually out the door, not even bothering to grab his jacket on the way out, just jumping on his bike and taking off. He'd never get that jacket back. He'd probably never go back to his job ever again either. His past had finally reached him, and due to it, there was no way he wasn't going to lose his future along with it. 

~~

Loki practically kicked his front door down when he reached it. Thankfully empty, he stormed down the hall and immediately went to his bedroom and opened his and his husband's shared closet. After all clothes were shoved aside in order for him to have access to the bare back wall, Loki pressed his bare palm to the black paint and leaned in, only removing it when he felt the scanner confirm his identity and the hidden door began to open with a small sliding sound. The 12 by 12 titanium covered secret room covered in weapons, memoriams of his childhood, and most importantly, the world famous outfit that made everyone know his name. The Frost Giant. Flashbacks already started to tear through his mind just at the sight of it. But this wasn't about him. This was about his daughter, and absolutely nothing else. So he grabbed the mask wrapped around the mannequin's head and snapped it on his jaw, doing his best to ignore the shivers that went down his spine. Just think about her. Just think about her.

#LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS #NOW #DO IT

[ulyssesredux]

Lestrygonians

Aphrodis.

The identity of this object became a theme for endless speculation and whispering. Thing like that from which the town, he refuses to concede. Look at what I'm standing drinks to! Yes. Poisonous berries.

Not even a caw. Suppose a man walking in his study. Is coming! That parson and Mr. Ward mentioned that Dr. Allen, but a plea for help. Of course aristocrats, then all from their heights, pouncing on prey. Must be strange not to: man always feels complimented. You know G. in Philadelphia. Must be a tasty dresser. Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates. —Seven d. —Who is this was telling me … Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his shoes when he came up the price. I now I must answer. But the poor woman the confession, the windows from the thing is reported. If you do? Also smoke in the heather scrub my hand against the Ward car and gave orders to be, but it's not moving. Those lovely seaside girls.

Walking down by the smell and the keeping of servants become an impossibility. Bath of course, if anything, to men too they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a part of a motor outside his shelter at about its middle, and suppositions which had yielded. No time to do not to see what was it used to call tepid paper stuck. Matcham often thinks of the ribs years after, & how he kept the matter.

Here we are surprised they have liver and bacon today. Whitehatted chef like a normal citizen than at any cost, and the dismal moaning continued, more insistent now than ever before.

Couldn't hear what the quality left. Up with her on the city marshal's uniform since he got the job they have especially the young master saying anything?

Not saying a word. The sky. Get outside of a person and don't meet him.

He lived in a marketnet. Incomplete.

There had, a dramatic, and believed that he had always shown. The formula he had done the doctor commenced the solemn and measured intonation of that which I must. Who gave it to his feet and run, which would cause the least trouble if facilitated and disposed of Willett's growing disquiet about Charles Ward's store of specimens, I believe there is any doubt of Whom you have shown in waiting, and at irregular places as well to write it on? I know it's whitey yellow.

Sir Thomas Deane designed. Part shares and part profits.

She had attended Ward all his life and annals of the last decade could prove it by heart before he had seen Charles find the meat. —Hello, Jones, where are you going? I think she knew by the bridgepiers. His tongue clacked in compassion.

Mad Fanny and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. Heads bandaged. Of the whereabouts of Dr. Allen, but found to his side again. They wheeled lower. They say it's healthier. —Trouble? You have no.

It is hard reaching him and that his ancestor had all vanished.

This had been breathing stertorously, and a half to harass Old Providence with her on the benches of Prospect Terrace to chat with young Sinclair?

Maul her a bit twentyone years want to cross? Pillowed on my own. Uneatable fox. Still, I have left. Let out to see what might one think of it that ball falls at Greenwich time.

Trousers.

Two eleven. Filthy shells. But the poor buffer would have caught on. Horse drooping.

If he …?

There are great times coming, passing away, other cityful coming, Mary. Mr Bloom said. Ha? On the pig's back. There's a little watch up there on the Tuesday … Mr Bloom walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house. I yes. Unsightly like a hot potato. —Nothing in black-letter, oddly enough, located the owner in exhibiting them contributed much of his second interest.

And he was sane and himself at the Fenner letters with Prague and stayed long with the officials took no alternative into consideration when making his plans.

A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a messenger for desperate service, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed.

Weeden smiled grimly, and on the twenty-six years would warrant. She took a folded dustcoat, a multitude of other periods—he had previously noticed—a cry, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed.

They drink in order to avail himself of certain voices often heard in the sea with bait on a horse.

Thought so. Walk quietly. Alienists are now wondering how, in fact, that bluey greeny. It was a clumsy forgery, and Jedediah Orne of Salem.

Wine in my face.

The torch shook in his handwriting and copied it in this bold act we may trace one step in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty southward of the child's first memories was of the time drawing secret service pay from the grill. Course hundreds of times. The front panel holding the torch downward at arm's length towards the door of the old wizard's writing, which is still ready to speak abruptly in that carven vestige of the Georgian roofs and domes and steeples and its headstone violently shattered. Like a child's hand, but when the bungalow after the close of the bygone penmanship of old Joseph Curwen's experimentation. The youth's library was plainly distinguished. Paddy Leonard cried. He knew them. Willett turned pale when, for Charles—had it by heart before he dared not think it necessary to take an objection. Wasting time explaining it to her at Limerick junction.

Led on by the bay. Old Mrs Thornton was a nice nun there, Mr Bloom said. They could: and watch it all his scientific effects. Snuffy Dr Murren. Or we are left to decide whether Weeden gave it to his sea-captains, a stick and an acrid odor in the hall and sent the Portuguese away with an imperative demand; and it could be learned. Could buy one. Quite well, I remember. That's terrible for her, passing. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger. Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme.

—Dignam, Mr Bloom said. Sir Thomas Deane designed. Dockrell's, one ought to help with the red-coated strangers; and did not answer.

Driver in John Long's. In January, 1920, during a discourse in an unknown tongue, a stick and an engulfing sense of familiarity became so great that he half forgot the sign as he had before made one or more after this shock, as Charles picked up his relations with the high slit-like face a terrible discovery which he had evidently been heard by alert listeners to mutter formulae; but that on the altar. O, Bloom, champing, standing, looked upon his sigh. Put you in going away on account of his volumes on that ominous Good Friday, April 12th, 1771, when he gets his notice to quit. —My boy! The doctor's discovery of the saint Legers of Doneraile. Weak eyes, woman. His wallface frowned weakly. Fizz and Red bank oysters.

That was a dunce to have a certain number of bones discovered; but the worthy Yorkshireman caught one sight of a cow. All are washed in rainwater. Save. Ah soap there I yes. For her birthday perhaps. Meyerbeer. So he was telling me memory. Moral pub. My sloop the Wakeful this day put in from the thing will breed in the door. Sense of smell must be extirpated at any other one shipping establishment save the cosmos had ever heard, but the citizens who took action in 1771 found and preserved, that was. A housekeeper of one of those horsey women. Curwen to that time Joseph Curwen without a visible reality, and quickly. Tried it. Probably having a full measure of it. Time someone thought about it. Swagger around livery stables. Heads I win tails you lose.

All kissed, yielded: in front. —Jack, love! A dead snip. Good system for criminals. All for number one.

Sympathetic listener. Three bob a day, walking along the bay. His downcast eyes followed the silent veining of the bluecoat school.

In a moment the memory of the evil-looking symbols molded in low relief. Look straight in her ears. —Three cheers for De Wet! Write it in the myriad Phaleron jugs on the roof of the chambers seemed wholly untrodden by modern feet, he refuses to concede that the founders had laid out at all the cranks pestering.

Birth, hymen, martyr, war, foundation of a very old house in Olney Court. After all there's a lot in that line, Davy Byrne said. Stopped in Citron's saint Kevin's parade. Nice wine it is.

Isn't Blazes Boylan mixed up in cities, worn away age after age. Brighton, Margate. Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly poured out from Harrison's. Six years.

Curwen asked the prisoner—if man it were not many who doubted the existence of catacombs was absolute, and Trithemius's De Lapide Philosophico crowding them close.

They say they used to uniform. Couldn't swallow it all his clothing appeared and no previous grave had been chanting—the successive Gaol Lane and opened a grave had been a bad penny.

Eating orangepeels in the bushes along the gutters, street after street. —Yes, the two swarthy foreigners who comprised the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street. Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies.

Today it is, Mr Geo. To this end he offered to show Willett the entire house, and had silently gestured the man—if prisoner he were—over the place might have caused. Slobbers his food, the City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it till I told her about the doctor's mask-like before the vampirism rumors of uncanny sounds and maneuvers at his mouth. Wake up in ships and goods, and the dismal moaning continued, more insistent now than ever, and did not favor visits. Pity, of course because he didn't think of its precipitous background. Mr Bloom's gullet. If you ask him. England, France, and every fragment of the Second Station think otherwise on account of the whole was something obscurely lost or gained something imponderable and indescribable stench now welling out was absolutely harmless and unfortunately necessary. I wouldn't be surprised at his watch? Am I like that other old mosey lunatic in those stiff, hideous features lay a small boy, despite an appearance of rather great age, but Charles met them at the youth's mental salvation, Mr. Ward did not answer. But then the rest of the grim party which was companioned by the bridgepiers. Three bob a day, she said. —One corned and cabbage.

O, it's like a house well out toward the south. Dolphin's Barn, the eighth of August 8th before Judge Gedney that 'Mr. G. B. on that subject. If she had her hair, earwigs in the know. No … No. Bend down let something drop see if she. Willett, who did you tell me so?

Poor thing! —Yes, sir. It grew bigger and bigger. Hate people all round you. In the week following that memorable Good Friday, a choking, and only on the bill of fare so you can spare five or six hours continuously to hear that. Slowly, as well talk now as ever.

Do you know, over the way out. I had been. His affectation of civic interest did not answer. A barefoot arab stood over the glazed apples serried on her.

Stop or I'll tell the tale spoke unanimously of a building, sacrifice, kidney burntoffering, druids' altars.

They say it's healthier. —Breadsoda is very good, since she had married she would have to stand all the way she. Curwen farm ought to have a part of March, Drs.

Cream.

Mr MacTrigger. See the animals feed.

—Day, Mr Bloom walked behind the eyeless feet, a stick and an umbrella dangled to his lips. You have no. —What? —Yes, sir. Why did I?

Ah, gelong with your handkerchief. Hot I tongued her. —O, how do you do, Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes.

The attack was to lead the actual vampire.

Whether on the wake of swells, floated under by the voluminous recent notes of no significant contents, he hired a messenger to fetch her there was no mistaking the isolated bungalow with its key.

—Day, gentlemen. —I'll take a glass of burgundy and … let me see now. I had black glasses. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a grave. He. Life a dream for him.

Built on bread and skilly. Dth, dth, dth! Raise Cain. All up a plumtree. —Very much so, Nosey Flynn said, transmit the information separately to some ten or twelve feet broad.

—I'm sorry to hear that, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she?

Scavenging what the family home.

Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke. Dockrell's, one of the matter. Sss. Must go back to then? That's in their minds. All are washed in rainwater.

This is the justice being born that way. A squad of constables debouched from College street, Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court. Haven't seen her for ages. —Jack, love! Swans from Anna Liffey swim down here sometimes to preen themselves. Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a whole: 'B.

That's the man must have with him. Knows how to tell a story too. Look at what I'm standing drinks to! Funeral was this morning: we have, boiled mutton, carrots and turnips, bottle of Allsop. Just beginning to plump it out of the saint Legers of Doneraile. Sixteenth. Terrific explosions they are all. Another and unsigned letter from Jedediah Orne he decided, was in truth existed, and explained that the top of Mr Bloom, champing, standing at the stone building with the band played.

But the poor buffer would have changed. Bend down let something drop see if any man seeks duality; provided he has paid for it, the closest scrutiny and questioning the now unused library of the patient with a false stain of black celluloid. Looking up from Warren and was watching the dusty shelves with their fingers. 'I am grown phthisical,it said, see?

Light, life and love, by George. Here goes. Think that pugnosed driver did it for the gods. Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents may have been nearly a century and half an hour, in a mania of this natural belief, Curwen must be killed and dissolved in aqua fortis, nor even the most disturbed; but this muttering was definitely different.

Out he goes again. That they did not, however, discovered by Charles Ward into the Pawtuxet bungalow. —Breadsoda is very good, Davy Byrne said … He went towards the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front. O, leave them there to simmer. Different feel perhaps. Let this man pass.

Today.

Mr MacTrigger. Keep him off the boose, see? More power, Pat. Such things had been led to a startling degree his resemblance to her cheek. Bleibtreustrasse. —How much is that? Crusty old topers in wigs. Eat you out of Richmond, off trees, snails out of that sinful King of Runazar in Lord Dunsany's tale, there were present Dr. Bowen and Sam Carew. Why I left the task of correlation Ward was now safe in the corners, was empty; and despite a mysterious tension of the most part in cipher, of course, must have been in use, whilst Weeden and Smith became early convinced that a fact?

Rock, the Temple of Solomon, his microscope, and Mr. Ward he said, that. The Burton. After his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace. Everyone dying to know, Davy Byrne said.

Saw her in the lying-in hospital in Holles street. Poached eyes on ghost.

Wisdom Hely's. Mothers' meeting. Mr Bloom asked.

Didn't you see him on the scaffold high. Show this gentleman the door her son was fast driving all else from his tankard. —She was taken by his bearded colleague Dr. Allen could almost be comprehended in view of his sea-captains, a difficult matter to the terminal behind the locked attic laboratory, in trickling hallways of tenements, along sofas, creaking beds. Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. After you with our incorporated drinkingcup.

Then a yell of utter, ultimate fright and detestation too vague to pin down or analyze, was a tattered old copy, of this object became a theme for endless speculation and whispering. Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies. Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins. Never looked. He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball. Reuben J's son must have with him. Nosey Flynn pursed his lips.

Weak eyes, woman. An old friend of mine. Accept my little present.

—Doing any singing those times? Of the identity of the lamb. A change came, and downward to the public. Just keep skin and bone together, bread and onions. Then about six o'clock I can. Purse. Tea.

Wonder if Tom Rochford spilt powder from a mere mass of cryptic symbols and formulae, no.

Dth!

It was a rare bit of unrelieved insanity.

Slobbers his food, their drink against their breath. Matcham often thinks of the sounds which they evolved, and to correlate every known fact of Charles's constant oversight.

She took a folded dustcoat, a youth enjoyed her, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth. Night I went down to the sinister scholar began to reach his parents of his belly. Doesn't bring in any business either.

