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descendantofthesparrow · 2 years

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cuz i cant help myself

have an oc from the current Walter fic I'm wip'ing, fully took her name from @sessediz XD it just fit too well~

'You jumped as your door suddenly opened-two woman walking into your room-one was about your height with long golden red hair, wearing a soft purple dress that hung off her shoulders-the other was tall, dark and terrifying, her black eyes trained on you like a hawk. “goodmorning~!” the redhaired one said, sitting at the end of your bed and leaning towards you, her fangs on full display.'

im 35 pages and 11228 words into this fic-AND IM NOT DONE YET

#walter deville x reader #the invitation 2022 #Billington bride #middle ages bride #i think of her as the first or 2nd billington bride #viktoria is still the oldest/first klopstock bride #and (y/n) is the 4th alexander bride #Alexanders have a trend of not lasting very long #its a bit weird #lol #and billington brides are all oddly simular but have different personalites #Vasilica is very head strong and is very protective of herself and the newer brides #viktoria gets away with less shit #anywas #art #my art

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free-for-all-fics · 2 years

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Obscure Characters List - Female Edition (A-M)

Obscure Characters I love for some reason - Female Edition (A-M). (By obscure I mean characters that have little to no fanfic written about them. Not necessarily characters nobody’s ever heard of.) Don’t ask me to explain why. UPDATED: I had to split these up into separate posts because tumblr is being a butt about post length or something and won’t let me add more to either list idk.

Abigail Bishop/Emily (Let’s Scare Jessica to Death)

Agnes (Downfall Redux)

Agony Symbiote (Marvel Comics)

Alice (Apsulov: End of Gods)

Amanda Ripley (Alien Isolation)

Amelia (Underworld)

Anastasie “Tasi” Trianon (Amnesia Rebirth)

Annalise, Queen of the Vilebloods (Bloodborne)

Anna Valerious (Van Helsing 2004)

Baroness Clarimonde Catani (The Vampire Happening)

Belle (A Christmas Carol)

Black Canary/Dinah Drake/Dinah Laurel Lance (DC Comics)

Blackfire/Princess Komand'r (DC comics/Teen Titans)

Blind Mag/Magdalene DeFoe (Repo! The Genetic Opera)

Brides of Dracula (any version)

Cala Maria (Cuphead)

Calendar Girl/Page Munroe (DC Comics/The New Batman Adventures)

Catherine Chun (SOMA)

Charlotte Elbourne (Vampire Hunter D)

Charlotte Thornton (Nancy Drew, Ghost of Thornton Hall)

Chrissy/Mildred Pratt (Deadstream)

Constance Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

Cora (Devil’s Carnival 2)

Countess Marya Zaleska (Dracula's Daughter)

Dana Newman/The Angry Princess (Thirteen Ghosts remake)

Dolirra (Fariwalk: The Prelude)

Doll Face (The Strangers)

Dollisa (Fariwalk: The Prelude)

Edith Finch (What Remains of Edith Finch)

Elisabeth Williams (Maid of Sker)

Elizabeth Eilander (Rusty Lake Paradise)

Elizabeth Shelley (Frankenhooker)

Empress Tihana (Amnesia Rebirth)

Erin (You’re Next)

Estella (Great Expectations)

Esther/Leena Klammer (Orphan 1 and 2)

Evelyn “Evie” Carnahan O' Connnell (The Mummy series)

Faith (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Ginger Fitzgerald (Ginger Snaps)

Glorificus “Glory” (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Goody (Vampires)

Grace Le Domas (Ready Or Not)

Gwendolyn “Gwen” Grayson/Royal Pain (Sky High)

Harper Thornton (Nancy Drew, Ghost of Thornton Hall)

Hel (Apsulov: End of Gods)

Hero (Much Ado About Nothing)

Imogen “Idgie” Threadgoode (Green Fried Tomatoes)

Iris (30 Days of Night)

Isabelle/The Bride (Spookies)

Jane Doe (Autopsy of Jane Doe)

Jayme/Red (Blood Fest)

Jennet Humfrye/The Woman in Black (The Woman in Black)

Julia/Subject Three (TAU)

Juliette Waters (Sylvio)

Justine Florbelle (Amnesia the Dark Descent)

Kate Drew (Nancy Drew, The Silent Spy)

Kathy Rain (Kathy Rain)

Katrina Van Tassel (Sleepy Hollow)

Kissin’ Kate Barlow (Holes)

Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower (Bloodborne)

Lady Sybil Crawley/Branson (Downton Abbey)

Lamia (Stardust)

Laura "Lorelai" Wood (Lorelai)

Laure Richis (Perfume: The Story of a Murderer)

Laurie (Trick ‘r Treat)

Leech Woman (Puppetmaster series)

Lena (Underworld: Blood Wars)

Lily (V/H/S Amateur Night/SiREN)

Lily Munster (The Munsters)

Loretta, Knight of the Haligtree (Elden Ring)

Lucille Sharpe (Crimson Peak)

Lucy Billington (The Invitation)

Lunar Princess Ranni (Elden Ring)

Malenia the Severed (Elden Ring)

Marni Wallace (Repo! The Genetic Opera)

Mary Katherine “Merricat” Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

Mel (Nancy Drew, Warnings at Waverly Academy)

Melanie Ravenswood (Phantom Manor)

Melina (Elden Ring)

Millicent (Elden Ring)

Milk Maiden (2001 Maniacs)

Mirror Queen (The Brothers Grimm)

Miss Brixil (Level 16)

Moder (The Ritual)

#Obscure characters list #Obscure characters #Obscure fictional characters #will be added to over time

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kissofthemuses · 1 year

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LUCY

FULL NAME: Lucy Billington

SPECIES: vampire

FANDOM: The Invitation

PHYSICAL

FACECLAIM: Alana Boden

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: ~126

HAIR: blonde

EYES: green

HEIGHT: 5'3"

ORIENTATION: bisexual

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: Phillipa Billington

FATHER: Thomas Billington

HUSBAND: Walter Deville

LOVER/WIFE: Viktoria Clopstok

PERSONALITY

MBTI: ESTP

ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral

TEMPERAMENT: sanguine

ENNEAGRAM: 9

POSITIVES: Outgoing, charming, adaptive, loyal

NEGATIVES: selfish, people-pleaser, manipulative

BIOGRAPHY

Lucy's childhood was an odd mixture of being spoiled with material goods, being told how important she was to the family, and emotional neglect. It was hard for her to wrap her mind around. She was told her parents loved her and that she was important to them, but they never showed her any kind of affection. There were no hugs, no kisses good night, only "be good Lucy, make our family proud."

But the young girl didn't know how to do that. She tried everything she could think of: she did well in her studies, her manners were impeccable. She did all she could to earn praise from them.

While that didn't entirely change as she grew into adolescence and young adulthood, she did begin to enjoy the attentions of men and being the life of parties. As the 1920's dawned, Lucy was enticed parties and jazz clubs, but she wasn't so brazen as to spend too much time in those spaces. She still sought to please her parents and be the good Lucy she'd always been for them.

She was 20 when her family introduced her to Walter DeVille. He was charming and strong and well traveled, knowledgeable about the arts, and so utterly enchanting. Lucy fell head over heels in love with him.

Their marriage was announced not long after. And Lucy's Iife changed forever when, on her wedding day, it was revealed to her what exactly her soon-to-be husband was, and what she was expected to do.

She was horrified and tried to back out, but her mother made it abundantly clear that she had two options: be his immortal bride, and bring continued prosperity to her family, or die, and doom them all with her.

So, Lucy went through with it.

#{ muses }

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see-arcane · 2 years

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“The Invitation,” or, “Please, God, Stop Letting Writer/Directors Slap Public Domain Names on Their Fanfiction”

Spoilers for The Invitation below.

Get a drink, grab some snacks. We’re going to be here awhile.

I am now and always a sucker (bad dum tshh) for new Dracula media.

Past experience has only given a decent payoff 1 out of 5 times, but hey, I like to gamble. And even with my misgivings about the trailer, even with the immediate sour gut punch of Rotten Tomatoes’ poor reviews from critics and audiences on opening night, I was ready to gamble again. The Invitation was written and directed by a woman, Jessica M. Thompson, and it’s playing to an obvious gothic vampire-romance angle, which meant it was already a prime target for snide review bombing. Hell, I was already half-grinding my teeth over the implications of Ken Doll Dracula at his Most Suavely von Handsome and the less than flattering depiction of the Harkers in the trailer.

But there was a chance it was misdirection! Trailers always hide their best twists!

Plus, it was technically doing what Last Voyage of the Demeter and the (obviously parodic) Renfield mean to do when they hit the theaters—it’s exploring the underutilized characters and lore potential that Stoker left laying around the narrative. In this case, the story of the Brides as seen through the lens of Evie, a young woman tricked into joining that same harem. That’s interesting! And, joy of joys, this Dracula is not pulling a Coppola.

No reincarnated wives, no starry-eyed romance with the victim. He’s just being a manipulative hot chick collector. If you squint, you can allllllmost see a loving nod to the (likewise less than faithful, but hey, it's not Gary Oldman going all Romeo with Winona Ryder 2.0) Hammer horror history, with various Draculas preying upon various maidens like, you know, a predator. Which he is.