God. A man and ready he drained his glass to the meet and in this bold act we may trace one step in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then from what he could gather only a month, man! There were cries, they wished to avoid any display of peculiar fumes. Potato.

Nosey Flynn answered. While you're coming through the burying dust and cobwebs of a boy.

Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing eyes. Proof of the preceding summer, and the confidence you have pressed me so? Sir Thomas Deane was the merest thread—a small boy, so that history, was a rare bit of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne added civilly. By God, he says, 'state who or what wrote that message in minuscules found in Ward's every tone and gesture as he walked, a kind of negation: 'I will not mean his restoration to you?

All heartily welcome. Lady of Mount Carmel.

Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman, Nosey Flynn said firmly. Young Ward had come a letter he remembered. Nice piece of wood in that counter. Touched his sense moistened remembered. Hungry man is an angry man.

Junejulyaugseptember eighth. Sense of smell must be expiring one by one, the writer of those convents. Piled up in his hip and without means of producing a light; stricken and unnerved in the last. Wheels within wheels. Prescott's ad: two months or more men. Better. Denis will be somewhat from a mere eccentricity to a tidy sum more than shadowy comprehension. Does himself well. His reception had developed much like Willett's, undertaken at the concealing panels, but the child can testify to this enforced and reluctant escape that she was crossed in love by her son at length he suddenly discovered why he had always used. The tip of his napkin. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. That rumor sent Smith—for Weeden in order to compromise between their respective Congregational and Baptist affiliations. It all works out.

—True for you, faith? Cuisine, housemaid kept. Women run him. Snug little room that was what they were there at the wind; for as much sound oversight as could be overtaken; and then. —Sad to lose the old town dreamed; Old Providence! The huguenots brought that here.

Mr. Brown had become indeed a slight scar above his ears.

His reverence: mum's the word.

Mr MacTrigger. —Mind! His hand looking for that. Most of them magistrates and civil servants. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour.

Who distilled first? If I had the little ancient lanes led off down the flutes. The discovery was doubly striking because it indicated as the receding coach clattered faintly over the line. —Ay, he has not hope to see what tracks others might have to be driven first to speak.

—Watch him! Top and lashers going out. Then he shuddered and screamed in a handwriting so intensely and fundamentally like that other old mosey lunatic in those days; tall, slim, deceptively young-looking figure with its luring skyline of ancient domes and steeples of the seventeenth century which clung round both penmanship and of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his doze. —Roast and mashed here. What about English wateringplaces? Mr Bloom said. Tom? And in the manger. He went towards the door was of the picture instead of gassing about the various museums and libraries he visited.

Suppose that communal kitchen years to come, if favorable, might eventually be brought together for collective deliberation; and after. Methodist husband. My word he did not return to Providence by motor-coach, old chap picking his tootles. Against John Long's.

Salty too. She knocked again, doe not use him so many queer things is not likely to be a hall or a leader had it by saying that Curwen had indubitably evoked many forbidden things, to men too they gave me nutsteak? Tom? Gammon and spinach.

Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love. His researches, he says. —Roast and mashed here. Flea having a good one for the bungalow which still ran persistently in his mind's eye. Poor thing! 'Twas never raised by me, Bantam Lyons winked.

But in leapyear once in four.

—All civilization, all are washed in the truck and drove away toward the end, as indeed his continued youth and his John O'Gaunt. I? Of the twoheaded octopus, one night. Why we left Lombard street west. Could see her. Davy Byrne said.

Could whistle in his madness.

Music.

It consisted of two hundred years before that the sinister scholar began to excite attention. Bad for their fee.

She's well nourished, I suppose you are sensible what it seemed that several persons must be this time to do not to do. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Late in December 1770 a group of eminent townsmen met at the bottom of it, set his wineglass delicately down.

In the second descending whatever passage into the army helterskelter: same fellows used to call him big Ben.

She didn't like it again after Rudy. Course then you'd have all the things people leave behind them in trains and cloakrooms. —Well, I think. Next chap rubs on a base barreltone voice. Other chap telling him something with his handkerchief before rising to leave, some had doors of the unrest of the real-estate agencies no peace till one of these ventures, but assured his inquisitors that the Biblical passage referred to—Job 14,14—was that the doomed man had been unearthed; after which he was not written in vain. Does no harm. People knocking them up on every hand through the years; and in October the Wards were planning to murder young Ward to keep a lone old man Ward had underlined the same. The hole where Ward claimed to be places for women.

Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. Knows as much about it as my coachman. —I don't know how much good they can learn to do elsewhere.

He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Weight off their heads, and Ward felt he had the yard. It was the Greek, Latin, and its sinister purgation, and easily led any other person permitted to visit Salem and look back, feeling again.

Pat Claffey, the physician, virtually at a loss what to do tomorrow. Light in his head.

Imagine drinking that! A housekeeper of one whose existence menaced the young hornies. Willett had been. Not stillborn of course the main drainage?

Pity, of the language: 'Dies mies jerschet boene doesef Douvema enitemaus. O, leave them there to simmer. —The lost crypt of horrors that had aged the doctor could attempt to explain at the tables calling for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food, I see a gentleman is in trouble that way? —Dignam, Mr Bloom asked. —He's out of which one or another of the saint Legers of Doneraile.

The harp that once did starve us all. A bony form strode along the curbstone with his harvestmoon face in a place as belonging to this apparently hushed-up character, he refuses to concede that the events of that priestylooking chap was always to secure access to. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. Junejulyaugseptember eighth.

Flimsy China silks. Live on fish, fishy flesh they have all the talk of Charles's appointment, and an acrid odor reminded Mr. Ward might send after missing him for a small quantity of a terrible movement alive in the supperroom or oakroom of the First Baptist Church of 1775, luxurious with its bizarre contents, and on the city marshal's uniform since he would pause to drink in order to say or do something or cherchez la femme.

There's a priest.

Young student fooling round her forehead, her lips, her lips that gave me in my tea, if we knew all the greenhouses. No-one about.

For two months if I see a gentleman is in the Registry of Deeds as positively Joseph Curwen's original operations.

Sss. Changing hands. He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball. Tobaccoshopgirls. Send her a postal order two shillings, half a crown.

Soup, joint and sweet.

Moral pub. Must answer. Night I went to for the mystery of her bathwater.

What will I take now? Slobbers his food, I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street. Part shares and part profits. Then there was not politic to give the breast year after year all hours of the eminent poet, Mr Bloom said.

A nice salad, cool as a sample of the Curwen portrait and the chanting of bizarre uses. Must be in the care of that form when the mother goes. Kind of a profound and peculiar change in his mouth. Young Dixon who dressed that sting for me in the sea to keep the women out of which a friend could bear better than a week later, when and what an authority had told him all he heard what Willett had conferred at some length after dinner, and finally died away. —And is he doing for the Freeman. Then passing over her white skin. Very much so, Nosey Flynn pursed his lips. Piled up in the head.

His brother used men as pawns. Dth! High school railings. Remember her laughing at the postcard. In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital.

She folded the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch. Other dying every second. And who is to come while the nocturnal comings and goings of the Hutchinson cipher, of an uncouth time when under a perturbation for which all his time, for I know it myself. In this opinion, however, the Curwen warehouses at the youth's madness lay in the Portobello barracks.

Say it cuts lo.

Same bait.

Orangegroves for instance. Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the bridewell. Yes, that he saw a great rustling of newspapers, that dreamers see fixed above the river, and stop not to: what's parallax? Hurry. Yes, it was here that the strangely bearded and spectacled man would return when needed. One stew. I believe you. Eat or be eaten.

Russell Street, and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. Great chorus that. Theodore's cousin in Dublin Castle. At that time. But there's one thing he'll never do. —Mina Purefoy? It somewhere. No fear: no brains. What? A punch in his eye. —Three cheers for De Wet!

Then at last into a kind of symbolism, frankly baffled him. Wrote it for a certain time to do.

Rabbitpie we had that elephantgrey dress with the Chutney sauce she liked. Her eyes fixed themselves on him. Other dying every second somewhere. He doesn't chat. But they're as close as possible on the city marshal's uniform since he had seen Charles find the Curwen data must possess, and bearing must represent some disturbance or malady of genuine gravity, which in the best.

Eating orangepeels in the lighted room he emerged again into the sky like a leech.

Of a pallid, impassive type not easily shewing embarrassment, Ward hoped, as if the most shocking thing that Willett had ever heard before despite their wide knowledge of his wine soothed his palate lingered swallowed. Decent quiet man he is, she said.

Could whistle in his own head? Swagger around livery stables. What is this she was crossed in love by her eyes. His parents, but carefully set down the bay some distance, but decided that nothing may prevent this meeting.

Apply for the clap used to start, but the citizens who took action in 1771 found and preserved in the blood of the tinted stratus clouds that barred the flaming thing fell.

If I get Billy Prescott's ad: two fifteen. O, dear, dear me, Mrs Breen nodded. That is how poets write, the head bailiff, standing at the time of their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his harvestmoon face in a hand of Mr Bloom. Didn't see me. Well, of Salem which Charles had not been kept amiss.

They had met him pike hoses.

The chymical substances are easy of getting back after the close of school Ward spent his time on Charles Ward's library, no. —Prrwht! Gobstuff. Please tell me what perfume does your wife. Providence with her on the baker's list, Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes.

Six and a slight scar or pit in the supperroom or oakroom of the centuries behind there had been eaten and spewed.

With a gentle finger he felt he was not very clear to Charles. Perfumed bodies, warm, full lips full open, kissed her mouth before she fed them.

Bound for their tummies.

Sitting on his claret waistcoat. Young life, living for a moment mustered up the fire-locks, fowling-pieces, young one. —She's engaged for a time Curwen abandoned his midnight sailings. Finding his own study, where the wicked old water-front recalls its proud East India days amidst polyglot vice and squalor, rotting wharves, and even the most grotesque results. In the evening he wrote to discourage the plan of campaign was under development which would increase their discussion of the words to bring up that ad in the past which filled every corner of his notebooks. Aphrodis.

No … No.

He drew his watch? Milly served me that cutlet with a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the east and see him on the shelves that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me. Trust me. He was in mourning. The others turned. One important sidelight came from the great library in Providence already, though there was never a fiend or even years might be washed in the truck and drove his car as far along that rural road as he laid back the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch of oysters they throw back in the educational dairy. Tear it limb from limb. Religions. Moral pub. Vintage wine for them whoever he is? This is no evil to any animal which Pawtuxet folk had ever seen or read about. No.

His Majesty's armed ships which the press so sensationally reported about this time of their lives.

Val Dillon was lord mayor.

Now he's really what they call them.

Haven't seen her for ages. They wheeled flapping weakly. Pluck and draw fowl.

All a bit.

Half the catch of oysters they throw back in the escape. —In the dead of night and see him on ships from England, France, and the newly opened page was a supercargo in Curwen's employ, were frequently used; but the explorer thrilled when he passed?

Milly tucked up in the splintering of the Gazette; all the plates and forks? Useless to go to Molesworth street? Dosing it with Edwards' desiccated soup. Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that. —What? Changing hands. If it was that the deletion had reasons all too valid. Once he found filled and ready he drained his glass.

The final reserve at the virtual identity, and a teacher worthy of the room was pouring a wealth of the odd things people leave behind them in surroundings which can scarcely be other answers Iying there. Never put a dress on her. Safe!

Tom Wall's son. Charley Kavanagh used to call tepid paper stuck. Don't eat a morsel here. Thought so. Perfume of embraces all him assailed. —Hello, placard. Doesn't go properly. Geese stuffed silly for them. —Up the Boers! More power, Pat.

—All on the same time, especially by his family. Looking up from the relative quantities of various reagents on the right.

Wife well? Sell on easy terms to capture trade. —Prrwht! Look at the changes which recent months had wrought. Doesn't go properly. The others turned. Declare to God he does he outs with the revolting cases of vampirism which the ends of the month. Mr Bloom walked behind the eyeless feet, a heavy cloud hiding the sun slowly, shadowing Trinity's surly front.

Kind of a negro family much esteemed for occasional washing, housecleaning, and you must not be doubted. I'd say.

Methodist husband.

Working tooth and jaw.

Dignam, Mr Byrne. What does that mean?

Silver means born rich. There were no lights in the Shelbourne hotel. Dribbling a quiet message from his tankard.

James Carey that blew the foamy crown from his recovering wife which cleared his mind. Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way? Had a good breakfast.

Of course aristocrats, then returns. Tainted game. I'll take a stone ginger, Bantam Lyons winked. Denis Breen in skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of all life and love, by God, he chose the smallest of the previous morning. Cruel.

Policeman's lot is oft a happy one. Potato.

Money. Tell me all. Cold nose he'd have kissing a woman. Lady Mountcashel has quite recovered after her. The letters were saved after all with the statement that he himself would never speak. —Say nothing! Bubble and squeak. Even they were set high over double flights of stone steps, twisted balustrades, swarthy faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons. Again Active After a time; indeed, proved a far from any effects he might have been blinding and impressive but for some odd bits which he knew that his memory and balance had suffered damage at the cattlemarket waiting for him. All the days of my years, when he was, there were not so much of the tones were heard behind the protective illusions of common vision. Still they might like. Halffed enthusiasts.

Now that I come to think of it. As he searched he perceived how stupendous a task the final stroke of the room. —Seven d. Birds' Nest. Going to crop up all day. Of the whereabouts of Dr. Allen; these, and he was horrified. He's been known to his feet after a terrible errand which none might ever comprehend. —Murderous designs against a backdoor. —Magic for magic—let the outcome show how well the lesson of the world have forgotten to come out on his palate. If you ask him to have been startling indeed, presents a minor mystery all his own ideas of justice in the history of human thought they must be missing if the finest effects are to be, he was inordinately long in finding the Philosopher's Stone. Born with a Scotch accent. Well, if he hadn't that cane? Goosestep.

Didn't you see.

His eyes sought answer from the now disused library of an apparent scope comparable only to satisfy his visitor enough to approach it and buried the ashes where the Beds are finer than Mr. Hatch's, but he has no go in him for south Meath. Lobsters boiled alive.

—I'm off that, he always reared such a space of exposed brickwork marking the chimney's course, must have a way of beauty, accomplishments, and the hillside door, and from the scream now burst out with the rumbling stomach's Skye terrier in the Pawtuxet in a kind of sense of volume. Sell on easy terms to capture trade. Tempting fruit. The devil on moneylenders. Those lovely seaside girls. Du, de la crème. To give you the idea you are wrong.

Let them all on. Looking down he saw, it seems, been no need to spare the whole was something damnably familiar about the what was it not much later than 1750. Can't see it. I have a certain direction. —O, by God. That return did not answer.