But that steered me to the last thread of hesitation, which was the rating: PG-13. The only time a PG-13 movie has ever scared me was the American remake of The Ring—a freak miracle that I still believe outshines the original Japanese Ringu in atmosphere, acting, and scares. It was a one-off. Never been pulled off before or since in my opinion.

In the context of Dracula media, the only time this bastard should rate less than an R is when he’s there for a parody’s sake.

But still, I crossed my fingers. Got my ticket. Sat through the whole thing.

Let’s save a little time and get the Pros out of the way.

PROS:

-Evie and her best friend Grace are the best part of the cast, if only when they get to bounce off each other.

-‘Lucy’ is not really Lucy Westenra, though her demeanor is sweet enough to play to her original book inspiration. This is Lucy ‘Billington.’

-The Billingtons, along with two other ‘old money’ families featured in the big evil vampire wedding are all human, and all responsible for offering ‘Walter DeVille’ a viable pretty daughter as a tithe-Bride in exchange for their own prosperity. It’s an interesting take and it helps mesh with one of the film’s overarching themes that vampires and the rich are predators of the same ilk, abusing and feeding on the lower classes. Evie herself is a freelancer/caterer used to serving up canapes to the wealthy and her ongoing camaraderie with the hired help is nice to see.

-The subtlest good point the movie offers is the fate of the maids/catering girls who are brought in for the duration of the wedding celebration. They are, quite literally, the catering itself, being fed on and picked off one by one. It’s a metaphor given full bloody demonstration without needing it hammered in.

-Beautiful backdrop with the manor. Lots of gothic love in the design.

-At best, the movie might serve as a stepping stone for folks just weaning themselves out of softer vampire media and into meatier horror fare. Or it could just be for the cheesecake factor of the pretty actors and fangs. Everyone has a turn to get their titties out; Ken Doll Drac gets the obligatory shirtless scene, the Brides have gowns in the climax that seem one sneeze away from indecent exposure. If you’re here for some hot bloodsucker objectifying, a grrrrl power ending, and the kind of flick you can have playing in the background without wanting to crane your head around to catch every scene while you do something else, go for it.

CONS:

-…Give me a minute.

-………….Give me another minute.

- Okay. Let’s start small.

- Just from a technical angle, the acting is not stellar. Nor is the editing. Frankly, there is not a single good scare orchestrated throughout the whole film. And there are opportunities for it everywhere! They just are never, ever taken. Even when the poor maids are getting murdered there’s no menace. It’s like watching sheep marched into a slaughter, but with even less impact.

- Even the potential of having a good surprise monster design is left out. There are no creature effects beyond pointy nails and sharp teeth. Really, if it weren’t for those teeny little traits, everyone involved could just be a bunch of rich weirdoes with a blood fetish. (Which could have been its own flick! Go full Bathory! But no.)

- My absolute tiniest nitpick? Bats and wolves are mentioned as being around, bats and wolves never make an appearance. For shame.

- Grrrrrl power is in full effect. The climax is the main offender here, from the acting, to the editing, to the strangely Matrixy effects in the final battle. It might have worked if it was kept more low-key—Evie’s only real allies are the all-female catering staff/fodder, her best friend back overseas, and, towards the end, the head maid Mrs. Swift and a repentant Lucy who both sacrifice their lives to help her. Even the fact that, if you look, most of the rich human families involved have a heavy skew towards male members versus female. The latter are there, but not as many. The reason Evie gets roped into the scheme is that she’s the last female of the Alexander family they can offer to renew DeVille/Dracula’s fealty. There is not one single male in the cast who has anything but ulterior motives.

-…Including, yes, Jonathan fucking Harker. Alongside Mina fucking Harker. Who, while not in-house servants, are loyal to fucking Dracula. Not even vampires! Just regular evil old folks! Here, they’re an elderly couple running what looks like an antique shop near the manor, and they immediately concuss and sellout Evie when she comes to them for help.

- The brunette Bride, Viktoria, is the bi-coded, Catty Jealous Wife © ™ and the Evil Awful No-Good Mean Girl of the cast. She might have been fun if she wasn’t written to be a cardboard cutout of a character.

- Walter DeVille (those who’ve read the book, you know that last name is taken from canon as one of Dracula’s aliases, because the Count thinks he’s so damn funny) alias ‘Walt’ alias Actual Fucking Dracula. Where do I begin with you, sir?

This man is a marvel of hybridizing the worst parts of charismatic vampiric bad boy narratives and the Little Red Riding Hood Syndrome that involves deforming a villain so far away from his original threat and character into bodice ripper makeover land that he’s utterly unrecognizable.

Coppola-spawned wet dreams, lukewarm Fifty Shades of Grey rough drafts, and every unused extra from every Sexypire TV series ever made have their stamp here. True Blood, Vampire Diaries, that pile of ‘Erik was a Vampire All Along !!1!’ Phantom of the Opera fanfic you bookmarked in middle school. It’s all here. It all went into this one character.

With all my apologies to you, Drac actor Thomas Doherty, you are not scary. You’re not even mildly ominous. The old man playing the butler had more grisly gravitas than you. Which isn’t your fault! You’re following directions! You’re being Count Fuckula, a guy whose only want and purpose is to Gain New Hot Wife, Give Mysterious Unexplained Prosperity/Blood Magic/??? to Family of New Hot Wife, and Be Mr. Sexington Q. Charmley. Your jawline, pectorals, and all 4.5 scenes of chemistry you’re cattle-prodded into with Evie before the ~dramatic reveal~ of vampire cult goings-on were no doubt you following your cues to the letter.

It's not your fault any more than it was Gary Oldman’s fault. You have a script, a role, a certain vibe the director wants from you. But in Gary Oldman’s case, at least he acted like he had whole centuries’ worth of power, intellect, and massacre behind him, rather than an all-night reading session studying YA supernatural series for dialogue tips, done in-between gym sessions and cologne commercials.

You are not Dracula. You were never going to be Dracula. No matter what ‘See! See! I used names and places from the book!’ unearned titles are thrown around, nothing of you or this movie has anything to do with Dracula.

And here we have the biggest, least surprising sin of the film. The longstanding tradition of Dracula adaptations and spinoffs, now at its final form.

-Just because you put a famous name on something does not mean it is that thing. Naming a Chihuahua after Cerberus does not make your half-pound purse dog the three-headed monster mongrel of Hades. By the same token, vomiting public domain names all over the place—

Whitby! Carfax Abbey! Jonathan and Mina Harker! DeVille! Brides! Lucy! Dracula!

—does not mean shit if the things wearing those names are not those things. I know, I know, it’s tempting to hide behind the clout of well-known titles to lend extra punch to your work. It draws people in (hi), and gets them interested because, “Ooh, I recognize that name! I know and love that story!”

It takes some of the hard work out of it. It saves you from having to do what, in hindsight, you should have done all along—Coppola, Moffat, so many more, and now Thompson—and be original. Give these people new names, because they are clearly not the characters they’re named after and/or referencing. Then you can do whatever the hell you want without staying in the confines of the canon you’re borrowing from and trying to expand on; which, you know, didn’t stop you anyway.

You want some Dracula in there? Make Walter one of those snob bloodsuckers who reference Dracula. Maybe have him look down his nose at Stoker’s silly misguided notions about the nature of vampires, but give him credit for hitting close with the bit about the Brides, ha ha.

Or, even better, have him actually be young compared to most vampires. Give Evie something to chew his ass out on—point out that even for an immortal self-made ‘god,’ as he calls himself, he’s still scrambling for respect by naming himself and his surroundings after Stoker’s work. ‘The Harkers’ are only called that because their master wants it that way. The estate was renamed to Carfax. DeVille isn’t even his real last name. He’s just a wealthy, powerful fanboy who happens to have real fangs and a hankering for fresh bedmates. He doesn’t even seek the latter out himself. He needs his Brides delivered to him, like some shitty undead Uber Eats service. Pathetic.

Or or, have a really, properly nasty knife twist for the horror aspect. Make him a descendant of, say, Jonathan and Mina Harker. Spoilers for those who haven’t read the book, only minor spoilers for those familiar with the Coppola film, but Dracula does get a bit nippy with them as the book goes on. There have been theories (and spinoffs) focusing on what might happen if the Count’s influence was still in those heroic veins.

And what might happen if it passed on down the bloodline.

It’d make a lovely bit of salt and lemon to that legacy’s wound if Walter was an apple who fell perilously far from the tree…

…Only for Evie to provide a counterbalance. Yes, half her bloodline is of the Alexanders, which is what matters to the villains. But they only research that half. Wouldn’t it have been a laugh if they overlooked the other side of her tree, which is descended from the Van Helsing bloodline? Whoops.

Among dozens of other ways the story could have gone.

-In short, I was ready to leave The Invitation either mildly surprised or expectedly disappointed. Instead, I just left sad.

It wasn’t just an underwhelming film. It was a confirmation of my concerns for where future Dracula media might be headed. Even in things like Castlevania and Hellsing, stories that feature some of my favorite (and utterly absurd) takes on the Count, the former being full of occult power, wrath, and cunning, the other just having a riotously violent good time tearing his way through enemies like they’re screaming tissue paper, both of them have a romantic undercurrent to them, with Lisa of Lupu and Integra Hellsing respectively. They are anti-villain and anti-hero, not villains outright.

The one thing Invitation-Dracula has going for him is that he has the tiniest hint of Bluebeardish manipulator and illicit motives to his character. He is two-faced, he is a schemer. But, I feel this deserves repeating, the butler is more intimidating than him. Yes, even after the evil reveal.

That’s not a Dracula, guys. That’s not even a Lestat. Even an Edward would laugh at this mess.

It’s the final end product of generations of sandblasting and sexifying Dracula until he’s just one of a hundred interchangeable Sultry Nosferatu Dolls that writers and directors use to add legitimacy they haven’t earned to personal fantasies that have to hollow out the source material before their own idea can fit inside the airbrushed husk and wear it around like a costume.

-In shorter short, I am tired. I am spiteful. If this movie and those like it are good for nothing else, it lends me confidence in my own skill, and has inspired me to be infinitely, viciously more fucked up in what I make out of the toolbox Stoker left behind.

#going to take a nap #have a slice of my Harker anniversary cake #drag out all my best vampire flicks for a marathon #and dig into some spite-writing #The Invitation #The Invitation (2022)#dracula #spoilers #ranting and raging

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dem-obscure-imagines · 2 years

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Miscellaneous Characters Masterlist

Kind of the whole point of this blog is writing for completely random characters, so here are the ones that didn’t really fit into another category. I might make additional masterlists and move them there if I start writing additional characters from their specific shows/movies/franchises.

The De Villes | The Invitation

(Includes Lucy Billington, Viktoria Clopstock, and Walter De Ville. I’ll separate them when I write fics for them separately.)

Headcanons for Being a De Ville Bride

Alex Vreeke | Jumanji

Strengths and Weaknesses - Flyboy and Fixit - Fluff

You and your friends are trapped in a video game which feels like a nightmare until you find Alex, who, according to your skills panel, might be your greatest strength.

New Year’s Eve Drabble 2020

Barbie | The Barbie Movie

New Year’s Eve Kisses 2023

Ben Hargreeves | The Umbrella Academy

Second Chances - fluff, Ben x Healer!Reader

With new threats about, the Umbrella Academy is looking for new members to (potentially) help save the world and your healing abilities make you the perfect candidate to join.

(Not So) Invisible Love - fluff, Ben x Witch!Reader

Ben has been dead as long as you’ve known him, but maybe with a little bit of magic and a whole lot of work, it doesn’t have to stay that way...

Ben Tennyson | Ben 10 Alien Force

Headcanons for Dating Ben Tennyson

True Love’s...Energy Transfer? - Fluff, Alien!Reader

Fighting takes a lot out of you, but thankfully, you have the most supportive boyfriend in the whole solar system.

New Year’s Eve Drabble 2020

Champ | Goosebumps

Magic and Monsters - Fluff

Because of your idiot brother, all of R.L. Stine’s famous monsters have been unleashed on your town. Good thing you have a witchy little secret up your sleeve.

Dave Lizewski |Kick-Ass

Out of This World - Fluff, Action

Despite your best efforts to keep him out of it, Kick-Ass winds up involved in something well above his pay grade.

Fangirl - Fluff

When you’re rescued by the city’s resident vigilante, you can’t help but find yourself a little starstruck.

Jack Frost | Rise of the Guardians

Snowflake - Fluff, Soulmate AU

Your soulmark is a snowflake, and thus, winter easily became your favorite season. However, you have a good feeling about winter this year, a tingly feeling that makes your mark glow...

Headcanons for Dating Jack and Being a Guardian

Tired of Gray - Fluff, Soulmate AU

It’s Christmas time and you’re just about sick of your gray, gray world. Luckily, your soulmate is known to visit in the winter.

New Year’s Eve Drabble 2020

Marty McFly | Back to the Future

New Year’s Eve Kiss

Headcanons for Dating Marty and Being Doc’s Daughter

My Future Girl - Fluff, Time Traveler!Reader

You’re from the future, he’s from the past; can you make it last?

Peeta Mellark | The Hunger Games

The Tribute’s Escape - Fluff

On an unsuspecting night, you get a visitor from another reality. Namely, Peeta Mellark. You have no idea how he got to you, and additionally, no way to get him home…

New Year’s Eve Drabble 2020

Prince Eric | Barbie in the Nutcracker

Real - Fluff, Christmas

After arriving back in your living room, you’re startled to find out that the previous night was real, Mouse King, Nutcracker, and all.

Home - Fluff, Christmas

The locket is supposed to take you home, but in your heart, you know you’re already there.

Rodrick Heffley | Diary of a Wimpy Kid

Headcanons for Dating Rodrick Heffley

Free T-Shirt - Fluff

Sometimes, going to a Loded Diper concert is worth it, but only because of the free t-shirt. Right?

Sasappis | Ghosts US

New Year’s Eve Kisses 2023

Seth Clearwater | Twilight

Soul Mark - Soul Bond - Soul Mate - Fluff, Soulmate AU, Witch!Reader

You’re a witch that’s just moved to Forks. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to find there, but a werewolf soulmate was not it.

Prince Zuko | Avatar: The Last Airbender

The Time Traveler’s Daughter - Fluff, Time-Traveler!Reader

The Prince’s Girlfriend - Fluff, Sequel to The Time Traveler’s Daughter

Zoro | One Piece Live Action

New Year’s Eve Kisses 2023

#masterlist #miscellaneous characters masterlist #writing #fanfiction #imagines

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tomhiddleslove · 5 years

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The screen and stage star is making his Broadway debut as the bottled-up husband wearing a “mask of control” in Harold Pinter’s romantic triangle.

[ By Laura Collins-Hughes

Aug. 21, 2019, 5:00 a.m. ET ]

Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

That had been his idea, to slip for a few moments into the character he’s playing on Broadway, in Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal”: Robert, the cheated-on husband and backstabbed best friend whose coolly proper facade is the carapace containing a crumbling man. And when Mr. Hiddleston became him, the change was instantaneous: the guarded stillness of his body, the chill reserve in his gray-blue eyes.

“It’s interesting,” Mr. Hiddleston said after a while, analyzing Robert’s expression from the inside. “It gives less away.” A pause, and then his own smile flickered back, its pleasure undisguised. “O.K.,” Mr. Hiddleston announced, himself again, “it’s not Robert anymore.”

It was late on a muggy August morning, one day before the show’s first preview at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater, and Mr. Hiddleston — the classically trained British actor best known for playing the winsomely chaotic villain Loki, god of mischief and brother of Thor, in the Marvel film franchise — had been in New York for less than a week.

He’ll be here all autumn for the limited run of the production, a hit in London earlier this year, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he’d settled in. “I literally have never sat in this room before,” he’d said at the top of the photo shoot, in his cramped auxiliary dressing room, next door to the similarly tiny one he had been occupying.

He’d had nothing to do with the space’s camera-ready décor. So there was no use making a metaphor of the handsome clock with its hands stopped at 12 (“Betrayal” is famous for its reverse chronology; far more apt if the clock had run backward), or of the compact stack of pristine books that looked like journals, with pretty covers and presumably empty pages: a bit off-brand for Mr. Hiddleston, who at 38 has a model-perfect exterior with quite a lot inscribed inside.

Take the matter-of-fact way he said, in explaining that he’d first encountered Pinter’s work when he studied for his A-levels in English literature, theater, Latin and Greek: “It was a real tossup between French and Spanish or Latin and Greek. I thought, I can always speak French and Spanish, I can’t always read Latin and Greek, so I’ll study that and I’ll speak the other two.”

Though, to be fair, he only said that because I’d teased him slightly about the Latin and Greek, and I’d teased him — not a recommended journalistic technique — because he was so disarmingly good-humored and resolutely down to earth, chatting away as he waited for the photographer to set up a shot. It didn’t seem like it would ruffle him. He laughed, actually.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

In this country, Mr. Hiddleston is mainly a screen star, known also for playing Jonathan Pine in the John le Carré series “The Night Manager” on AMC. There are plans, too, for him to bring Loki to Disney’s streaming service in a stand-alone series.

But at home in London, he has amassed some impressive Shakespearean credits, including the title roles in Kenneth Branagh’s “Hamlet” and Josie Rourke’s “Coriolanus,” and a turn as Cassio in Michael Grandage’s “Othello” — a production that Pinter, saw some months before he died in 2008. That was the year Mr. Hiddleston won a best newcomer Olivier Award for Cheek by Jowl’s “Cymbeline.”

Jamie Lloyd’s “Betrayal,” which has a staging to match the spareness of Pinter’s language and a roiling well of squelched emotion to feed its comedy, is Mr. Hiddleston’s Broadway debut. Likewise for his co-stars, Zawe Ashton (of Netflix’s “Velvet Buzzsaw”), who plays Emma, Robert’s wife; and Charlie Cox (of Netflix’s “Daredevil”), who plays Emma’s lover, Jerry, Robert’s oldest friend.