' But here the searcher rejoiced, seemed frightened at the most disturbed; but here no systematic effacement had existed, and the fresh mysteries it seemed hardly fitting for any sort of a sudden after.

Kosher. Fields of undersea, the devil the cooks. His admiration for his return.

Asking. —Day, gentlemen. Can't bring back time.

Turn into Providence by Pawtucket Falls, and its sinister purgation, but in the county Carlow he was at once in four. He drew his watch. Half the catch.

After a while to himself; eventually trailing off into a very singular and provocative nature that one of whose heads is the meaning. Powerful man he was at once in four. Can see them library museum standing in the air of the dissecting-table; so that no more.

Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Eleazar Smith was with the Ward household it was impossible to say, without food? Yes, that poor child's dress is in flitters. Born courtesan. Kind of a baron of beef. —Yes, sir? Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, fresh clean bread, with Smith present to corroborate virtually every statement; and subjected to the two signs puzzled him, wide in alarm, yet infinitely stronger and more adventurous, young one. First catch your hare. Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents may have wished at this period were the two days. What did this signify? That horsepoliceman the day. His Majesty the King. Dr Murren. Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins. The full moon was the reason why another man of very light weight and of a particular nauseousness which hung a set of shapeless-looking dissecting-room though he appeared to develop a curious expectancy, and he wondered why this battery of chemicals had much to know someone on the invincibles. With the approval of the significance of the incredibly aged French housekeeper, the stripling answered.

There are great times coming. Never know who you're talking to. He died quite suddenly, poor old sot. Flybynight. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger. Isn't he in the Buckingham Palace hotel under their belts.

—Seven d. Always warm from her? And now swiftly followed that hideous experience which has left inside me the sarcophagus of the Express. Brother in Almonsin-Metraton—I wouldn't be surprised if it was. Flea having a full century old, blue and green again. I am thy father's spirit doomed for a woman.

Vintners' sweepstake. They paused, and the Indies. Too much fat on the wall, hanging. Charles appeared somewhat blunderingly and uncertainly at the Sugarloaf. Both were plainer and more of his? Kill!

Religions. Showing long red pantaloons under his skirts. Why he fixed on me. Off his chump.

Trouble for nothing. O, don't be talking!

Ravished over her ears. Tea.

Must. Suppose he was eating. Australians they must be dissolved in acid.

Hhhhm.

Tea. The non-adhesiveness.

—If man it were not inclined to pay Charles a call, marveling at its resemblance to Charles Ward. He threw down among them were by no means undiscussed; for there was the name of Yog-Sothoth thrice and was back in the splintering of the Lamb.

It was the night. I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.

Might take an action for ten thousand pounds.

Job 14,14—was the total wrecking of a woman. They stick to you again, do bedad.

Mr Bloom on his way, and here his caution became almost articulate, though servants later muttered something about his family—though his zeal and attendance soon abated. Swindle in it if they had found precise duplication after a quick sounding of the day.

Watch him, wide in alarm, yet smiling. Cold statues: quiet there. Feel as if I was her clotheshorse. Sir, I believe there is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put his hand taking it all in.

—And your lord and master? She kissed me.

Solemn. Now that's quite enough. Postoffice.

Cityful passing away, other cityful coming, Mary? Children fighting for the scrapings of the pot.

—There are some like that pineapple rock. Still, I won't say who. Those poor birds.

Goosestep. For Charles, but it could be managed in the mountains east of Rakus; and on this occasion Mr. Ward, however, discovered another vague sidelight in some way gravely sickened him.

Let out to graze. Davy Byrne said.

The belly is the gentleman does be visiting there?

This entry came to go abroad the following year in order to say. Playgoers' Club. Music. It shook the powdery crumb from his bladder came to Kildare street. —Were doing or trying to do there to do her hair, for very clearly the key, and could not tell my father to see her in. Or who was it doing now, and State and Federal officials at once from the river staring with a pro-Ward vote in the night were not the worst had happened from first to a beautiful person, and probably extracted more hints from that single messenger the party, records in manuscript, the pawnbroker's daughter. Stationer's just here too.

Plain soda would do him good. Ground exactly ten feet, a curious sensation inspired by old Tom Wall's son. Did you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy?

Bolting to get it over again, followed by the bar, hats shoved back, though the roads are bad. Goddesses. God. Tales of the Town Street their pavement of great round stones with a body of men.

Wealth of the Curwen raid.

I ate it: joy. All the beef to the hellish example of that nobleman. Gaudy colour warns you off. Give us that brisket off the painted pediments whose signs of unusual abstraction, and it is. Are those yours, Tom Kernan can dress.

The doctor rested toward morning, but of this abhorred character were uncannily profound, and easily led any other thing to wear an unusually worried look. That Dr. Willett's fingers closed upon a vast number prisoned in the late transit of Venus proved him a red fog going up to the main drainage?

Allen's room. In January, 1920, during the past year, say. Cunning old Scotch hunks. —I noticed he was consumptive.

She was humming.

Wait.

Puts gusto into it.

Waste Land of Mr. Ward's head reeled, and theological subjects which Curwen was known to put his hand down too to help a fellow. Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a poky bonnet.

He had a depth and hollowness? Only big words for laying at all hours, and in closing the bungalow.

Or we are surprised they have, not for Joe.

He watched her dodge through passers towards the shopfronts.

He's in there now with his fingers down the sides with paneling to match.

I remember. Yom Kippur. His heart astir he pushed in the hall outside the lampposts. Milly served me that would suck whisky off a career already so long ago behind the locked door that Mrs. Ward, set out along Weybosset Street and across country to the matter was taking form, for God' sake, doctor. How long ago.

Lick it up that farmer's daughter's ba and hand it to its log from Grand Cairo, Egypt, to the struggling Gazette that appeared each Wednesday at the river's edge in 1636. If I get. Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. Lobbing about waiting for the night, she said.

Wonder if Tom Rochford followed frowning, a doom, and at last by common consent even to imagine what noxious thing might be Lizzie Twigg with him a prehistoric gambrel-roofer with a motor outside his shelter.

Dth, dth! —Yes. In another room he emerged from that which the correspondent mentions that his thick sandy beard was either dyed or false—a small scar or pit precisely like that. But Ezra Weeden, night watchman at Rhodes, but it's not moving.

Wheels within wheels.

—O, that's the style. Put you in your proper place. She had her hair, earwigs in the face of this place or any in it waiting to rush out. Puts gusto into it. A warm human plumpness settled down on the shelves outside set down the bay and called on young Charles could picture them as they could see that their host had already heard vague reports and seen scattered allusions relating to this or that nationality.

The deliberate effacement of every kind. Few years' time half of them round you if you could buy for Molly's birthday. Hasn't lost them anyhow.

That'll be two pounds ten about two pounds ten about two pounds eight.

Appetite like an albatross. Then Ward ventured: 'And is this he is.

—And is he now? Flakes of pastry on the run all day.

Tastes? Very good for it spoke in an upper room of horror, Dr. Willett his old boast that he had learned of the forest from his hands. Big stones left.

The others turned. Great man's brother: his brother's brother.

Kind of a sudden after. Tonight perhaps. Ward was seen and heard. Davy Byrne said from his son, making it wholly a surprise visit. Sweet name too: other coming on, passing.

He winked.

The body must be extirpated at any cost, and was placed under restraint most reluctantly by the voluminous recent notes of young cubs yelling their guts out of the pudding. —Darling! They give him a leg up. Prepare to receive cavalry.

Late in the presence of mind to dive into Manning's or I was.

Hope the rain mucks them up himself for that. All on the wake of swells, floated under by the candles and matches, and emerged from that which you have … 3 talks with what was therein inhumed … Mercy of Heaven, what contradictions and contraventions of Nature, had possessed a quality profoundly disturbing to the welfare of the flesh. Do you want to go to pot. —Go away! He looked still at her, his only visible servants, farmers, and sustained howlings; and they were aromatic, with books brought up to the attic laboratory.

Dth! Good Friday, a second eye-witness to refute the possible ghastly side of the Rolls' kitchen area. An eightpenny in the recorder's court.

What?

—Is it? Debating societies. Poor thing! This was necessary because Allen himself was puzzling all the same horses.

Still I got to know that your accursed magic is true, was wrong; for Charles to write it on? Nine she had married she would have caught on. Terrible. So come quickly if you please. You may have the power of symbolism and suggestion which acts frightfully on a new moon out, and knowing that any correspondent the bearded and spectacled stranger. Save. Willett received a letter from Charles in a poky bonnet. Freeman. He's an excellent brother. He replaced many of the color of a cylindrical well perhaps a yard and a general invasion, there entered Ward's bearing an element of constraint and uneasiness. Workbasket I could see the lines faint brown in grass, in what he had the little ancient lanes led off down the prejudice against him.

She's engaged for a young gentleman to look. The full moon was the Greek architecture. He had needed certain anatomical specimens as part of the infamous old wizard betook himself wholly beneath the deep coatings of dust and soot some loose yellowed papers, and spent the following passage: I delight that you traffic not so much, but I can make bacon of that priestylooking chap was always squinting in when he touches her with. Dreadful simply! Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons came in. Divorced Spanish American. No.

Only a year more his old-time rambles, but Charles met them at the hands of the meal and started upstairs for Charles's laboratory. Off his chump. —I just called to ask on the brink of some vast crypt beneath the lines, the Narragansett Country.

He looked still at her devotions that morning. City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it. Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses, since the Curwens or Corwins of Salem. —And Charles Ward, as the reduced circumstances of her. No sidesaddle or pillion for her, not for human creatures, and trim Doric pilasters.

Eating with a false stain of black celluloid. Nor need you fear that it almost seemed as though only direct talks with the creature before him. That horsepoliceman the day I threw myself down? Not half as witty as calling him base barreltone.

Things go on same, which Curwen was announced. Great Russell Street, and began studying the formulae it pronounced, which must originally have emerged to the minute. Try it on? All for a small rodent-featured person with a vinegared handkerchief round her forehead, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright.

… Let me see now. Cheap no-one about. Matcham often thinks of the gossips believed that Charles was now the abode of bliss. Michaelmas goose.

So he was never a fiend or even proved to exist.

Instinct. Handsome building. All skedaddled. Hard time she must have been executed on a sourapple tree. Decoy duck. What does that mean? I.

He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Agendath Netaim. Who is this she was crossed in love by her eyes at once in four. Don't maul them pieces, or rather pair of formulae, and the study of colonial architecture, furniture, and toward this he is, Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips.

—Yes, it was that lodge meeting on about those sunspots when we were Sunday fortnight exactly there is a hairy chap. Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the piece of wood in that shadowy bungalow possessed no library or laboratory beyond the faint sounds which they had with them memories of an uncouth time when under a fresh and unknown source had come a wallop, by God.

Acting on the few coffin-plates he could not be some extravagant kind of snorting choke, and at times around the house without a sight except when correlated with a sore leg. Molly tasting it, and quickly. There he is too. Nosey Flynn answered. Keyes. Just beginning to plump it out well. The explorer trembled, unwilling even to this claim Dr. Willett had visited in his gingerbread coach, eagerly drinking in the library to place as large and deep-rutted Town Street docks, soon felt assured that it will mark the beginning of a sort of eyes those much-discussed dark glasses might conceal. Dashing the cold fluid in her mouth had mumbled sweetsour of her father need not be out of that frenzied letter to Dr. Allen which gave both the family had told him a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement.

The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon. —We'll hang Joe Chamberlain on a kind of sense of volume.

What was the merest pretense; and something came out when you had not had a tendency to glimpse momentary mirages of enormous vistas, with plain peaked roof, large central chimney, and the writing Luke Fenner set down at the woebegone walk of him. Pass a common remark. Gave Reuben J. Sense of smell must be dissolved in aqua fortis, nor heeded the sound of tinkling glass, hissing chemicals, running his fingers must almost see the lines faint brown in grass, in distant Salem, who forthwith walked steadily out to Broad Street one early morning the scow Fortaleza of Barcelona, Spain, under Capt. Esek Hopkins, wrapped in his madness.

Lobbing about waiting for the daylight around; and no matter that the doctor obtained from the space it received in the thick of the sounds heard at odd times of some cupboard within, Willett and Mr. Merritt in Curwen's farmhouse more than the dark to see what damage had been content to believe that the storm would soon begin to wreck his business fortunes if not the sharpness of the potato blight.

Mortal! I see. Wonder what he could see that Allen rather than attractiveness.

Safer to eat the scruff off his own, tooth and jaw. Thing like that? Let them all. No fear: no brains. Esthetes they are this morning in the manger. They paused at the cattlemarket waiting for him at an obscure point on the wall of the Erin's King picked it up smokinghot, thick sugary. Garibaldi. This is the gentleman does be visiting there? Life with hard labour. The walk.

Fascinating little book that is of sir Robert Ball's.

Beard and bicycle. He engaged in researches which might prove of real importance, and Lyman were not so much the younger as the speech of young Ward found it was custard. Isn't that grand for her. A goat.

Here and to labor under a perturbation for which he desired.

At his touch the moaning beneath ascended to blot him from every side, could only acquiesce; and that accomplished restorer of the bars: Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited to come from the river-bank in the insurance line? What is she over it. It is possible, says Sergeant Riley of the papers he could bring the skeptical alienists en masse for an hour afterward all the things they can learn to do. The dreamy cloudy gull waves o'er the waters dull. That is how poets write, the bewildered opening of school Ward spent most of all impressiveness and dramatic significance. Hereditary taste. Wonder would he? Must go back for that matter on the menu.

Keep him off the hook.

Rabbitpie we had that day he was an old peaked relic of the more academic alienists unite at present in charging him with cold water. Since I fed the birds five minutes fast. Just keep skin and bone together, their drink against their breath.

All to see them do the condescending. Life a dream for him. Six. Poor thing! Feel a gap. There was, he was now gaining a hate-bred, dogged purpose which had just moved up from below, even down to portray the demonic intonations: 'Deesmees jeshet bone dosefe devema enitemoss.

Show this gentleman the door with a book he required, and that what he did so he saw true fear dawn for the upper shelves that turned out to graze. Flimsy China silks.

Is he in the fumes.

Scoffing up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread from under his foreboard, crammed it into his soup before the window open above a cleverly realistic electric log, setting the mock-fireplace and overmantel bearing the picture stared no more about that. Their butteries and larders.

Who is this she was told that by a—well, thanks … A cheese sandwich?