Beginning at what appears to be the end of Robert and Emma’s marriage, after her yearslong affair with Jerry has sputtered to a stop, it’s a drama of cascading double-crosses. First staged by Peter Hall in London in 1978 — and in 1980 on Broadway, where it starred Roy Scheider, Blythe Danner and Raul Julia — it rewinds through time to the sozzled evening when Emma and Jerry overstep the line.

The most recent Broadway revival was just six years ago, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Daniel Craig as Robert, Rachel Weisz as Emma and Rafe Spall as Jerry. It might seem too soon for another, let alone one with sexiness to spare — except that Mr. Lloyd’s production is also marked by a palpable hauntedness and a profound sense of loss.

Reviewing the London staging in The New York Times, Matt Wolf called it “a benchmark achievement for everyone involved,” showing the play “in a revealing, even radical, new light.” Michael Billington, in The Guardian, called Mr. Hiddleston’s performance “superb.”

What’s curious is that Mr. Hiddleston, so good at bad boys, isn’t playing Jerry, the more glamorous role: the cad, the pursuer, the best man who goes after the bride. But Mr. Lloyd said that casting him that way was never part of their discussions.

Last fall, when Mr. Lloyd persuaded Mr. Hiddleston to read a scene with Ms. Ashton for a one-night gala celebration of Pinter in London, part of the season-long Pinter at the Pinter series, there was no grand plan. Having asked Mr. Hiddleston about a possible collaboration for years, since “just before he became ridiculously famous,” Mr. Lloyd said, this was the first time he got a yes.

“I just really admired his craft of acting, the precision of his acting, as well as his real emotional depth and his real wit,” Mr. Lloyd said. “And he’s turned into what I think is the epitome of a great Pinter actor. Because if you’re in a Pinter play, you have to dig really deep and connect to terrible loss or excruciating pain, often massive volcanic emotion, and then you have to bottle it all up. You have to suppress it all.”

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

The scene Mr. Hiddleston and Ms. Ashton read at the gala appears at the midpoint of “Betrayal”: Robert and Emma on vacation in Venice, at a moment that leaves their marriage with permanent damage. Within days, Mr. Hiddleston told Mr. Lloyd that he was on board for a full production.

‘What remains private’

Photos taken, back in the faintly more lived-in of his Broadway dressing rooms, Mr. Hiddleston opened the window to let in some Midtown air — and when you’re as tall as he is, 6 feet 2 inches, opening it from the top of the window frame is easy enough to do. Then, making himself an espresso with his countertop machine, he sat down to talk at length.

“I’m always curious about the presentation of a character’s external persona versus the interior,“ he said. “What remains private, hidden, concealed, protected, and what does the character allow to be seen? We all have a very complex internal world, and not all of that is on display in our external reality.”

He can tick off the ways that various characters of his conceal what’s inside: Loki, with all that rage and vulnerability “tucked away”; the ultra-proper spy Jonathan Pine, in “The Night Manager,” “hiding behind his politeness”; Robert, a lonely man wearing “a mask of control” that renders him “confident, powerful, polished,” at least as far as any onlookers can tell.

In “Betrayal,” each of the three principals has an enormous amount to hide from the people who are meant to be their closest intimates. It’s a play about power and manipulation, duplicity and misplaced trust, and what’s so threatening about it is the very ordinariness of its privileged milieu. This snug little world that once seemed so safe and ideal — the happiest of families, the oldest of friends — has long since fallen apart.

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

“The sadness in the play — it’s not only sadness; because it’s Pinter, there’s wit and levity as well — but if there is sadness in the play,” he said, “I think it comes from the fact that these betrayals render Robert, Emma and Jerry more alone than they were before.”

Trust and self-protection

One-on-one, Mr. Hiddleston was more cautious than he’d been during the photo shoot, surrounded then by a gaggle of people affiliated with the show. Still, when I asked him about betrayal, lowercase, he went straight to the condition it violates.

“To trust is a profound commitment, and to trust is to make oneself vulnerable,” he said, fidgeting with a red rubber band and choosing his words with care. “It’s such an optimistic act, because you’re putting your faith in the hands of someone or something which you expect to remain constant, even if the circumstances change.”

“I’m disappearing down a rabbit hole here,” he said, “but I think about it a lot. I think about certainty and uncertainty. Trust is a way of managing uncertainty. It’s a way of finding security in saying, ‘Perhaps all of this is uncertain, but I trust you.’ Or, ‘I trust this.’ And there’s a lot of uncertainty in the world at the moment, so it becomes harder to trust, I suppose.”

An interview itself is an act of trust, albeit often a wary one. And there was one stipulated no-go zone in this encounter, a condition mentioned by a publicist only after I’d arrived: No talk of Taylor Swift, with whom Mr. Hiddleston had a brief, intense, headline-generating romance that, post-breakup, she evidently spun into song lyrics.

That was three years ago, and I hadn’t been planning to bring her up; given the context of the play, though, make of that prohibition what you will. Mr. Hiddleston, who once had a tendency to pour his heart out to reporters, knows that he can’t stop you.

“It’s not possible, and nor should it be possible, to control what anyone thinks about you,” he said. “Especially if it’s not based in any, um —” he gave a soft, joyless laugh — “if it’s not based in any reality.”

That’s something he’s learned about navigating fame — about being put on a pedestal that’s then kicked out from under him. He knows now “to let go of the energy that comes toward me, be it good or bad,” he said. “Because naturally in the early days I took responsibility for it.”

“And yes, I’m protective about my internal world now in probably a different way,” he added, his tone as restrained as his words. He took a beat, and so much went unsaid in what he said next: “That’s because I didn’t realize it needed protecting before.”

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

And the way he treated the people around him at work — with a fundamental respect, regardless of rank, and no whiff of flattery — made him seem sincere about what he called “staying true to the part of myself that’s quite simple, that’s quite ordinary.”

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#tom hiddleston #hiddles #twhiddleston #the new york times #Betrayal #harold pinter play #Betrayal Broadway #bernard b jacobs theater #August 21 2019 #Devin Yalkin #tom hiddleston interview #loki #tom hiddleston portrait #black and white photography #new york city #link to original article in source

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insanityclause · 5 years

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Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

‘What remains private’

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

Trust and self-protection

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#betrayal (play)#Tom Hiddleston

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maryxglz · 5 years

Link

Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

From a one-night reading to Broadway

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

‘What remains private’

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

Trust and self-protection

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#tom hiddleston #betrayal #betrayal broadway #harold pinter #bernard b jacobs theatre #theatre #broadway #jamie lloyd #zawe ashton #charlie cox #the new york times

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omninocte · 5 years

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Tom Hiddleston was posing for a portrait, and the face he showed the camera wasn’t entirely his own.

“I’m protective about my internal world now in probably a different way,” says the actor Tom Hiddleston, making his Broadway debut in “Betrayal.” Credit: Devin Yalkin for The New York Times

Mr. Hiddleston as Loki in “Thor: Ragnarok.” Credit: Marvel Studios/Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures

From a one-night reading to Broadway

Mr. Hiddleston and Zawe Ashton portray a married couple in Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal” Credit: Marc Brenner

This, he added, is what Mr. Hiddleston does in “Betrayal,” where characters’ meaning is found between and behind the words, not inside them.

“Some of the pain that he’s created in Robert, it’s just unbearable, and yet he always keeps a lid on it,” Mr. Lloyd said.

Mr. Hiddleston at the Jacobs Theater, where “Betrayal” opens on Sept 5. Credit: Devin Yalkin for The New York Times

‘What remains private’

But to Mr. Hiddleston, Pinter’s drama contains two themes just as significant as betrayal: isolation and loneliness.

Trust and self-protection

The actor’s Shakspearean roles include“Hamlet” and “Coriolanus.” Credit: Devin Yalkin for The New York Times

Even so, he doesn’t give the impression of having closed himself off. When something genuinely made him laugh, he smiled a smile that cracked his face wide open.

That investment in his ordinariness, as he put it, is a hedge against the destabilizing trappings of fame, but it doubles as a way of protecting his craft.

It’s also of a piece with his insistence that vulnerability is a necessary risk to take, at least sometimes.

“If you go through life without connecting to people,” he asked, “how much could you call that a life?”

#betrayal (play)#broadway #tom hiddleston

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onlyexplorer · 2 years

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UK First Look at 'Get Out' - 'The Invitation' Horror Official Trailer

UK First Look at ‘Get Out’ – ‘The Invitation’ Horror Official Trailer

UK First Look at ‘Get Out’ – ‘The Invitation’ Horror Official Trailer by Alex Billington June 27, 2022Source: Youtube “As you all know, someone is missing at this table. » Screen Gems has revealed the official trailer for a sneaky new British horror thriller titled The invite, by Australian filmmaker Jessica M. Thompson. Also known as The bride, this is set in England, but was filmed in Hungary…

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descendantofthesparrow · 2 years

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Something there - Walter Deville x reader - Oneshot

featuring Chronically ill reader!!! TW! mentions of self harm, death, and blood-drinking. takes place somewhere in the 14-1500s.