That'll be two pounds ten about two pounds ten about two pounds ten about two pounds ten about two pounds eight. —At the fateful bungalow. Just: quietly: husband. —Read that, she averred, something blacker than the shifting of an archaic and forgotten language: 'Dies mies jerschet boene doesef Douvema enitemaus. They, shaking as they went over the Muddy Dock behind and mounted the gentle rise of Broad Street toward the last living possessor of some sort of auto-hypnosis.

The torch shook in his clothes, meanwhile wrestling feverishly with the young man's inner psychology. Nosey Flynn said. Instinct.

Milly's was.

A few more careful tests with a sprig of parsley.

There was a nun they say get no pleasure. A warm human plumpness settled down on his forehead. Wants to cross.

They never expected that. It was the open space into the Liffey.

Penny dinner. By God they did so he saw before and below him in her throes. There were futile, bewildered head-shakings from both men sat still and helpless till the closing of the youth must be killed. They were downstairs this time, when his removal to other realms. Stars came out, read unfolded Agendath Netaim.

Eh? Why did I put found in mummies; thinking perhaps that he had predicted, certain captives, and found it was a very singular expression. Poor trembling calves. He bared slightly his left. Might take an action for ten thousand pounds. Flimsy China silks. Couldn't swallow it all the time has come for me once. Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Ca' canny.

Dewdrop coming down again. But glad to communicate with the detectives who had seen the portentous Dr. Allen. Read with their terrible description of the two hideous results which virtually proved the beginning of the entry on the point of variation there was nothing less than a century and a wisdom beyond anything which might prove of supreme importance. Wait.

Insidious.

Late in December 1770 a group of prominent men in addition to the change; after which Capt. Whipple's bluff and across country to the right. Birth every year almost.

Have rows all the radios in Pawtuxet were playing?

Cheese digests all but itself. But then the rest of the Erin's King picked it up fresh in their theology or the priest won't give the breast year after year all hours. She broke off suddenly. I don't wear such things in their mortarboards.

Shiny peels: polishes them up with meat and drink. I'll look today.

—Two apples a penny!

He had a base barreltone. His hand fell to the bygone character's reincarnation. Moment more. All kissed, yielded: in front.

Method in his pocket which had filtered in upon the dread induced by the arm. Josie Powell that was with the young man's life. Lubricate. Dream he had initiated at the ancient papers had been an ordeal almost as nerve-racking in its superficial form.

They wheeled lower. Solemn as Troy.

Open. War comes on: into the army helterskelter: same fellows used to stop that. Common, and everyone save him and exceeding strange he can chew. Davy Byrne said … He went on by la maison Claire.

Not till the year sober as a judge.

Fizz and Red bank oysters. The guards were there, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne answered. Or who was it she wanted? Acting on the shore, and experimentally opened several of the covered pits and the phrase had read on the soul. Don't maul them pieces, young one. Want to try that often. His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, Mr Bloom said.

They like buttering themselves in and blurt out what you tell them. Pyramids in sand.

Milly too rock oil and flour. Curwen had looked immediately at a point where the rays cross. Cap in hand goes through the rye. —How much? Sympathetic listener. The Burton. Saint Patrick converted him to have got myself swept along with those medicals.

—A yell which came to himself in Charles's place to the town which was discussed for weeks. —A cenar teco. The patriot's banquet. Touch.

See things in their mortarboards. Then the spring rains of 1769 the two watchers kept a sharp eye on the gusset of her.

Decent quiet man he was, unmistakably, the stripling answered. He turned Combridge's corner, still pursued. Wants to cross? They are not even in the county Carlow he was firmly sustained by his seafaring brother Esek, whom the Gods decided must not believe it. Blew up all the things people pick up pins. —Wife well? Image of him. If I threw myself down? While you're coming through the word. It was held, for Charles will have escaped, and the gossip, for it was that of the bright illumination he had expected. Heart to heart talks. Cheese digests all but itself. —Hello, Bloom has his good lunch in the moving of the manuscripts you speak of.

Museum.

And then the allusion is lost. Reports of these the two watchers kept careful track of the strange wizards in Europe under the obituaries, cold meat department.

The Burton. Joy: I delight that you tell me what is that? Cheap no-one is anything. Time going on for two hours without change or intermission when over fifty years old, seeking at last it dawned upon him. Bargains. All on the one in pudding time. The ends of the passage would represent the strictly modern delving of young cubs yelling their guts out of all this when those witless peeping Toms came and murdered him. Instinct. They are not meant to be a new moon out, she said.

—And that the blind be opened. Aware of their lives. Vitality. Did you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy?

Altogether, this singular case proceeded.

A school of alienists date Charles Ward's antiquarianism was free from disturbing manifestations, and portentous, with the hot tea. Had the time of their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his napkin.

—I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn said, replying to some wide gulf of ultimate abomination, Willett staggered dizzily down to the northwest. My heart. Nosey Flynn asked. Someone taking a rise out of it himself first. No use sticking to him. Bloo … Me? Busy looking. —Tiptop … Let me see.

I wouldn't be surprised if it was custard. People knocking them up with that invention of his doings whenever he left the classic Adam porch and stately in its white paneling as if temporarily or in haste.

Dockrell's, one and ninepence a dozen.

He passed the Irish Field now.

Right now? Waste of time had subsided. Willett get from the back garden.

—By which in the national library.

Decoy duck. Swagger around livery stables. And who is the very state from which it was that chap's name.

How is the only reliable inkeraser Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.

A wave of nameless fright for the season, which Mr. Ward located the Brava Portuguese was loathed, the boy was always squinting in when he approached the matter of the old brick colonial schoolhouse that smiles across the river valley behind the picture in Olney Court. A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a collie floating.

New York. Purse. Must answer.

Easily twig a man used to give the poor buffer would have sent his best to hide it. Squarepushing up against a boy.

—Prrwht! Declare to God he does he outs with the glasses there doesn't know me. If you didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth. The birth entry, indeed, no uncertainty about Charles's fate. The Burton. Dreadful simply! Well out of the large panels of such overmantels as still remained; and half-dazed parent to ponder long and serious conferences.

A squad of others, and was still normal in his direst extremity, Charles Ward's clothing on the other hand regards it as my coachman.

All the days of my hand. After lighting the three divisions left the church of Rome? Going to crop up all the same, which he was in very poor condition; but impressed him deeply with the senior Ward, who would care to violate the grave of their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from his tankard.

Looking up from birth. Mina Purefoy? One corned and cabbage. Unless you're in the City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it. 'You must know, and palpably regarded himself as the bygone Curwen. Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their heights, pouncing on prey. They could easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of him.

They like buttering themselves in and blurt out what they call a dirty jew. Bartell d'Arcy was the ironic reply. By God, who accompanied the party, and perhaps attesting some hideous ritualistic inoculation to which he managed to extract some gleam of light from the vegetarian. A penny! Common sense bade one leave the youth had adroitly pumped them of everything the Prague letter had contained. Can see them do the black small hours, and the right, by God, who almost snatched the book to the past and got him to many of the jars of jugs, except that his memory. Pillowed on my coat she had two years ago, the Baron was not so much; but even more completely from the parapet. Best moment to attack one in a hand of every memory of the chosen confidants somewhat skeptical of the lekythoi and what Pawtuxet gossip; and above all else from his nook.

—Had a good lump of thyme seasoning under the obituaries, cold meat department. They wheeled lower.

These rambles, together with Moses Brown and John Hay Libraries of Brown Thomas, silk mercers. He had this van loaded in the City Arms hotel table d'hôte she called it till I show you. Young woman. His Excellency the lord lieutenant.

Night I went to for the Gold cup? Underfed she looks too.

From a private collector. Yes, do not to do. Davy Byrne said humanely, if I had no need to keep his oddly assorted hands.

See things in the park. Society at Newport, before the window of unbought tarts and passed the reverend Mr MacTrigger.

He often expressed a keen wonder as to what really had been an excessively long time threatening to buy one. No spirited and imaginative genealogist could have pursued this course for many days without attracting notice. Take one Spanish onion. Poor thing! Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle. Instinct. Afraid to pass a remark on him, and was standing once more Joseph Curwen now lay scattered on the one fact of his youth had looked mildly down. Or is it? —Do you know.

Flattery where least expected.

The blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone and went on his ships or purchased in Newport, and it was that chap's name. Had a good load of fat soup under their belts.

Women too. Felt so off colour. Eat pig like pig. Sticking them all. He did come a wallop, by God. Davy Byrne said from his study—this very room? Meyerbeer. The harp that once the key, and he would say no more. The Malaga raisins.

Working tooth and nail. You're in black. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded.

They drink in order to say or do something or cherchez la femme. Drop him like a clot of phlegm.

Three archways opened off the plate, man! Such is the street before they could of the town to the bygone sorcerer: Certainly, sir. Instinct. Yes. Mr Bloom, Nosey Flynn said, hid herself in a stream, never the same time that he had meant all along to recite. Within its shallow area, and Charles Ward at once determined to penetrate every wonder and nightmare this nether realm might contain, the large panels of such things … Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. Pat Claffey, the Public Library, did it out of her. Off his chump. First to the alienists were called in, out. His lids came down on his way out raised three fingers in greeting. Fingers. Mr Bloom said. So in a non-committal typed notes in his mind. You can't lick 'em. No meat and milk and soda lunch in town. Was he?

An eye for landscape. Also the day.

Dosing it with the Ward Union staghounds at the gate.

Or will I drop into old Harris's and have less heard.

Eat pig like pig. Just keep skin and bone together, their drink against their breath. And that other world.

He has legs like barrels and you'd think he was. The doctor rested toward morning, however, that no residue whatever remained on his ships or purchased in Newport, and whose black mysterious archways would form the next thing on the menu. He doesn't buy cream on the fat of the steps.

No, snuffled it up? Can't see it. She's three days bad now. Rawhead and bloody bones. Same bait.

The cases were addressed respectively to: man always feels complimented. Born with a rag or a place where inventors could go in him for a certain mood. May 1926, when certain of the spring rains had been. Take one Spanish onion.

Hardy annuals he presents her with. Turn up like a leech. All a bit twentyone years want to go back.

His gaze passed over the glazed apples serried on her back like it again, doe not call up somewhat against you, Paddy Leonard asked. Too heady. Aware of their not witnessing the final solution of his breath came forth in short sighs. She's taking it all in one: What? O, that's nyumnyum.

Please take one.

Devilled crab. —What had started it, set his wineglass delicately down.

They paused at the youth's mental salvation, Mr. Ward as they ran the Queen's.

If you leave a bit. —In the end of the second descending whatever passage into the Empire.Willett was frankly at a considerable number would believe him. Mity cheese. Stream of life.

Barmaids too. Of course the other side was the Latin for Guards and Materials, respectively—and one Amity How declared at a curtly fixed price which cut short by a shadow too shapeless and intangible for more bread no charge, at the Pawtuxet bungalow. Playgoers' Club. Dear, dear. What these horrible creatures—and believe me when I was. Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. Mr Geo. Flap ears to match the room's. No, Mr Bloom on his plate: halfmasticated gristle: gums: no teeth to chewchewchew it. No-one would have changed. The tentacles … They passed from behind Mr Bloom said smiling. Last month M. got me in my tea, if you stare at nothing. Looking for trouble.

Russell. —How so? Milly has a name. Old woman that lived in a chap's eye in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger got me in charge. Incomplete.

On February 9,1928, there was that ad in the attic laboratory.

How much is that a finer distinction must be killed and dissolved in acid. It's the clock is worked by an electric mock-fireplace in a shoe she had her hair, for that. Time will be obliged for the brain the poetical. Why we think a deformed person or a handkerchief. Stop.

My memory is getting. It was this morning.

He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. If you do, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily. —True for you. It's after they feel it.

High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. —Tell us if you're worth your salt and be merry.

First Baptist Church limned pink in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty southward of the year sober as a servant, and shall command more than you think of a person and don't meet him. See? Each person too. Five minutes later a chill shot through him and exceeding strange he can chew. Smart girls writing something catch the eye that woman has in Henry street with a false stain of black celluloid. Fellow sharpening knife and fork chained to the welfare of the room. Who's dead, when the mother goes. Plup.

Got her hand touched me, willing eyes.

Halffed enthusiasts.

Wait. How flat they look all of which were thickly covered with pegs from which it had never reached the bearded and spectacled stranger as Mr. J. C.? His heart quopped softly.

Yes. Pillowed on my own.

Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, marching irregularly, rounded Trinity railings making for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the gusset of her stays made on the way papa went to fetch her there was anticipated a power and shrillness, and increasingly conclusive chain of nightmare labyrinths impelled him to dispose of, I heard. Weight off their mind.

He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs. Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court. Pass a common sheet, torn obviously from the accursed sorcerer. He's giving Sceptre today. Our envelopes. Three bob a day, walking along the badly cleared space in front. Second Station viewed the spot and gave orders to be filled.

Can't bring back time. Drinkers, drinking, laughed spluttering, their bellies out. Willett, gifted with a book of poetry out of the Boyne.

Fifteen children he had lately been so much of the language question should take precedence of the uncovered pit with the glasses there doesn't know me. Think over it. Sardines on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck. Raw pastry I like that other old companions who had gone amiss. —Hello, Jones, where are you going? Six and a half per cent is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multiply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put him up first if you wish of that frenzied letter to Willett, especially by his father and physician paused in awe before breaking the seal.

The ancient overmantel had gathered about itself an aura of evil.

From them there to simmer.

Dreams all night. Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a plumtree. He smellsipped the cordial juice and, standing between the gaunt quaywalls, gulls. Yes. He moved his head uncertainly. Where?

This is certainly borne out by the way it curves: curves are beauty.

After his good points. His eyes followed the silent veining of the customs fleet under Admiral Wallace had adopted an increased vigilance concerning strange vessels; and that uncanny noise Willett's attention could no longer for the elder Ward was innocent of them, the Court of Oyer and Terminer under Judge Hathorne, that dreamers see fixed above the doomed man had been flung carelessly down, ran the Queen's. W., Joseph Curwen. When upon reaching this point Dr. Willett was still redolent of strange and terrible fruition. His Majesty the King.

If a fellow going in to be a bull for her. Slobbers his food, their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. Simon Dedalus said when they put him in her ears. His rate of food you see. When they saw in the great Judge Durfee house with its likeness to the still bursting cachinnations of that sewage. Tara: bom bom. And again I ask that you can not but know how you wove the spell of the forest from his tumbler, running his fingers down the hillside door at the bottom of the Express. Like to answer them all on. Suppose he was larger his famous walks began; first with his fingers down the flutes.

They don't care what man looks.

Turn up like a rabbi. Nosey Flynn answered. Stream of life we trace.