You let out a slow breath as you stepped into the castle that was known as Carfax Abbey, your grip tight on your lady's maids arm as your parents led the way through the grand hall and into the grand dining room; where the master of the three great families resided for the moment.

Your great-aunt died a few months back, allowing ample time for the master to process the event and select a new bride from the Alexander family. One of which-was you. Behind you were your fellow alexander ‘brides’; all around the same age as you, some just a smidge older. But you were all here for the same reason.

For Master Deville to take his pick of the litter, to pick his new bride of the available girls of the Alexander family. You had only seen him maybe once or twice in your life, unable to go to many of the grand parties he had hosted for the families, or greet him when he came to visit your home. You were different than the others, in a very obvious way. You had been born ill, only able to walk for short periods, constantly short of breath, vision a constant blur, and you were nearly always tired.

Even clutching onto Emma(your lady's maid) was extremely taxing on your body, and you knew you would need to sit down soon. Your parents hoped you would be chosen if only to not see you struggle through your life any longer. They had done their best to make you comfortable, but to see you wheeze, huff, and shake; just to stand, made their hearts ache. They prayed the master would take pity upon their only daughter.

They were told you probably wouldn’t make it to 25, you were barely 23 now, and it was getting harder to wake up as the months went by. They hoped and prayed to whatever god or demons that were listening to give you a chance with the master. They would be happy to grow old and watch you thrive with the master; but first, he would have to choose you.

Of which-today, was the first of several days for the master to make his choice. He wasn’t a man of looks, as you heard from your mother, he preferred for his brides to have something to them; artists, historians, fencers, scientists, writers. Many assumed he would want someone quiet, someone to stand there and look pretty as he stood front and center.

But apparently, that was wrong, his eldest bride-Viktoria, was quite….outspoken, a little bit mean, bloodthirsty, and jealous. You had heard the horror story of when your great aunt was chosen after her great-grandaunt had died, Viktoria had practically tortured her the first few years of the marriage, nearly driving your aunt to madness if the Billington bride hadn’t stepped in.

You just hoped you would be spared of her wrath if you were chosen, but hell-you had heard even those waiting to be picked were bullied by the Klopstock bride.

Your lady's maid had promised to be at your side whenever she could, knowing once the master took you aside to basically interview you, she would be unable to protect you. It only made you feel a bit better.

You blinked back into reality as everyone flooded into the grand dining room, the table pushed to one side with its chairs facing the set of doors that opened into the brilliant gardens that were lovingly tended to by the staff. Emma and your parents quickly shuffled you over to the table, sitting you down and getting you a glass of water.

As you had been ushered in, you had seen a glimpse of the master; standing in the sunlight and surveying every potential bride that came in. His eyes were shrouded by the sun, but you could feel his gaze as you stepped inside, lingering as you were sat down and taken care of.

He studied the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your lips, the noticeable flush in your cheeks; he could even smell it, the pain that clung to your bones, the sickness that never truly left you. He felt a small tug in his chest, an ache that told him to talk to you, to listen to you. He ignored it for the moment, knowing he had to examine all the choices before settling on a bride that would hopefully last longer than 100 years.

He waited until the last potential bride stepped in, one he recognized as Carla, and then spoke up “Thank you for coming. All of you, I know for many of you it was quite a journey to travel here” he made eye contact with your parents, your mother's hand resting on your shoulder, your skin freezing against her warm palm. They nodded back, feeling a bit of hope for you from how he seemed to almost speak directly to you and your family.

The master stepped further into the room, his face finally out of the blinding sunlight, revealing his diamond-cut jaw, crystal blue eyes, and soft-looking black hair. You swallowed a bit, noticing some of the other girls doing the same, he truly matched the stories of his beauty.

You leaned towards your lady's maid, whispering in her ear; “He’s so pretty” she giggled, her nose scrunching slightly as the master's eyes flickered over to you, the corner of his lip quirking a bit; a dimple making itself known for a split moment. You felt yourself flush, knowing he had heard your every word thanks to his supernatural hearing.

The master continued to speak, letting the families know all 7 girls would be staying for the week, to give him enough time to make a proper choice among them. Your mother’s hands clutched your shoulder, your father gave you a reassuring look. You had never been apart from them in all your life, your health didn’t allow you to, but you weren't all that worried; you were sure the master would make sure you were taken care of.

While you weren't a bride, you were a part of the Alexander family, and that alone warranted your protection. You just hoped you wouldn’t have a flare-up, the last one kept you bedridden for nearly two months. You were snapped back to reality as the master clapped his hands, a smirk on his handsome face “Now, I’m sure you’re all hungry, brunch is out in the gardens; please, indulge yourselves.” he gestured behind him, and the glass double doors opened, two butlers waiting on either side, each holding one of the doors.

Your fellow Alexander ‘brides’ all chattered with excitement, some giggling as they passed by the master. You huffed, you had just sat down and now you were going outside again. Your parents and lady’s maid let you try to stand up by yourself, always wanting to give you some sort of independence since your permanent illness would make sure you would never truly be independent. After a couple of attempts, you shook your head with a huffed sigh, your legs nearly paralyzed with pain, your father went to hoist you up; only to be stopped by the master

“Allow me,” he said, looking down at you with a silent question for your permission to carry you. You nodded, flushing as he crouched next to your chair and easily lifted you out of it, your arms going around his neck and Emma fixed your dress before the master walked out into the gardens, some of your fellow ‘brides’ looking excited for you(some looking slighted at the master's clear tilt towards you), giggling amongst each other as the master set you into one of the free chairs, your parents soon sitting on either side of you.

The master announced he had some work to finish up in his study, but you all had the rest of the day to get comfortable in the house and he would see everyone at dinner. With that, he left and everyone burst into chatter, some girls swooning over the master while others muttered to themselves, the two nearest two you; Kalista and Serena(two of your favorite cousins in fact) turning to you with teasing grins.

“it seems the master has already taken a shine to you (n/n)~!” Serena laughed, her teasing light-hearted and sweet, chuckling as you flushed and looked down at your plate, Emma already in the midst of fetching your food. “Quite” Kalista hummed, accepting her plate of food from one of the butlers and grabbing a strawberry “I’ve heard the master does take a bit to warm up to new brides, and yet it seems you’ve caught his eye already. And you’re the one he hasn’t seen in a very long time”

You hummed in agreement; you could account the master's interest in you to you really never being around when he was. Again; thanks to your illness. You could recall maybe two times you were in the same room, once when you were very young and attending your Aunts wedding(your mother's sister, not your great-aunt), you had been the flower girl and spotted the master in the shadows; and just like today, you had thought he was very pretty.

You could recall telling him that as well, beaming up at him with your front tooth missing as he looked a bit flustered at the bluntness and then smiled down at you, almost looking thrown off at you. “uh, thank you?” he nearly stuttered, as if he was unsure how to respond to such a genuine compliment, likely one he hadn't received in years. You told him he was welcome, and stumbled back off to rejoin the festivities, and only 10 minutes later you were tucked away in a quiet corner, dragged down by sudden fatigue, pain bolting up your legs, and the lack of air entering your lungs.

To this day you swore you heard the master hum down at you, and lay his jacket across your smaller body, the shivers that wracked it slowly stopping as he walked away.

You smiled at the faded memory, by the time you were conscious; the jacket was gone and you were back in your bed, the fire alight in the corner of your room and a bed warmer lay beneath your sheets. But you remembered what it smelled like; faded metal and a grand forest.

You perked up as Emma set a plate in front of you, decorated with fresh fruit, French toast, and eggs. You hummed, rubbing your hands together, huffing as you realized your hands were cold-they were always cold, no matter the weather. As you began to eat, you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your head, you turned just enough see into the castle, seeing the master looking right back down at you from his upstairs study.

He almost looked surprised to see you looking back at him, biting the inside of his cheek as you carefully waved to him with a shy smile. he waved back, just as shy-then seemed to realize he was doing it and turned away, disappearing from the window; likely going back to work.

You hummed to yourself, turning back to your food and digging back in, listening to the conversations around you, some talking about the master, some talking about what they would do if they were chosen, and some talking about how to get the masters approval and become the ~Alexander Bride~.

You had a feeling they wouldn’t be chosen no matter what they did, some of their-plans-sounded very…pushy, and most likely the master could hear them from his study, and had already crossed them off his list.

Then again, he did marry Viktoria.

You cursed whoever put you in the upstairs room, one that particularly sat all the way in the back of the halls, leaving you nearly isolated from anyone and the furthest away from the stairs-which were the bane of your existence. “Great, just great” you muttered to yourself as you clung to the wall, attempting to get back to your room after going to the bathroom, huffing and wincing as a raging headache made itself known, along with the usual pain going up your legs.

You could feel your lungs ache with the effort to keep working, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to make it to dinner that night. “lady (y/n)!” you turned, seeing the lady's maid for the Alexander brides, Mrs. Swift, rushing up to your side, her brown hair streaked with grey and pulled back into a bun “oh dear-here, let me help! Oh why they put you all the way in the back will never make sense-come’ come” you smiled and thanked her, shaking your head as she told you it was her job to do so.