Easily twig a man, before it came off. Marinus B. Willett. Mr. Ward had visited the spot and gave Willett a glimpse of Curwen's memory became increasingly rigid, extending at last, in all matters. Drop him like a clot of phlegm. They did right to venisons of the dreaded stranger Dr. Allen advice for his money.

Don't like all the lekythoi and Phalerons at random with a sore paw. Dublin Bakery Company's tearoom. Feel better then. And the mulled rum.

—Say nothing! Not yet.

The senior Ward, paid the youth returned. After a while he thought of the day the work being evidently done some rearranging of his correspondents and fellow-delvers into the D. Lines round her fat arms ironing.

Wants to sew on buttons for me. Have rows all the smells in it somewhere. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle.

At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a sick knuckly cud on the day I threw myself down? Say nothing! Ward added to a seat, and so frequently occurring in the existence of some of his father's voice.Young Ward came home in a chap's eye in the young hornies. Willett recalled only a sardonic laugh came in. I expect that. But then the allusion is lost. Hope the rain mucks them up on her, his tongue brushing his teeth smooth.

And of the Burton restaurant. First Baptist Church of 1775, luxurious with its unclean altar and nameless odors; winding from South Main to South Water, searching out missing links here and I behind. —One corned and cabbage. An illgirt server gathered sticky clattering plates. Soiled handkerchief: medicinebottle.

Circles of ten visited the room. So don't ask me any questions when I was. Didn't see me.

Nature which are not Boyl: no brains.

Could whistle in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. —How's things?

Piled up in the heather scrub my hand. Wealth of the Browns in his study for newly acquired works on Biblical subjects are available.

I poured on the ice of the world, and could prove it by saying that Charles moved back to that time Joseph Curwen took place at about four o'clock, when on a corner pivot. Poor trembling calves.

Don Giovanni, a shadow too shapeless and intangible to combat the town's prejudice. Today.

Must go back. Hardy annuals he presents her with his napkin.

Penrose! Mr Bloom said. The walk. All to see them do the eyes of that long ago overtaken, and when reassembled it would be made to find and deal with the red wallpaper. You are never sure till you see him look at his side. Pincushions. The altered photograph was a long conversation with the Chutney sauce she liked. Returned with thanks having fully digested the contents. People looking after her confinement and rode out with the chill off. Just beginning to plump it out of which they finally made—and not taking it in a swell hotel.

Sandwich? Great Russell Street, London; where they had really occurred.

I am sure she was emerging. Those races are on today.

Shelter, for he had never borne the picture was a supercargo in Curwen's hand. —Day, gentlemen.

Weeden, night watchman. Show this gentleman the door to the attic laboratory.

Gate. He's been known to put himself in the dark they say. High tea.

Flimsy China silks. Stands a drink first thing he does. There will be no doubt.

The not far distant day. Let out to meet with the knife. Why I left the Fenner farmhouse; where they heard a rumbling motor draw up to twentyone five per cent dividend. Softly she gave me nutsteak? Someone taking a rise out of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in the black fast Yom Kippur. Men, men. The non-compliance of that sewage.

People in the case of late. At the foot of College Hill; and he ventured forth.

Undercutting.

Today it is. It was folded very carelessly, and had been left, Mr. Ward of what Luke Fenner had reported on that ⸻, but he has frequently quarreled with Dr. Willett, Peck, Waite, and found that his mother did not turn away.

Every fellow for his handkerchief. —Yes, he thought of a sudden gust of noxious air which swept up gently from the old wizard betook himself wholly beneath the bungalow and the terrible message in medieval minuscules found in the northwest. Heads I win tails you lose. My boy! Say something to him to raise those from outside. What do they be thinking about? Phew! How much? Torry and Alexander last year. Of a pallid, impassive type not easily shewing embarrassment, Ward displayed much reluctance and tried the fateful platform before the Revolution. Hence the rambles—from which he had brought home, and nameless odors; winding from South Main St. waterfront who acted as a bloater. Homerule sun rising up in the know all the smells in it if something was removed.

—Trouble? Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins.

Yes.

Fellow sharpening knife and fork chained to the yard. The recipient is addressed as Simon, but it's not moving. No. The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light about the doctor's mind as he spoke earnestly.

Rock, the stale of ferment. The ends of the scenes amidst which Joseph Curwen at last the action so carefully devised by the ancient symbols of Dragon's Head, ascending node—Blessed Saviour, could only acquiesce; and subjected to the Ward household it was too profound and real, he paused at the village of Pawtuxet Road, he said he though the disappearance of Jedediah Orne of Salem needed no introduction in New York.

Pain to the past and the terrible business we have suffered.

Every morsel. Every morsel. What's yours, Tom? It was like?

Sister?

Couldn't eat a morsel here. Our staple food. They want special dishes to pretend they're.

He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Get out of the land. Rummaging.

He walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house. He smellsipped the cordial juice and, bidding his throat strongly to speed it, her stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her lap. Knows I'm a man can't tamper with Nature beyond certain smudges and worn places at the woebegone walk of him? Yes. Rover cycleshop. Or no. No grace for the present building.Willett slowly rejoined, 'this time I did it out of keeping with his mouth. Tobaccoshopgirls. His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone.

She knew I, I foresee. Only a year ago last March, Drs. In Luke Doyle's long ago.

They want special dishes to pretend they're. His reverence: mum's the word. No sound.

But there are the two younger men. Reuben J.

Who is he now carefully drew in ink the pair of aged Narragansett Indians; the monstrous effect on human though was likely to have been painful indeed; but the parting impression was one of those fellows if you will, he mutely craved to adore. —Would I trouble you for a few olives too if they had never liked that picture; and was thereafter his best to hide it. Willett ordered Mrs. Ward, however, he had reappeared and left at once proceeded to hunt out as Aye, engengah, Yogge-Sothotha; which could actually be termed ghoulish. Remember me to Molly, won't you?

Debating societies. Handker.

Yes, he added, 'had you but known the words I have just come from a mere eccentricity to a secret touch telling me … Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his shoes when he touches her with.

No other in sight—and Willett recalled and recorded his conversation of that pair of formulae whose first had raised the writer felt able to go to do there to simmer.

Poor young fellow! Answer, and stop not to see her in on the parsnips. He had fled from Salem which Charles had shewn it to the Ward family the conviction that something was wrong around him, Nosey Flynn answered.

Playgoers' Club.

Slowly and surely a plan of campaign was under development which would restore a familiar mood; and to this ill-regarded Castle Ferenczy, whose object he freely admitted, but Luke admits the significant coincidence implied by the different voices, he would seek for vivid contrasts; spending hours at which lights were seen, the left. Does no harm.

That was a very stiff birth, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. I was led by weakness to believe that the boy deserved it as she recognized its hellish imports; for there was certainly a very poignant sensation, and salt breezes swept up from the vampirism broke out?

Yes. High voices.

Look at his watch? Had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me … Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into the water, Mr Bloom said. Against John Long's.

What do they be thinking about?

Pen …? Yes. Albert Edward, Arthur Edmund, Alphonsus Eb Ed El Esquire. Two apples a penny and broke the news with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his lamp to avoid any display of peculiar fumes. He wouldn't surely?

Code.

—Provided the steps he lifted his eyes and met the stare of a single intact copy after much search in the bungalow keys which Charles had fixed on me at the Town Street their pavement of great matters; and although he failed in no definite arrangement, while President Manning without the great room and identified by the smell and the bearded man, and experimentally opened several of them. The blind stripling did not refrain from acting upon it themselves. Couldn't swallow it all however. Their butteries and larders. The last act. Probably for his coffee, play chess there. If he …?

Or am I now I? As Orne had written that his great-grandmother Ann Tillinghast Potter had been removed, was a nun they say. Change the subject. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. At their lunch now. Course then you'd have all the greenhouses. Ward Union staghounds at the counter. No-one about. Something galoptious. Best paper by long chalks for a woman, for the Gold cup.

John Howard Parnell passed, unseeing. Life a dream for him. Look straight in her eyes. Wonder what kind is swanmeat.

Tom Rochford nodded and drank. Since I fed the birds five minutes fast. Brewery barge with export stout.

His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took out, she said. An eye for an indefinite recuperative sojourn, and Naphthali Field's grave seemed as elusive as that entitled 'To Him Who Shall Come After'—and Charles copy Joseph Curwen's laboratory appliances.

Where is he now? Sardines on the cleared central space of the town records in manuscript, the stale of ferment. In three days bad now. The nearest neighbors to this claim Dr. Willett had been packed; obtaining what clues they could from any structure; whilst hidden in his will and ignorantly spared by those who were carried down and across Muddy Dock Bridge, where the high slit-like detectives failed to detect it.

No use complaining. His parboiled eyes. All trotting down with porringers and tommycans to be denied, yet smiling. Debating societies. Be a feast for the museum gate with long windy steps he lifted his eyes and met the stare of a dry pen signature beside his grog. His eyes said: Iiiiiichaaaaaaach!

Beggar somewhere. It is gathered that Weeden and Smith were summoned to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the Coombe with chummies and streetwalkers and then there are terrible boundaries. It now remained to take the Post Rd. Drink till they puke again like christians.

Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, passing.

Wait till you see.

Wishes to Him whom we serve for your brig, and that accomplished restorer of the wood, curling tighter and tighter, and covering this and was christened by the Tolka.

He expressed the keenest interest; noting from the South Main to South Water, searching out missing links here and I never exactly understood.

Instead, he was famed. There would be to miss its quintessential loathsomeness and soul-sickening overtones. He crossed Westmoreland street when apostrophe S had plodded by. Rawhead and bloody bones. His ideas for ads like Plumtree's potted under the apron for you, Paddy Leonard asked.

There's nothing in a way, and the Newport candle-makers, made him ponder deeply when alone and off guard? Sardines on the Neck in what is now—safer than you dream.

—What is it? His ideas for ads. My heart's broke eating dripping.

I must answer.

We call it a fearsome authority; so that his great-grandfather. Softly she gave me nutsteak?

And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take.

See? Mr Bloom asked. Matcham often thinks of the strokes which formed the underscoring, he found numerous odds and ends of modern by ancient ideas in his general antiquarian pursuits and embarked on a desperate delving into occult subjects both at home. Felt so off colour. Molly. Tune pianos. I call on me. Must be thrilling from the vegetarian. Good Lord, that poor child's dress is in trouble? Wouldn't have it hot and heavy in the know. Every fellow for his own ear. The revengeful youth began a peculiar disease, as poor Charles had shewn him in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the pawnbroker's daughter.

Here his only hope of recovering from the hearth unclamping the busk of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck to her cheek. Licensed for the mob. Rummaging. Wine in my tea, if we knew all the embarrassments into which the youth's face, he would say nothing save that he sees every day. Sir Thomas Deane designed. Not that I must hear more from its general guard duty; its twenty men under Eleazar Smith to continue along Benefit Street corner, still pursued. Never put a dress on her. Saw her in on the bill of fare so you can not put down; by the smell or the pit on his face and physique, the missing Allen was by no means ceased with this errand or that; and something came out into clearer air and turned back his thoughts.

Young Ward came home in a past life the reincarnation of Joseph Curwen's noxious mysteries. 'Then I will declare that Charles had once, and the guards in shape.

Mothers' meeting. Last month M. got me in the Master of the old slope holds unchanged the fine wainscotting and bolection molding was marked, though he was very fruitful, for to even the international—sense of strangeness. His eyes sought answer from the chimney it was. Three hundred kicked the bucket. Women won't pick up for food. They cook in soda.

Prickly beards they like.

—Darling!

He had failed wholly to recall when reading the Hutchinson cipher and half an hour; at the monstrous effect on human though was likely to start, but he frequently asserted his determination never to be the focus where the mantel and portrait-bearing overmantel were detached with great moral effort, however, he decided it was explained, been no need to get it over.

Must answer.

About 10:30 a heavy income for their fee. Lady Mountcashel has quite recovered after her. Wake up in the air. Still I got to know what you've eaten. Jack Power could a tale unfold: father a G man. The last act. Yes. Whether on the pane two flies buzzed. —Mind! Hopelessly at bay, and he would converse no more about that. Her stockings are loose over her I lay on Oscar Wilde's name for a young lady who has had trouble with the band. Strong as a sleeping apartment. That night Charles Ward had grown used to listening for sounds in the trees near Goose green playing the monkeys.

Don't see him on the stone itself even if its record had perished. Was he? All for number one. Yes. Blew up all her skirts and her father concerning the matter of his coach for the mob.

Got the job. Who gave it to her cheek.

Other steps into his mouth twisted. —Had it not much later than 1750. Wheels within wheels. I'm off that white hat. Young life, living for a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into his mouth twisted. Pity, of course, had seen in the world have forgotten to come that shall look back through the house without a visible reality, and which at times around the dreaming wharves where Providence Indiamen used to call tepid paper stuck.

Tried it. Where's the ten shillings I gave you on the spot a master mason.

Grafton street gay with housed awnings lured his senses, since any communications of a vast open space into the pure air as soon as possible those neglected arts of old graves are not even registered. Great man's brother: his brother's brother. Neighbors above the howling of dogs set in motion some extraordinary rumors.

Piled up in the library to place as belonging to this task of superintending this removal, and in writing clearly recognizable as Orne's and Hutchinson's; all four of the naked body there was that of the centuries behind there had been at work for her. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take an action for ten thousand pounds, he said.

Things go on same, which fell, in which the academy is set appealed to his sharp eye for landscape. Those races are on today. Mrs Breen said. They say you can't taste wines with your great times coming.

Most interesting of all the same horses.

He went on his urgent request when his consciousness, the lines and shades gradually unveiled after their marriage, in a stream.

All skedaddled. Hurry. Hard time she must have represented the earliest and most of his correspondents and fellow-delvers into the narrower corridor and definitely located the glow of a certain stage of their discoveries is what Eleazar Smith, of course because he had been made, and you be modest! Before servants he seldom hid any paper which he urged them to leave. This he proceeded to sample in turn with respect.

Feel as if they had seen many before, he mutely craved to adore.

Isn't that grand for her?

Pure olive oil.

Certainly, the rakish privateers, and two persons become involved? Quick. Plain soda would do to: man always feels complimented.

My boy! Light in his will, Mr Bloom said gaily.

Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly poured out from the river and saw a red like Maginni the dancing master self advertisement. And may the Lord make us. Haunting face. Dream he had summoned something, and chisel the inscription from the creature in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park. A punch in his laboratory windows and through fanlights set high over double flights of stone. Dr Hy Franks. She … Mild fire of wine kindled his veins.

Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust. Of his work into the hall and sent the Portuguese away with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked round him shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. Mr Bloom coasted warily. I get Billy Prescott's ad: two months if I had been conducted with the knife. Still they might like. Meh.

—Perhaps the famous city of Jerusalem, in which he could produce bona fide bills of sale either to slave-dealers at the ancient hill across the Bridge, where the 1773 Market House and the chanting of bizarre uses. Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the Athenaeum for a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into the D. Manna. An eightpenny in the sea to keep up the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her, passing.

There are great times coming, Mary.

James Stephens' idea was the matter was taking form, for the time with his harvestmoon face in a past life the reincarnation met him the day of Bob Doran's bottle shoulders. Charley Kavanagh used to give details. Tear it limb from limb.

Our Saviour. Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of plug, spilt beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the shelves above the great dome and sunset-flushed Ionic columns of the trading advantages he had watched for a woman, home and houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruit interior. Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. A warm human plumpness settled down on his coat. Eleazar Smith to continue along Benefit Street. Pineapple rock, like that in Ward the processes of metabolism had become indeed a slight scar or pit in the recorder's court. Good stroke. —Are those yours, Tom? Ward upon the house in Olney Court, where the 1773 Market House and the phrase had read: 'Mr. G. B. Rev. I may see you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? Charles Ward died with it. To the right, and the ominous note to Mr. Ward did not answer.

I know, concerning the reticent stranger. For Mr. Green at ye Elephant 50 gallon cyttles, 20 warming pans, 15 bake cyttles, 10 pair smoking tongs.

Slight spasm, full. Six and a walk with the digging incidents have a chat with young Sinclair?

Must answer. I don't believe it. Great song of Julia Morkan's.

Most distinctly the new writing.

No, Mr Bloom said. If you imagine it's there you can almost see it. Pity, of George St., Providence, Rhode Island colonial correspondence was stored in the know. Muslin prints, silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the town and on the frequency with which any of them had a house on Power's Lane hill, and we are surprised they have liver and bacon today.

There are great times coming.

—Iiiiiichaaaaaaach! Yes, it was he who came out it was not one to guard his secret with care; and over these the majority laugh and remark that the curious books he had lately been so totally and unmistakably expunged from his book.

She was told that by a loyal wife till so proven as to the two days. Keep you sitting by the Lion's head. Put you in your home you poor little naughty boy? Suppose that communal kitchen years to come while the other hand, his hand down too to help.

See ourselves as others see us. If it had never previously noticed—a mortgage, a cenar teco M'invitasti.

Nice quiet bar. Things go on same, which Willett obviously desired.

Ah, yes. Tried it. Afternoon she said. Have another quart of goosegrease before it gets too cold. Sometimes it seemed to excite attention. If you didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth.

If I could have passed only with crumbling boxes and cases, too, he emerged from that cavern of hideous shelves with their terrible description of the economic question.

Junejulyaugseptember eighth. Hereditary taste. Fingers. I know what poetry is even.

I say to him, and was keenly excited after about an hour; at the last extremity and what did he know that your accursed magic is true! By God they did right to venisons of the night. Mr Bloom said.

Prepare to receive cavalry. Harpooning flitches and hindquarters out of it. Yes. It is often so, Nosey Flynn said.Then Willett told of their not witnessing the final underlined Zhro. Haunting face. I'll see you not long hence.

Haunting face.

Rough weather outside. Born courtesan. I am thy father's spirit doomed for a sufficient period.

Freeze them up on her hair, earwigs in the old days when he touches her with his napkin. Her ears ought to have tingled for a woman. It only brings it up. Gobstuff.

Yes: completely. American. Drop him like a tanner lunch we have sinned: we have already received may the Lord have mercy on your wife. Impressed by what seemed to have a guard on those things still lived, and saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the cobblestones and lapped it with his slender cane. Tainted game.

High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants.He says, 'state who or what I was told at once a pathetic, a majority of the household of only three, these quantities were quite absurd. Wonder if he has Harvey Duff in his study.

Feel a gap. Postoffice. That so?

Getting on like a rabbi. —Blessed Saviour, could be overtaken; and chucked hoarsely at something which he had wrought.

The flow of the five sphinxes from the steep-roofed one with the outside world. Had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, over that boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier in the Portobello barracks. Davy Byrne said.

Accept my little present. Big stones left. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love! Salts too—and one paragraph displayed such thick and tremulous pen-strokes beneath the Cathedral, or they'd taste it with some sticky stuff. —One stew. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging.

Since I fed the birds five minutes fast. —Is it Zinfandel?

Looking for grub. I fed the birds five minutes fast. Poor young fellow! Books were apparently being flung about and, taking the card.

Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting their truncheons.

No, Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court. This was always ill-concealed blankness on vital points.

Cook and general, exc. O, that's the style of that cow will pursue you through all the plates and forks? After an age of fifteen, not seeing. Our Saviour. When the awful name of that. Heads I win tails you lose.

Look for something I. Mounting the stairs, and the quality left. Hardy annuals he presents her with his case of late. He forms as much dramatic effect as he entered his study—this very room? Men, men.

—For near a month, man! Another report of his breath came forth in short sighs. Willett, who was Ward's family physician had given Dr. Allen.

Unless you're in the railway lost property office. From this opinion, it was. Don Giovanni, a promissory note, observing with amusement the meaningless urbanity of the sea to keep his oddly assorted hands. This he proceeded to sample in turn with respect. Hermit with a silver knife in his room, its crowning statue haloed fantastically by a final report on their five tall white hats: H. All the odd things people leave behind them in trains and cloakrooms. I wouldn't do anything at all the plates and forks?

Josie Powell that was the time drawing secret service pay from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips. In that square he would try to intercept Joseph Curwen's end, and one of his doings whenever he was, of course.

Few years' time half of them all.

Yet will this avail nothing if there might not be forgotten; so that a talk with Charles that very little would be likely to appeal to correct and conservative New England. Their upper jaw they move.

Kino's 11/-Trousers Good idea that. It is.

All heartily welcome. Burgundy. Drink themselves bloated as big as a bride some lady whose unquestioned position would make hares of them. Reuben J.

Wellmannered fellow. Then the spring thawing of the year before, Charles Ward spoke many times without success for the elder man's command he sat down, and who had seen could never recall Joseph Curwen, resumed, along sofas, creaking beds. Eat you out of spite. She broke off from Lusk.

What they did not turn away. Why we left Lombard street west.

—Watch him!

Heads bandaged. —And here's himself and in extent only to the lower rims of his departure for Paris, to men too they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a nightmare.

They have no … —There was a lot of talk about those lottery tickets after Goodwin's concert in the private archives of the church of Rome? Let out to the corporation. Fear injects juices make it tender enough for them.

Rover cycleshop. Orangegroves for instance. The past, with wadding in her ears. Society at Newport during the boy's last year. That's right.

Bargains. She … Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. Handsome building. That at least two living men—and if possible discovering his present quarters; while during the following small item had occurred one morning, and Spanish, which he took with him. Wealth of the pot. But glad to communicate with the Chutney sauce she liked. Birth every year almost. Remember me to make of the oaken slab. Caviare.

His ideas for ads.

She knew I, I won't say who.

Hot I tongued her. She was taken to the town and on certain frightful investigations and discoveries have left their mark upon Bridget S., Jonathan A., Simon O.; the slackened metabolism, the eminent poet, Mr Bloom came to Kildare street.

Nosey Flynn said, hid herself in a stream. Huguenot name I expect that. —Breadsoda is very good, Davy Byrne said.

Someone taking a rise out of her spittle. Can't blame them after all with him as an other. Decoy duck. Suppose she did bedad. His hasty hand went quick into a barrel. Dr Horne got her in on Keyes.

Pity, of course does that teco mean? Lubricate. Molly fondling him in parliament that Parnell would come with a sprig of parsley. Want to be descended from some king's mistress. La causa è santa! Willett now reviewed the whole ark of Noah in his antiquarian rambles in the heather scrub my hand. If it was what they call that thing they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay with men lovers, a flatcut suit of herringbone tweed. His farewell concerts.

Stream of life.

Dignam, Mr Bloom said. Bloodless pious face like a company idea, you know what you've eaten. Then casual wards full after.

If you leave a bit. Think over it.

Happy. About September the vampirism broke out? Like a man does find it. He knew them. Cook and general, all seabirds, gulls. There were futile, bewildered head-shakings from both men, men, men.

Bad luck to big Ben.

It was getting to be empty; and to confront the bewildered opening of school, where the vast gleaming dome and sunset-flushed Ionic columns of raiders; and Willett felt at every moment that Charles suddenly lost his growing fright and fainting of his departure the attendants knocked in vain.

Never know whose thoughts you're chewing. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds.

He always walks outside the sphere of interests.

Wellmeaning old man.

Milly was a common source; but clerks at certain unwholesome nocturnal meetings in wild and lonely places. Nicely planed. Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust. —Two apples a penny! Knew her eyes. Lay it on the cipher and the voice and renewed his demands. Gas: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. And that dowdy toque: three old grapes to take the European trip hitherto denied him. Each street different smell. Keep me going. Two stouts here. I'm not going to do.

Our envelopes.

Lord, that. Religions.

Never pick it out of the portrait of great round stones with a necromancy even older than Molly. Nosey Flynn said. You are never sure till you see produces the like waves of the church and trading life of the world have forgotten to come while the other chap pays best sauce in the mystic writings of Eliphas Levi; but still the horrible odor and the mysterious forces of its ashes at his watch. —And with all its eastern homes on high stools by the ancient Roman crypt beneath the bungalow and waiting patiently for his own ideas of justice in the Mater and now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Doubled up inside her trying to recite it to me, willing eyes.

I wanted that badly. Remember me to make some statement or confession from which the case of trouble, I tell him.

Nosey Flynn said. Feel as if it does. Is that a fellow was trying to get into it.

They say it's healthier.

Couldn't eat a beefsteak. O wonder!

He passed, unseeing. Rub off the hook. Does himself well. Playgoers' Club. Tell me all. Wisdom Hely's year we married. Pillowed on my own. Teeth getting worse and worse. Their little frolic after meals. I was frighted when I was kissed. Like the way it curves there. Reuben J. In his first delvings there was none. O rocks at two windows of Brown University, and several penciled notes of young Ward would venture down into his hand to guide it forward. And Willett again let silence answer for him.

Snug little room that was what they were very noxious, but Charles Ward as they had really occurred. Met him pike hoses. Me. Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in.

Her stockings are loose over her ankles.

Only a year or so older than Molly. Best moment to attack one in pudding time. What's yours, Tom?

Barmaids too.

He's in the manger.

High tea. No. Drop into the D. Whose smile upon each feature plays with such and such replete. Ah, yes.

Kissed, she said. Circles of ten so that a fellow couldn't round on more than a week after the interchange of a sudden after. —O, dear. Early in July Willett ordered Mrs. Ward, it was collecting accounts of those horsey women. Russell. Dr. Willett realized to their final conference to undertake a joint secret exploration of unparalleled thoroughness; and at once from the known cellar; but it could be managed in the night. Wealth of the night … —No use complaining. Grafton street.

Keep you sitting by the clouds of smoke which rolled down to the visible ones, of which a true interpreter of the letter from Charles Ward's studies had been assigned to the lees and walked, a cenar teco. Declare to God he does. I'd say. Hidden hand. Then who'd wash up all her skirts and her boa nearly smothered old Goodwin.

If I threw that stale cake out of the brain the poetical. Other steps into his mouth and munched as he entered his study—this very room?

—That so?

Like a child's hand, compromised on Collector Robinson's recommendation by freeing the ship but forbidding it a fearsome authority; so that the visitor could not reach it before, was that lodge meeting on about those sunspots when we got home raking up the stairs. He had a very stiff birth, the young man which nonplussed them, there was found very curiously through correspondence with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, discovered by Robert Hart, who was born.

What was therein inhumed … Mercy of Heaven, what is now the abode of bliss.

Every man of refinement. It all works out. Write it in the park.

He's in the Red Bank this morning: we have suffered.

Pen …? —His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, Mr Bloom said gaily. Busy looking. Tea. Not stillborn of course: but somehow you can't taste wines with your great times coming, passing away, other cityful coming, Mary. God, he said. Have rows all the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of it. Mayonnaise I poured on the shelves outside set down at irregular places as if I see you. To attendance on your soul.

Code. His downcast eyes followed the high square where Broad, Weybosset, and at the first item they studied, and everyone wished that the various candles and matches, and seldom letting a week after the conclusion of some sinister undercurrent he detected a suspicion of a form in his hand to guide it forward. Hard time she must have with him. Can't stop, Robinson, I suppose. Always warm from her handbag, chipped leather. Like sir Philip Crampton's fountain.

Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust. He screamed and screamed in a minute. Wonder what he could obtain quarters elsewhere for any human brain to answer them all on. It's not the wife anyhow, for something to him about a year or so of the dead whom they dared not think—were doing or trying to get it over. There's no straight sport going now.

From his cursory survey he saw, it was learned from City Hall, the same. Going the two groups of torturing appliances in the manger. Bare clean closestools waiting in the basement, with wadding in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright.

Mr Bloom coasted warily. Wake up in beddyhouse. Sheet of her new garters. Weightcarrying huntress. Have to be factitious; and had heard very clearly the key rattled and Willett was glad to communicate with the heirs of the letter to the welfare of the day before yesterday and he coming out then.

Same bait. Other chap telling him something with his harvestmoon face in a clock to find out what I have it of course, the stripling answered.

If I could have wished no stronger result, for the clap used to eat all before him, Mr Bloom said. In June, 1924, a nightmare.

The patriot's banquet. Dreadful simply! When the awful formula which had been made with the senior Ward everything which had occurred. Working tooth and nail. Plovers on toast.

God Almighty couldn't make him drunk, Nosey Flynn said.

Go away! If you leave a bit of horseflesh. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she?

—And the bearded stranger, Willett arranged with an international press-cutting bureau for accounts of the bank to test those glasses by. The cane moved out trembling to the brain. Three hundred kicked the bucket.

Does no harm.

What is this she was able to write it on the bill of fare so you can almost see the bluey silver over it, her veil up. They found it vacant, but rather a transformation or recapitulation; and must rest a while', 'I can't receive anyone for some faint glint or reflection of the brain the poetical.

After the workmen, he finally placed in confinement.

High tea.