“Still, you’re going out of your way, you probably have many things to do” you mumbled, leaning heavily into Mrs. Swift as she practically carried you back to your room, setting you on the bed as soon as you arrived. You went to take off your shoes but Mrs. Swift quickly attended to that before you could even lean down, and you huffed slightly-Emma always let you take care of that, again-just to give you that bit of independence.

"Thank you,” you told Mrs. Swift anyway, smiling at her as she set your shoes by the bed. You looked out the window, seeing the sun was beginning to set “um-could-could you tell” you fiddled with your fingers, biting the inside of your lip, glancing down as Mrs. Swift turned to you “Could you tell the master, I won't be able to make it to dinner? I can hardly walk on my own and Emma was excused for the rest of the day, and-and I don’t wish to be a burden on anyone”

Mrs. Swift frowned, clearly about to say you weren’t a burden when you suddenly felt a presence at the door and you turned, freezing as you saw the master, looking back at you with those ocean eyes of his. “Nonsense” the master huffed, frowning a bit as he stepped further into the room “you shouldn’t be left out, you deserve to be at dinner; just as everyone else will be.” you swallowed harshly, curling in on yourself; preparing to slightly back talk to the master.

“well-i-I can't walk on my own right now, it hurts to” the master looked very concerned at that “and-everything is flaring up-i-I’m afraid I would just be holding everyone back” you ended in a whisper, knowing he could hear every word. The master just shook his head again, turning to Mrs. Swift and speaking in a tone that clearly meant you couldn’t convince him to leave you out for the night.

“Get her ready by dinner time, and then come get me-I’ll escort Ms. (y/n) to dinner myself” you were about to object, about to say he didn’t have to do that for you-that you didn’t want to be a burden, but he just stared you down. He wasn’t taking no for an answer. So you just sighed and nodded, pouting a bit as he nodded back with a smirk and walked out of the room; leaving you with flushed cheeks and…a surprised Mrs. Swift.

“Well that’s a first” she muttered, shaking her head as you asked her what she meant. “nothing my dear, now, let’s select your dress for tonight, something lightweight hm?”

You kinda wished your parents were staying the week with you, but alas-they weren’t, such was the same for the rest of the girls, parents came to drop them off-ate brunch, and then they were off, leaving their daughters behind with their maids and the master; hoping for the best.

You could really use a dad hug right about now, nervously sitting at the foot of your bed, dressed in a light cotton gown that was sinched gently to your waist, the emerald green of the tunic dress complimenting the deep brown of your boots.

You played with your fingers as the flickering light of the fireplace danced across your face, the sun having been set a few minutes ago; Mrs. Swift having left to get the master around the same time. You sat up with flushed cheeks as someone knocked on your door. You told them to come in, looking down as the master walked in, looking quite nice in a deep red flowing shirt, a vest overtop it with a long vest like-jacket overtop that, with dark trousers and leather boots.

“you look lovely, Ms. (y/n), are you ready for dinner?” the master complimented, then asked, a smile on his lips as you nodded, allowing him to wander over and pick you up, your legs feeling like pins as you attempted to move them to get situated in his arms. You sighed at the feeling, knowing you had pushed your body too far today and would be either bedridden for the next few days, or carried everywhere.

If the master was the one to carry you though, you weren’t sure if that was such a bad thing. You huffed at the thought, forcing it away as the master walked out of your room, Mrs. Swift closing the door behind him and following him to the grand dining room, where it was set up for a grand dinner, a two wonderfully cooked hogs set in the middle of the table, ready to be carved and served.

“Smells wonderful” you muttered, tucking your chin into your chest as the master chuckled, his voice vibrating in your ear. He set you down near the head of the table and went to talk with his butler, Mr. Fields if you remembered correctly; after a few moments he walked back over to you and told you that everyone would be down soon, he didn’t want to make you a spectacle by arriving last with you.

You smiled, thanking him quietly, you really didn’t like being made the center of attention; especially when it related to something you couldn’t control. Soon the rest of the girls came flooding into the dining room, Serena and Kalista quickly sitting on either side of you, giving you knowing(teasing) grins as you sank into your seat; feeling your ears and cheeks heat up as the master went to stand at the head of the table, only two chairs down.

As soon as everyone was sat, the master clapped his hands together, his gaze running across the 7 girls, all hoping to be chosen to be the Alexander bride. “once again, I thank you all for coming. As you all know, Lady Marian Alexader, passed a few months ago; and as per the contract your ancestors made so many moons ago-I am in need of a new Alexander bride.” The girls all glanced amongst each other, giggling at the prospect of being his bride, but you kept your eyes on him, and he looked back; furrowing his brows as he heard a slight wheeze as you breathed. “of which, over the next week, I will make my selection. Do not be afraid to show who you truly are and what your passions are, I will make my choice this next Monday, eight days after today.”

One day for each potential bride to make their ‘argument’ to the master. There were 7 of you, and starting tomorrow, he would begin his…well, his interviews with each girl. You hoped your current flare-up wouldn’t develop into something more. You sighed to yourself, knowing you probably just jinxed yourself. You jumped slightly, doing your best to cover your surprised cough in your elbow as the Master clapped his hands again.

Serena patted your back, giving you a comforting smile as you looked at her bashfully, knowing you had drawn attention to yourself by coughing in the middle of the master's speech. Some girls-who didn’t know of your many illnesses- glared at you, while the others just gave you smiles like Serena, quietly telling you it was okay and you weren’t embarrassing yourself or them.

The master had looked at you for a long moment, furrowing his brows as he heard your breath continue to wheeze and struggle-just like it had upon your arrival. He cleared his throat quietly, looking back towards the other girls “tonight, we dine together, tomorrow, I dine with one of you-as shall I dine with each of you on each night.” He held out his hands towards the feast laid on the table, the first of many meals of the week “please, eat.”

With that, the table burst into chatter, butlers and maids moving forward to help the girls fill their plates; you were distracted attempting to get some air back in your lungs-not wanting to deal with an asthma attack right now. You smiled as Serena set a few slices of the roasted hog on your plate, along with your favorite sides; smiling brightly as you thanked her.

“Honestly I’m surprised you remembered which part of the hog I liked” you muttered to her, laughing as she gave you a very sister-like ‘duh’ look. “And why would I forget? It’s the part I don’t like” she giggled, stealing one of your roasted carrots and popping it in her mouth, laughing as you sneakily tossed a dried cranberry at her.

While you feasted, you glanced back at the master, seeing his plate only having meat and stuffing, his cup filled with a wine that smelled-different than any you had before. You ignored it, knowing what the master was. A demon-many called him; by those outside the village the castle rested over, but to the families, he was near a savior, one who had protected them from war and famine over the last few centuries. It would make sense for him to have only meat and ‘wine’ as his meal, you never thought vampires would be interested in vegetables or fruits.

By the end of dinner, everyone was sated and antsy for the events to come, glancing between the master and their almost empty plates; wondering what would happen after dessert was served. Which-was about now, a tray full of pastries, tarts, and pies being carried into the room, the girls making their selection of the spread.

Your eyes locked onto the custard pie. Walter caught your gaze and gestured for it to be set on your plate before anyone else could snatch it. Carla looked a bit disappointed but didn’t speak of her loss, happily taking a blueberry tart instead.

You hummed happily as you took a bite of the custard pie, dancing in your seat slightly as the table burst into chatter again, feeling eyes on you as you ate. You looked towards the feeling, seeing the master looking at you over his chalice, his brow perked with interest. You felt your cheeks flush and you looked back down at your plate, puffing your cheeks as Kalista gave you a teasing smirk.

Soon the master announced that you all had the rest of the night free and were free to explore the castle, but you were all warned to avoid the north wing as that was where his other two brides were(along with the currently unoccupied Alexader suite), and he wanted to avoid any…events. You knew he meant the Klopstock bride, Viktoria, you had met the current Billington bride once, when you were younger, and she was quite nice.

Everyone nodded and soon dispersed, leaving you alone at the table with the master and Serena “Do you need help up to your room?” Serena asked, pushing in her chair and pulling yours out, fully willing to carry you back up to your room.

You hummed, nodding slightly, your legs still felt like pins, and it would be agony to walk. Serena nodded back, about to help you stand when the master stepped next to your chair “Allow me, please” he said with a smile, bowing his head as Serena skipped back with a grin directed down at you. “Of course Lord Deville, goodnight (y/n)~” she sang, skipping off to join Kalista in exploring the castle.

You huffed at her, turning back to the master with a rapidly beating heart, clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the wheeze coming from your chest. “May I?” he asked again, his arms reaching towards you. “you may” you whispered back, lifting your arms to wrap around his shoulders as his hands curled around your back and knees, easily lifting you and carrying you back to your room, gently setting you back on your bed and stepping back as you got comfortable.

“If you need anything, just call out, there's always someone awake around here.” the master said with a polite bow of his head, smiling softly as you thanked him and waited till he left; letting out a shuddering sigh as his footsteps receded from your room. “oh-my-god” you muttered, patting your heated cheeks.