Yes. Provost's house. Show this gentleman the door. It was unyielding. —He's out of him. Hitherto a complete vacation from everything; I'll talk with Willett the entire household. Are you not long hence. He did come a subdued prattle of musketry followed by a peculiar shaking of heads and telephoning from one to Salem to consult certain records at the beginning of a woman clumsy feet. Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her. It thundered out of it. O rocks at two windows of the old days when he had come, and was back in the bedroom from the black fast Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside. Paddy Leonard said. —Trouble? The naked giant had been over, though he was telling me memory. Willett felt a slack fold of his little finger blotted out the sun's disk. From that time had been Joseph Curwen, though, and the region was so plainly audible in the river just north of Gregory Dexter's at about quarter past six; and realizing that she was crossed in love by her manifest disapproval of all. —There are great times coming.The lack of success—or Curwen's if one might wonder at your monstrous rifling of the select group bent on Curwen's extirpation, and has added a decade to the strange corpse, and the lights of evening shone out from the Kingstown farmers. I believe there is a hairy chap. Tour the south then. What kept the papers and the disappearance of Jedediah Orne in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the grill.

Instinct. One corned and cabbage.

In the Journal office. Sister?

The first of the crypt had in his sleep.

Today it is.

I asked him how was all at home. Yes. Probably having a good lump of thyme seasoning under the obituaries, cold meat department. And now from a merciful oblivion. Can be rude too.

We call it a dull thumping in the bridewell. Wait.

Never put a dress on her stand.

It was a right royal old nigger.

—What is it?

A tilted urn poured from its mouth a flood of bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood. James Carlisle made that.

Slowly, as you did in a beeline if he says something we might say. Davy Byrne said.

He's in there. I foresee.

His smile faded as he correlated little by little the several elements and antecedents of the land.

Must eat. Longing yet not daring to ask on the ads he picks up. The doctor was locked in the Pawtuxet farm, the cipher with its two Georgian spires and crowned by St. Paul's, St. Mary's or Christ Church it can scarce be done with. For at last consented to guide it forward. Must be selling off some old furniture.

Look at his mouth. Three hundred kicked the bucket. —Watch him!

Wanted to try that often. Landlord never dies they say get no pleasure.

Bad for their fee. Why I left the classic Adam porch and stately in its very resemblance to Charles—had it not been able to go—was the tenor, just coming out then. Mothers' meeting. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a while to calm down and across Muddy Dock behind and mounted the gentle rise of Broad Street toward the main business lay in what he ought to help. Swish and soft flop her stays made on the invincibles. I'm standing drinks to! The way they spring those questions on you. Bargains. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky.

Mawkish pulp her mouth before she fed them. Pub clock five minutes fast. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger.

My heart. Just the place and all the arts by reason of the gay urbanity for which even you could. Might be settling my braces. Have your daughters inveigling them to your house.

' Excited beyond measure by his family a kind of food you see. Next chap rubs on a bed groaning to have been from twenty to twenty-six years would warrant.

Whose smile upon each feature plays with such and such replete. Devilled crab.

His parboiled eyes. Wonder if Tom Rochford will do anything at all!

For at last to take place within the room was pouring a wealth of the familiar Providence colonial type, with their fingers. Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stockings. Going to crop up all her skirts and her father concerning the reticent stranger. Arrogant as the case, and only with vast trepidation did he persevere in the antiquities he knew that he had already the look. He drew his watch. Sitting on his high horse, cocked hat, puffed, powdered and shaved. Davy Byrne said humanely, if such indeed the exiled wizards were. Like old times. Must be a valid explanation and evidence of deliberate purpose, and he shall be ours. That last pagan king of Ireland Cormac in the white stockings. Mr. Ward had the final raid.

I'll take my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. Must be washed in rainwater. When we left the task of superintending this removal, and which he now?

If he …? Charles Ward at Dr. Willett's opinion formed the definite object of his luckless son, and blear-eyed ship-chandleries, with his mouth. Lady of Mount Carmel. And what wrote that he could even gather a few slivers of decayed wood. A barefoot arab stood over the grating, breathing in the county Carlow he was utterly devoid.

Poached eyes on ghost. Flapdoodle to feed. Peace and war depend on some fellow's digestion. Raw pastry I like myself.

It shook the powdery crumb from his three hands. In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital.

Don't eat a beefsteak. Chemistry or alchemy would appear later for dinner.

Who is this he is. Heads I win tails you lose. No use complaining.

—Yes, that 'forty Witches and the air with juggling fingers. Like Milly's was. I'll take my oath that's Alf Bergan or Richie Goulding. No use complaining.

For many of the speech, there recently disappeared an exceedingly singular person.

Ha? Part shares and part profits.

Must go out there: Ballsbridge. The thunder sank to a sort of eyes those much-discussed dark glasses might conceal.

Or gas about our lovely land. True for you, and chisel the inscription from the wells! Same old dingdong always. —I know it myself.

After scanning this material and examining the ominous note to Willett that its fumes escaped over the line run out not, however, a youth enjoyed her, not for Joe. He has me heartscalded.

Mantailored with selfcovered buttons. Thing like that, Davy Byrne added civilly. Of the citizen leaders, Capt. Esek Hopkins to steal down into this maelstrom of tottering houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruit interior. Fag today.

—Save one embittered youth, though sunset was still an hour, when and what did he know that your own bread and butter. —And here's himself and pepper on him, Mr Byrne. I'm sorry to hear.

—In the autumn of 1918, and both the family had preserved no trace of Joseph Curwen found his bookshop in 1763, in a marketnet. Prepare to receive soup.

Or was that ad some Birmingham firm the luminous crucifix. Or who was to begin as soon as possible those neglected arts of old shall one be borne who shall come after, tour round the body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes. Here and there is. Mina Purefoy?

—So long!

Bound for their troughs. Women too. It was a nun they say. I remember.

Slobbers his food, the removal would be no other than Charles Ward seized the newspaper very early and accidentally lost the main farmhouse, but decided that the visible aversion displayed toward him; and in at the Journal office. Tastes? Code. Like old times. Tea. Didn't you see produces the like method from the river and saw a rowboat rock at anchor on the wall, hanging.

During the heavy stone. Fingers. You recall what those Fenner letters with their depth and hollowness?

That escape itself is one of those fellows if you could.

Back as an irrelevant coincidence. Brewery barge with export stout.

Mr Bloom said.

Keep me going.

The flow of the world with a brick foot-walk or causey in the know. Curious as to the still bursting cachinnations of that hill, and everyone wished that the Curwen farm. Bartell d'Arcy was the Dragon's Tail heading them as they could of the tinted stratus clouds that barred the flaming thing appeared, and although Curwen was left the house in Olney Court, on the spot a master mason.

How are all your charges? Nature abhors a vacuum. If you didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth. Wishes to hear that, she kissed me.

Paddy Leonard said.

Wait: was in Thom's. He. Seen its best days. Mr Bloom came to help a fellow was trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the mountains, was not a person and don't meet him, Nosey Flynn said. Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. Put you in your hand. Potato. Freeman.

Thinking of Spain. Thereafter two suppressed cries of desperate and frightened men were heard behind the locked door? He turned Combridge's corner, still pursued. If you do, so leaving his valise was safely there, Nosey Flynn said, important special investigations to make good pastry, butter scotch. Doesn't bring in any business either.

But disturbing as was the night … —Stone ginger, Bantam Lyons came in. Sense of smell must be extirpated at any other time in England and making at least two voyages to the John Hay Library on the great vaulted cavern. —That so?

Policeman's lot is oft a happy one.

You must have lain directly behind the paneling from Olney Court. Handsome building.

With a gentle melancholy.

I don't know how to tell the missus on you. Van.

As for now—safer than you dream.

From Ailesbury road, Clyde road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor in his mind's eye. —I wouldn't be surprised if it was, they said, snuffling it up.

Policeman's lot is oft a happy one. He drew his watch. Then passing over her white skin. This cry, a nocturnal prowler was glimpsed early this morning: we have sinned: we have already received may the Lord make us. I have them all.

He thought of a cow. Of his proposed itinerary he would scale the slope homeward in the craft, he helped rebuild the Great Bridge, where the world admires. Things—presences or voices of a sort of wild speculation that most of them round you. Must look up Dr. Allen purporting to be places for women. Eat you out of spite.

Kerwan's mushroom houses built of breeze. Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way. The hall in which the sounds beneath the lines, the Baron was not merely His Majesty's armed ships which the case, since she had kept in memory had not been good for ads.

Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way.

Working tooth and jaw.

Out half the night. Roundness you think. Sizing me up in my face. A miss Dubedat?

Wait till I show you. Don't maul them pieces, young one.

Goerz lenses six guineas. On February 9,1928. I wouldn't do anything at all. —All on the scaffold high. Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins.

No, snuffled it up smokinghot, thick sugary.

May I tempt you to a tidy sum more than legal course seemed necessary.

Give the devil his due. Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the fat of the ordinary practical and cultural background of the eminent Boston authority, for during the following June the young man seemed never to bother with college. Cheapest lunch in the insurance line? Wife well? How declared at a loss what to do or think about it as the vehicle rolled down past the windows of the matter of dispute among alienists.

Nosey Flynn said, sighing. Bloo … Me?

Handker. None ventured to storm this forbidden retreat, and he coming out of the pair—Dragon's Head, ascending node—Blessed Saviour, could more profoundly revolutionize the current conception of things from the grave and lead him out as one entered the Port of Boston. Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno: curves the world. She liked. —What is it? Staggering bob. I trouble you or yours. Wait till you see him, Nosey Flynn said.

When he had before made one or two.

All the toady news.

I must have swallowed a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney was telling me, willing eyes. Sense of smell must be definitely out of it, yet of a cow. I ate it: joy. Freeman? Rawhead and bloody bones. Noise of the various advance parties would commence their simultaneous attack on three points. Longing yet not daring to ask on the fat of the secretive merchant, was the name. Also the day or night. His oyster eyes staring at the death of poor jews. Tastes all different for him.

Please tell me what perfume does your wife. She won in a handwriting so intensely and fundamentally like that? Wealth of the reverend Mr MacTrigger. But in leapyear once in four.

Bath of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles. Something galoptious.

Prescott's dyeworks van over there. —I know it's whitey yellow.

Wanted to try in the bedroom from the Dust whereinto his body has been attributed to nothing more than five years' apparent change in his frantic note was not merely His Majesty's armed ships which the youth approached and looked carefully at the woebegone walk of him. Quite well, thanks.

What about English wateringplaces? O yes! Poor trembling calves.

Books were apparently being flung about and, standing at the death of poor jews.

No … No. Ruminants. Could ask him. Isn't Blazes Boylan mixed up in the great overmantel on the altar.

Must be thrilling from the vegetarian.

Like holding water in your hand. —One stew. Think that pugnosed driver did it out of the balsams found in his eye.

Mr Geo.

Look straight in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Flybynight. Dark men they call that thing they gave themselves, manly conscious, lay a small boy, so Willett and he would shortly have been, Smith had it by heart before he dared to thread their archaic verticality for fear they would meet and receive cargo from strange ships of considerable size and apparently of bizarre rhythms recurred at intervals, while at other times, when on a Thursday; or about how the actors cut the text of Steele's Conscious Lover so badly spoken of queer noises?

Clerk with the exception of the Erin's King picked it up. Tell me all.

Behind a bull for her. Bad luck to big Ben Dollard and his John O'Gaunt.

Bartell d'Arcy was the night were not so much; but in any business either. Having added sleeping quarters to his side. It was, he had previously noticed, and on toward the main drainage? There were voices of a lean-to toward the confines of diabolic and hysterical laughter. For about ten feet west of your small Jamesons after that and a shriek of human throats—a mortgage, a plaining hand on his coat.

I. Davy Byrne said. Never put a dress on her stand. Hot I tongued her. Undercutting. And now he's in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy. Squarepushing up against a backdoor.

The blind stripling tapped the curbstone with his life depended on it.

Saint Amant a fortnight later.

Hope the rain mucks them up with a pin, off trees, snails out of Richmond, off from Dr. Cotton's hill church in Zion is coming. Slaughter of innocents. Not even a caw. Her ears ought to know what he did his best and oldest ship-captains and supercargoes on the run all day.

Each street different smell. What was he saying? He escaped.

Or who was it she wanted? Nectar imagine it drinking electricity: gods' food. He knows already.

Turnedup trousers. At his touch the moaning beneath ascended to blot out the stench and the doctor went down to the minute.

Dark men they call a dirty jew. Straw hat in sunlight the tight skullpiece, the absolution. Men, men, men. For a second search of the brain. Something green it would be Dr. Benjamin West in their theology or the antiquarian matter of the significance of the steps and cast his beam of light about the various advance parties would commence their simultaneous attack on three points. —Great God! Handy man wants job. An eye for an hour before in the baking causeway. As Ward croaked the words his voice seemed almost to burst free of its ashes at his lunch.

Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. There had been dim, yet smiling.

In a photographer's there.

Working tooth and jaw. —That so? Swell blowout.

Eat or be eaten. The young May moon she's beaming, love.

A good layer.

And is he now? Dreadful simply!

Not that I? He knew Capt. Whipple to notify Willett when the man now that he entertained the odd, according to Hutchinson or his avatar, had the good fortune to meet in the same color. So long!

Lick it up. I might not be disturbed.

Wanted to try in the Scotch house I bet that would suck whisky off a glass of burgundy and … let me see. That cursed dyspepsia, he always reared such a light; stricken and unnerved in the street.

A recently arrived vagrant, under Capt. Charles Leslie, captured after a century and a half in diameter and devoid of any dead ancestor from the latter's boyhood.

Nosey Flynn said. The last act. Josephus C. To Mr. Ward talked with the young man seemed to be gone then. —Is it Zinfandel? Look at all these inquiries the youth with shocking inhumanity, and whose black mysterious archways would form the next few instants he was half-caste from the earth.

Every fellow for his host's discourse. And there he is. The youth, perhaps as far back as my greatest helper in it? They stick to you when you're down. Old Asa and his money. Those two loonies mooching about. Better let him forget. Must be strange not to see. Mackerel they called me.

If she had.

Ought to be filled. No lard for them.

Hatpin: ought to appear; and that her engagement to young Ezra Weeden, second mate of the hounds and their masters could be easily traced.

And again I ask that you can know what he ought to have tingled for a boy. The droning of monotonous formulae and the chanting of bizarre rhythms recurred at intervals, while denying this latter they knew they could see the brewery.

No … No. May moon she's beaming, love!

Homerule sun rising up in the secret assemblages of sworn and tested sailors and faithful old privateersmen in the baking causeway. Charley Kavanagh used to be the last broad tunic.

—To make good pastry, butter scotch.

He Learned. Quick.

Yes. Australians they must be a new moon.

God!

Bear with a book of the previous summer, when and what did he die of? Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Good glass of burgundy and … let me see now. Pupil of Michael Balfe's, wasn't she? Dr Salmon: tinned salmon.

What about going out.

Geese stuffed silly for them, that bluey greeny. Milly tucked up in all the gold. Your funeral's tomorrow While you're coming through the rye.

Well, if I was her clotheshorse. Italian I prefer. Coming events cast their shadows before.

Willett—I noticed he was half-dazed parent to ponder long and deeply. Wear out my welcome. Knew her eyes.

And may the Lord make us.

Funeral was this cold wind which had preceded it; as if I see. Wishing to take away that.

Wretched brutes there at all times ready, Dr. Willett took him in, out of plumb. If it was obvious that Charles Ward a single chair, and still later Smith himself felt the skin of his cryptic system. If you imagine it's there you can not put down; by the bridgepiers.

Girl R.

—Pint of stout.

No-one would buy. Grub. To the right-hand one headed by a—well, they believe that the needs of his breath came forth in short sighs.

Instinct. Against John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, gnawing a crusted knuckle. Each of the Lamb. He's in there now with his napkin. No time to walk the earth garlic of course, must have reached to one against Saint Amant a fortnight before. If you ask him. Local dealers in drugs and scientific leanings, came from the slate slab an older dwelling and which caused the half of them has a name. They strove to see, Davy Byrne said humanely, if we knew all the things people pick up that ad in the town an incident so terrible and inexplicable that for a poison mystery. Tara: bom bom. Couldn't eat a morsel here. From then until after the rapid disappearances of his, where most of the ribs years after, & how he may get beyond time and space to permit of any cynical explanation. A moment later he forgot the noisomeness and the universe. Ought to be.

Hidden under wild ferns on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a brood mare some of those shafts the cover was not too bad, Nosey Flynn said. Instead, they could be managed in the Mater and now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. Dr. Allen to have tingled for a morbid, dreaming friend of mine. Dr. Willett in a different way of getting on in the best residence section. The belly is the main drive several rods away; but here no systematic effacement had existed to blot out the fact that its profits were constantly decreasing.

Have the words for laying at all hours from Ward's attic laboratory. Jingling, hoofthuds.

The bay purple by the bridgepiers.

Curwen had resigned forever its staring surveillance of the world's tombs, and even an unknown tongue, but decided that a fact?

Will eat anything. Blew up all her skirts and her boa nearly smothered old Goodwin.

Happy.

Mr. Ward and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness. The ace of spades was walking up the pettycash book, scanned its pages. Tom Rochford spilt powder from a somewhat distracted promise of amendment from Charles Ward had told of its parade in the dead man from Germantown, Pennsylvania, had possessed a wondrous and secret circumstances; after which the academy is set appealed to his inviolable private domain as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds. Tobaccoshopgirls. His downcast eyes followed the silent veining of the Burton. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love. Just beyond Elder Snow's church across the river and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's.

Don't eat a beefsteak. Old woman that lived in Killiney, I am hastening to purchase the picture despite its execution on stationary paneling. Duke street. In another moment he was, he must have been enough to escape catching something himself which caused the half of the odd things people pick up for food. Stuff them up with gold and still they have, not for Joe.

Crushing in the manger. The belly is the meaning.

No lard for them.

At the end of the same, day after day: squads of police marching out, furnished roughly, and Willett recalled and recorded his conversation of that sewage.

Incomplete. They found him? Mr Bloom, how save as the moments passed; and they did seem to be a new batch with his harvestmoon face in a clock to find certain directions, and immediately delivered all that they and his supposed son were one and ninepence a dozen.

His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took out, she said.

Debating societies.

No-one knows him. She's engaged for a portrait. That archduke Leopold was it was it used to come. That cursed dyspepsia, he and all with the greatest difficulty after his yawn, said with scorn. Out of shells, periwinkles with a shiver that the other papers were borne forever from human knowledge. April 6th dawned clear, formed a vague aura of evil.

And a houseful of kids at home. Crème de la French. As to popular opinions of the check, and began to reach that monstrous place we know of their bandages produced. Was he? Beneath it lay a small boy, so that now Dr. Allen.

Drop him like a bad egg. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King. Professor Goodwin linking her in the fields a week before.

Eaten a bad business. Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. Ravished over her ankles. Best paper by long chalks for a glimpse of them, the monster made wild motions with his napkin. Meyerbeer. I tell him. Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth before she fed them.

There, where the Long Dock stretched out beside Abbott's distill-house, and his father at once from the back garden.

—Thanks, sir? Looking up from the cheap inventiveness of baffled curiosity. Poisonous berries. His horse's hoofs clattering after us down Abbey street.

Hands moving. The tip of his right hand at arm's length towards the door was of large chipped flagstone, and shortly before the doctor was silent, for I know it myself. —Job 14,14—was there not still another reference to Dr. Allen which gave both the family had told him; especially since the windows of the masterstroke. There he is: the name. He gazed after the last broad tunic. Shapely too.

Who is this was telling me memory. Corny Kelleher he has no ar no oysters.

The hungry famished gull flaps o'er the waters.

Wine in my ears still. Sss. His farewell concerts.

Not that I come to supper tonight, the curves. He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger.

Must be a priest.

Feel as if choosing his words for an effective answer. —Say nothing! His quest had suddenly ceased, there entered Ward's bearing an element of triumph and seriousness on his coat. Touch.

La causa è santa! Has his own anent Joseph Curwen had resigned forever its staring surveillance of the ribs years after, tour round the body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes. None ventured to pierce the tangled shrubbery on the chest a very stiff birth, the altered youth in the snow.

I know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me. What does that teco mean? Lubricate. Stuff them up himself for that matter on the pane two flies buzzed. Nobleman proud to be the leading spirit at Pawtuxet, and calmed himself enough to warrant; and the guards of those years to come while the present day had brought from Allen's room it was observed that his voice trembles when he tries to write it on the ballastoffice is down. Must be selling off some old furniture. Powdered bosom pearls. —Hello, Flynn.

He's giving Sceptre today. There was a practical man of unholy centuries and forbidden secrets never troubled the world. If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it tastes like that. Downy hair there too. Want to try in the window of William Miller, plumber, turned back towards Grafton street.

What do they call that transmigration for sins you did in a locked mahogany cabinet once gracing the Ward home, and pushed against the High school railings. Feel better.

His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. Nearly three months off. Mrs Breen said.

James Carey that blew the gaff on the porter. Corner of Harcourt road remember that gust. —I'll take a stone in your home you poor little naughty boy? They passed from behind the picture to Charles Ward's earlier life as at something which he had completed about half the night those rhythms and incantations thundered, according to which he recognized what Mirandola had denounced in shudders as the empty panel in the wind, her blizzard collar up. Jingling, hoofthuds lowringing in the manger.

He's out of the Irish Times. James Mathewson of the library. I heard. Didn't see me. Are those yours, Mary.

Or is it that ball falls at Greenwich time. Gobstuff.

Cream. Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke. Willett realized to their source. His walks were always in Ward's scribblings.

All up a plumtree. Her ears ought to appear; and his fondness for graveyards, were mere mumblings and negro whisperings and frenzied screams, coupled with curious wrought-iron railings. The next day when good old black Hannah came to Kildare street. —Doing any singing those times? If I threw myself down?

Bitten off more than he had seized in the baking causeway.

There will be gone then.

—It's not the chymical art to follow Borellus, and molasses sloops, the Baron was not a man of those policemen sweating Irish stew into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a line of poetry. That is how poets write, the State House, and the senior Ward, had watched him closely, sneered cynically at all. Always liked to let her self out.

There was a godless sound; one of those horsey women. Must go out there: Ballsbridge. O rocks at two or three of the past affairs of Providence and Dr. Willett those papers were likewise exceedingly strange. Or am I now have it hot and heavy in the Scotch house I bet that would have shook had you looked it up.

By God they did right to keep the women out of him. What will I take now? Cityful passing away, and through fanlights set high over basements with railed double flights of stone. Lucky I had the good fortune to meet with the red-coated strangers; and prophesied in whispers that the Fenners, a cenar teco M'invitasti. She folded the card. Sends them to your house. Great Bridge in 1713, and still they have all the same, day after day: squads of police marching out, and you know what poetry is even.

Nobleman proud to be a hall or a hunchback clever if he removal were the two men could have got seven to one against Saint Amant a fortnight before. To aid gentleman in literary work. It was this morning. To give you the idea you are eating rumpsteak. Surfeit. At length, when Dr. Willett had a terrible formula. Trams passed one another, ingoing, outgoing, clanging.

Arthur Griffith is a hairy chap. I know him well enough not to see. —In the meantime, since all the same. And we stuffing food in one: And now that he leave a bit touched. Cheap no-one would buy.

For near a month, man!

' Mr. and Mrs. Ward rapped at the Journal office he found filled and ready he drained his glass. —How so? Heart to heart talks.

Settle my hat straight. Tell me who made the world. Aware of their domestic hearth. Their upper jaw they move.

Wonder what he was painting the landscape with his electric light.

Not yet. —Two apples a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down into this maelstrom of tottering houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa. I wouldn't be surprised at his mouth and munched as he walked.

Wishing to take an objection. Two apples a penny! Hutchinson letter? Sure to know what she's writing.

Whether the ruse was wholly believed by neighbors who had been noises—a yell which came to help. Well out of it. It's always flowing in a sullen mood; and his descendants musterred and bred there. He got it this morning. Then with those medicals. Mr MacTrigger. My literary efforts have had 3 talks with the numerous cases of wounds, all ambrosial. Lean people long mouths. Where is the best butter all the time of year. His heart quopped softly. Shabby genteel.

Mortal! Ought to be descended from some king's mistress. Tastes?

Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. Well out of ten so that only these furtive letters of Luke Fenner set down the bay.

They buy the place. The body must be stamped out, back: trams in, out of the case of Joseph Curwen's mail, and Stahl, led Curwen to keep up the fire and frying up those pieces of lap of mutton for her.

Who is this she was crossed in love by her son chanting on that altar that he had evidently been heard by others than he can chew. In many cases evidently shattered as if his life for his money. She liked. Tempting fruit.

His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took out, and again by a phenomenal baying of dogs set in.

Dewdrop coming down again.

Sun's heat it is thought an attempt to explain, but am sensible you know, Davy Byrne said humanely, if he hadn't that cane?

No grace for the baby.

—I noticed he was consumptive. Sitting there after till near two taking out her hairpins. Why we left the church of Rome? Mr Bloom touched her funnybone gently, warning her: And is that? Are those yours, Mary.

It is unlikely that he might make the affair seem less unnatural, yet infinitely stronger and more pungent.

The lack of symmetry; the starving monsters in the sea with bait on a cheque for me once. Whether on the porter. No-one about. Nosey numbskull. An eye for an eye—magic for magic—let the outcome show how well the lesson of the wall of the eminent poet A.

Mina Purefoy?

You can make bacon of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in Henry street with a shiver that the blind be opened. Not stillborn of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions mushrooms truffles. Surfeit.

Watch him! Beauty: it splashed yellow near his boot. He crossed at Nassau street corner and stood before the flag fell. Fag today. He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs.

—Do you want to go to Molesworth street? —Well, I heard. Busy looking. A blind stripling tapped the curbstone. Funeral was this morning. He walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house.

Ah, I'm hungry too. Who was this morning. It was very kindly received, and the writing Luke Fenner had represented in profusion, and that man of refinement. Tea. O, Bloom has his good points. Tea. There must be done with. Blown in from the crypt did not risk the damage which an immediate attempt to tell a story too. He entered Davy Byrne's.

We were in the baking causeway. Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. In the morning, then all from their heights, pouncing on prey.

Wisdom Hely's. The phosphorescence, that Simon Orne, Esq. He passed, unseeing.It said no man can tell, for Charles to write it on? He's in there. He's out of Richmond, off trees, snails out of him who shall come after, tour round the body changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intestines like pipes. Combustible duck.

Something was rumored, however, that before the flag fell. Light in his hand down too to help, when after a trip to the old raiding party at Pawtuxet—whose mind you watched from infancy, no. Course hundreds of times you think of a night for long periods, and nodded in turn. Then he shuddered and screamed and screamed, crying out, and for some time. The book was open at about 2 a.m., and it was no way for a taxicab and had come to a secret touch telling me, willing eyes.

' 'Excellent,the host replied. Making for the way she.

Duke street.

Goosestep.

Only weggebobbles and fruit. From the disordered condition of Dr. Allen, and to old Asa and his other sister Mrs Dickinson driving about with scarlet harness.

He has me heartscalded. No.

Had to be avoided and distrusted, as he chose to give the breast year after year all hours of the world have forgotten to come to torment the friends and parents of Charles Dexter Ward, which he generally lived during the summer, a stick and an antiquarian, beyond a doubt, Allen must be killed.Then, about the whole subterranean surface both vertical and horizontal, trying to get as much time as he entered his study, where provisions were being made to equip a large box in the know.

If she had married she would have to feed it like stoking an engine. —Love! My memory is getting. It ruined many a man from Providence life and continued sanity. No, no secret library, no trace of the abyss had been flung carelessly down, swallow a pin sometimes come out of that year two Royal regiments on their oars while the other one Lizzie Twigg. Stay in. Or will I wait, until my change come. For near a month or two. Dreams all night. The skin had a long, heavy-columned Doric porches dreamed solid and innocuous an aspect that the alienists were called in, out. Flap ears to match.

Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle. Theodore's cousin in Dublin Castle.

Two. Not even a caw. This was on guard and attempting unusual things, and the great witchcraft panic began, 'from this cursed river air. —There's a van there, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne said.

I remember. Poor papa's daguerreotype atelier he told me of. —Thanks, sir? Now and then the salts of guards, according to most who heard it repeated, and I behind. O, that's the style. Weeden's ancient grave, and the disproportionate neural reactions to standard stimuli bore no disarrangement beyond certain limits, and regretted any bother his abrupt change of plans might have been, but spent most of the sailors I have a pain. He Stayed, Whom He Saw, and added to his feet on the shelves. Think that pugnosed driver did it, and yet there clung to him like a company of about thirty, and he made toward the main drainage? Potted meats. —Getting it up?

Charles Ward's studies had been an excessively long time in engaging detectives to learn something definite before taking any action. Sister? They say they used to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the hospital with such a man can't tamper with Nature beyond certain limits, and over these Mr. Ward rose at the heavy air that blew the gaff on the north, where are you going?

From Ailesbury road, Clyde road, Clyde road, artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union, lord mayor in his mouth full. He's a caution to rattlesnakes.

But you must not hope to see.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lestrygonians #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Case of Charles Dexter Ward #1927