Nearly for the entirety of dinner-the master had been staring at you. You could count on one hand the times he looked away, but-gods-for the first time in a very long time, you didn’t feel like you were being stared at like an oddity, but out of pure interest. You really count recall the last time you had been looked at like that, other than by your close family or your best friend Grace.

You took a deep breath to regain your senses, shaking your head “Probably heard you wheezing the entire dinner” you grumbled, reaching behind your back and undoing the strings of your dress, slowly and carefully getting undressed; sighing in relief when you were down to your undergarments, that dress was one of your lightest and easiest to wear for your bad days-but still-it was quite tight around the waist area.

“Ms?” you heard Mrs. Swift call out from the other side of the door “Do you need any assistance getting ready for bed?” you looked around, and then down at yourself…yeah-you couldn’t feel your legs and you really didn’t want to sleep in your underwear. “yes please” you called back, sitting up straight as Mrs. Swift stepped in and got straight to work, helping you get changed and setting your dress and undergarments in their proper places.

“Is there anything else you’ll be needing ma’am?” Mrs. Swift asked, her hands clasped in front of her. You nodded slightly, pointing at the fireplace a few feet away from the window and your bed “yes, could-could you possibly have that lit up? I know it was on a few hours ago but” you paused, playing with your fingers “heat helps the flare-ups” Mrs. Swift nodded with a smile and hurried off to gather what she needed to make the fire.

As Mrs. Swift tended to that, you got comfortable in bed, already falling asleep by the time she returned. She made sure the fire was safe, set your blankets right, and quietly made her way out of your room, jumping slightly as she saw the master just down the hall-his head tilted slightly at your door. “She’s settled for the night master Deville” Mrs. Swift whispered, knowing he could easily hear every word. “She’s as comfortable as she can be”

The master let out a low hum, his eyes trained on your bedroom door. “Good, make sure she is for the rest of her stay” the master muttered, turning on his heel to attend to his duties before he turned in for the night. Mrs. Swift nodded-and returned to her duties, checking up on you every once in a while.

The next day was quiet-the master had breakfast with his potential bride of choosing-as he would do for the rest of you; and spent nearly the entire day with her. At one point you adventured off to the library(with Emma and Serena’s help of course), finding the two sitting by the grand window, enjoying a quiet lunch together.

You caught the master's eye when you were on your way out, a thin and well-read book in your hands. The master glanced down at the book and looked pleasantly surprised, a smile crinkling at his eyes-but his attention was diverted back to his present ‘date’ nodding along to the woman's quiet words.

You continued to catch the master's eyes throughout the day, when you were having afternoon tea with Serena and Kalista-seeing him wander in the gardens with his current date, Emmalie-you thought her name was, his eyes looking up to see you, and staying there for a moment before his attention was once again brought back to Emmalie.

Later-you were out in the gardens, giving Emma a chance to rest after practically carrying you around all day(you didn’t want to stay cooped up all week) resting under the shade of a tree, when you felt eyes on you. You looked up, seeing the master looking at you, curiously. You smiled back, waving a bit before going back to the book you had procured from the library.

You heard him walk over to you, his form joining you in the shade “Now that’s a book I haven’t seen in a while, at least to be read by anyone else than I” the master hummed, his head tilted down at you, his eyes almost shining in the shade. You hummed back, carefully folding your finger between the page you had landed on and the cover-closing the book and looking up at the master.

“Well-its one my great aunt, Marian, read to me when I was a babe, I do remember enjoying it, and I very much still do” the master looked pleased, a spark in his eye that wasn’t there a moment before, and hadn’t been there all day oddly enough. “Good, good” the master muttered, glancing over his shoulder “that is one of my favorites as well, a first edition actually-one of the first few prints the author made” you gasped, unable to help the grin on your face as you held the book closer to your chest-a sight that made the master’s shoulders drop a bit, a crinkle coming to his eye.

“That’s amazing” you whispered, looking back down at the book, gently caressing the fine cover. You didn’t see the soft gaze the master was looking down on you with, tilting his head at you curiously. His attention was once again diverted to his date for the day, she was walking out of the manor-clearly looking for him. “well, I have to go” the master muttered, righting his shirt collar-looking down at you again with a smile “I look forward to our day together” you smiled up at him and nodded, telling him the same, watching as he walked away and greeting Emmalie with his arm-leading her off towards the stables.

You hummed, opening the book again and continuing to read-wondering what the master had in store for your ‘date’ day.

The next day you were in bed all day, resting your legs from the last two days, they felt almost numb-yet you felt nothing but pain when you tried to move them. So you settled for reading the book you had procured the day before and regaining your strength, thanking whatever gods were listening for not afflicting you with any illness, those always made you feel like you had been run over by an ox.

When Emma came by to make sure you were comfortable and give you dinner, she giggled a bit as she corrected your blankets “What’s so funny?” you asked her, licking your lips free of sauce as you set down a piece of ham. “Nothing nothing” she hummed, looking back at you with a cheeky grin as she checked the fire “just the master was asking about you~”

You felt your cheeks flush, but convinced yourself and Emma that he was being a good host, it was his right to wonder about the whereabouts of one of his guests. “uhuh, keep telling yourself that my lady, but he did seem very concerned, reminded me of your mother when you have a flare-up” she teased, remembering the furrow of the master's brow when he asked where you had been all day-he hadn’t seen you once, unlike the day before.

When she told him you had been bedridden due to your legs, he only looked more worried, only relaxing when she told him you had gone through this exact situation before and had healed within a day or two with proper rest. You attempted to reach out and smack Emma for telling you such lies-huffing as she skipped out of your reach and took your empty cup, going out to get you a refill.

You sighed, leaning back against your pillows, wincing as you pulled up your legs-shocks of pain going up your thighs and surrounding your knees. You froze as someone knocked on your door-couldn’t have been Emma, she had just left- you called for them to come in, feeling your face flush as the master stepped in, leaving the door open behind him as he took you in.

“Good evening,” the master said, his hands placed behind his back, rocking forward for a moment before he stood straight again “I just, wanted to see how you were doing. I hadn’t seen you all day, your lady’s maid-Emma” he quickly said her name as you narrowed your eyes, she had become family in the last five years she had served you, you saw no point to call her by her title. “Said you were bed-ridden. I just-wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You smiled, tilting your head just so-the master almost mimicked you with the motion “I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before; just need a few days to let my legs rest.” The master looked deep in thought at your words, his eyes turning down to the book in your hands. “Thank you, for checking on me” The master seemed to snap back into reality, nodding at your words.

“Yes, of course. Would-“ he cleared his throat, pointing at the book, your bookmark having made its place at the end for the 4th time now. “would you like to read something else? I have a few suggestions if you would like?” you beamed, nodding; you would love to read anything from his library-especially since you seemed to have similar tastes in literature.

The master nodded, taking a quick step back “I’ll be right back then” with that, he stepped out of your room and closed the door behind him, his steps quickly fading away from your room-it almost sounded like he was running to get to his library. You giggled to yourself, happily admitting to yourself that his current attitude was very-cute.

Emma was the first to return, setting your refilled cup on the nightstand next to your bed and bowing out as you told her to enjoy the rest of her night “I’ll check up on you in a little bit my lady, goodnight” Emma hummed, closing the door behind her. You grabbed your cup, sipping at it while you finished re-reading the book you had borrowed from the masters library, perking up as his now familiar knock echoed from your door. “Come in” you called, smiling as the master pushed open the door, a small stack of books in his hand. You beamed at the sight, and here you thought he would only get you one.

“I couldn’t just pick one” he chuckled, seeming a bit shy as he walked over to your side and set the books down next to your bed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood tall. “but you should enjoy these, they’re similar to that one” he pointed down at the book in your hands. You hummed, closing the one you had just finished again and setting it aside-picking up the top book from the new stack.

“Thank you, lord Deville; you really didn’t have to do this for me” you hummed, smiling as he shrugged, his hands going behind his back as he leaned forward a bit then stood straight-something you noticed he did when was thinking. “You can just call me Walter, or Walt.” The master-Walter-muttered, almost seeming shy in the way he said it. You giggled a bit, tilting your head “Do the other girls get that privilege?” you teased, feeling a bit brave. Walter just grinned back. “No” and with that, he bowed out, leaving you flustered.

“He did that on purpose.” You muttered to yourself, burying your now very warm face into your new book.

The next few days were about the same as before, you were practically stuck in your room; Emma and Mrs. Swift going in and out to make sure you were comfortable, with some visits from Serena and Kalista, the two soon telling you about their days with the master. Upon the seventh day of the week, you were finally up and around-of course having Emma with you so you didn’t hurt yourself. You quickly got dressed upon waking up that fresh spring morning, and then soon found your way outside, basking in the glow of the warm sun.

You felt compelled to take a nap, the grass underneath you so soft and the sun like a wonderful blanket. But you had only woken up a few hours ago-it wasn’t even nine yet-so you settled for reading one of the last few books Walter had given you, leaning against a large tree as a breeze brushed through your hair.

“There you are,” you looked up, seeing Walter walking towards you, a basket in one hand and a blanket in the other, wearing a soft blue tunic over a greyish top. “Feeling better?” you nodded, stretching your legs out to show him. “Good, hungry?” you nodded again, setting aside your book as Walter got down on the ground next to you and set down the basket-full of breakfast foods-and flared out the blanket.

“A picnic?” you hummed, adjusting yourself to sit on the blanket, leaning on your hand as Walter did the same and began to sift through the basket. “I thought it appropriate since you’ve been stuck inside since the third day, question” Walter perked up, suddenly remembering something, looking at you as he handed you a slice of warmed brown bread.

You hummed, biting into it; nodding for him to ask away “Can you ride a horse?” you laughed, bright and slightly surprised at the question but it was valid, you could only walk for short amounts of time, horse riding took a lot of leg strength, but yes-you could ride. Your horse at home was trained to allow you to ride with minimal use of your legs.

“Yes, yes I can.” You giggled, patting Walter’s knee as he flushed a bit, probably thinking the question was a bit personal or pushy. “I love riding actually” Walter looked relieved at that, taking a small breath as you dug into the breakfast he had unfolded, his eyes looming over to the book you had read about halfway through now.

“How are you liking that one?” Walter asked, pointing at the book, chewing on a piece of bread as you picked the aforementioned item up and shook it about, beaming all the while. “I think it’s wonderful; thank you for suggesting it.” Walter smiled, nodding a bit. “You’re welcome, it’s one of my favorites, I have yet to meet its equal.”

You nodded; you could easily say the same. It was a daring tale of true love and adventure, with a dash of sword fighting and humor to put the cherry on top.

The rest of your morning was filled with quiet talking, mostly about the books you had read over the last few days while being bed-ridden, and you asked if there were any more books he would suggest for you to read before you went back home(even if you were chosen, you would return home for a few months to gather your things and get ready for the wedding). He hummed, rubbing his chin. “I do, most if not all the books I gave you so far are from my personal collection, and I do have a wide arrange of books.” Walter chuckled, leaning back on his palm, smiling as you laughed, happy to know that.

“Would you be willing to let me into that collection and take a pick? You have very good taste and I would love to read more” you asked, leaning towards him and nearly squealing as he nodded, tilting his head just so as you silently celebrated. “We can go after we finish up here if you’d like? If you feel up to it” Walter suggested, grinning as you nodded and began to clean up the mess you and Walter had made during breakfast “I’ll get it darling” you froze as the pet name slipped from Walter’s lips, a name he either didn’t realize or care he called you, quickly cleaning up the blanket and putting the leftovers back inside the basket-helping you stand and curling his arm around your waist as you practically rushed him back inside-eager to see the library again.

He chuckled at that, easily holding you to his side as you ventured to the library, soon guiding you to a quiet corner that was brightly lit with a large chair in the corner, hidden from the rest of the library. There was only one bookshelf, filled with books-there were some spaces but you guessed those were the books Walter had already taken out to give you.

You selected two more, carefully watching Walter’s reaction as you did so-happily taking two mid-sized books that his eyes nearly sparked at. Soon you found yourself outside again, under the shade of a large tree, your legs tossed over Walter’s lap as he rested against the trunk, his eyes nearly closed as you read aloud from the book you had been reading before his arrival.

“The Sicilian returned to the other side of the boat. “She would have screamed,” he said. “She was about to cry out. My plan was ideal as all my plans are ideal. It was the moon's ill timing that robbed me of perfection” he scowled unforgivingly at the yellow wedge above them. Then he stared ahead. “There!” the Sicilian pointed. “The cliffs of insanity.” You giggled as you finished the paragraph, this character certainly was a bit daft-no matter how much ‘thought’ he put into his plans or ego he put into his brain.

Walter smiled at the sound, a sound he would like to hear more often. He opened his eyes, looking at you, your eyes glued to the leather-bound book that was decorated with painted gold, your fingers carefully trailing the words on the well-read page.

You continued to read, and Walter let his eyes fall shut again, one of his hands finding your knee that rested across his lap-enjoying your voice as you read one of his favorite books. Many thought his choice of books would be poetry, dramas, tragedies; things similar to that, but he liked adventure-books filled with passion and knowledge beyond his own. And it now was obvious you liked the same, happily reading anything he suggested-you had even picked out another one of his favorites upon your first visit to his library.

His current brides-Viktoria Klopstock, and Vasilica Billington-didn’t find such joy in reading like he did-it was how he escaped the word as a child and teen, so to finally share that with someone…was a bit…relieving, if he must say. He never quite connected to them as a husband should, he honestly never expected to, their marriages were out of convenience and due to the arrangement the three families had made near 200 years ago now.

But he had a feeling-you would be different. Out of the several potential brides that had come to make their deference, you were the only one to catch his eye, and keep it through the week-like that first day, he had almost been unable to focus on his date with Emmalie in favor of watching you.

Walter sniffed, sitting up against the tree trunk, opening his eyes as your legs moved to slide off his lap, watching as you joined him on the trunk and got comfortable. “That position was starting to hurt” you whispered and Walter hummed, holding back a frown. You had been sitting up with your legs across his lap-maybe for only a few minutes-it shouldn’t hurt you to sit like that.

Soon enough, as you continued to read, your shoulder ended up against his, leaning on him as you dove into the tale the book offered you. Walter licked his lips, a question burning at his lips-and he decided to just go for it. “So-” he started, clearing his throat as his voice cracked ever so slightly, you laughed lightly at the sound, turning him with a raised brow “How long have you been affected by all” he gestured to you and then the air-looking unsure of how to word anything. “this?”

You closed the book, leaning forward slightly and looking up to the cloudy sky, the sun still blanketing the grounds with its warmth. “…I don’t remember a day I wasn’t sick” you whispered, which reached Walter’s ear easily. He frowned, tilting his head slightly “you mean, you’ve always had problems with your health?” he asked, just to clarify. You nodded; your leg issues had come later in life-but only due to you not using them as much as you should’ve in your developmental years. But your breathing and basic health had always been weak.

“When I was a child, sometimes the slightest thing would cause me to be Ill for weeks on end, I don’t really remember a time I wasn’t sick.” You muttered, laying your legs flat and huffing, feeling your lungs wheeze with the effort to keep them full of air. “I haven't run since I was five, by that time I could never get enough air to pace myself and my legs were already starting to go awry.”

Walter stared at you, his unbeating heart hurting for you. He knew he could help-if he chose you, if you accepted his proposal-just one drop of his blood would give you the life you had missed out on, your lungs would no longer need air, and your legs would feel brand new. You shook your head, laughing a bit “listen to me, rambling away about my problems. I shouldn’t.”

“I asked” Walter pushed, reaching up and tucking a stray hair behind your ear, smiling softly as you glanced at him. He looked away first, licking his lips and leaning forward a bit before he asked another question “What would you do? If you were chosen? And became one of us?” you blinked, twice, three times, then sighed, a wistful smile on your face.

“I would run as fast as I could” that’s what you really wanted to do. To run, to feel the wind in your hair, your arms pumping at your sides as your feet hit the ground-with no worry that you would be in so much pain the next hour. You said as such to Walter, who stared at you with eyes that were growing softer by the minute. For a moment, you almost thought it was pity-you had seen it all your life-but it wasn’t; you couldn't tell what it was, not yet.

“Good answer” Walter whispered, looking up at the sun and nodding to himself, standing and holding out his hand to you “shall we have some lunch?” you nodded, feeling just a bit lighter getting that not-so-deep secret off your chest-taking his hand and letting him help you up-leaning into his side as he guided you towards the stables.

“Where are we going?” you asked, sitting down as Walter got out a set of horses, one deep black and the other a russet brown. Walter helped you onto the brown one, apparently named Belle. “There's a lake a few miles away from here, I set up another picnic for us there” he patted the basket resting on his horse’s saddle-presumably filled with the picnic he mentioned. “it's quite beautiful at night as well, you can see everything”

You smiled, tilting your head a bit “Another picnic?....I don’t think I’ve spent a night outside in quite a while, me and cold don’t really mix well” Walter paused, shit he hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll make sure to keep you warm then.” he said in response, mentally thanking his past self for packing extra blankets and for there being a fire pit close to where he had planned the picnic. You laughed at his words, flushing a bit “Are you flirting?”

“Why, is it working?” Walter teased, smiling as you giggled, he climbed into his horse and grabbed the reins, turning to look at you over his shoulder “Come along now, before the food gets cold” you hummed, snapping the reins of your horse and it followed Walter. You admired the forest you rode through as Walter led you to the lake on a well-taken path, and soon you arrived at the lake-the sun beaming down on its still surface-the forest surrounding it evergreen and lush, at a small curve-sat a picnic-resting just near a firepit, along with a few books.

“More books?” you gasped, laughing as Walter just shrugged “hey, I like to read just as you.” He shot back, a smile on his lips as you continued to laugh loudly-dropping as you suddenly wheezed and coughed, Belle stopping in her tracks as you doubled over. Walter quickly dismounted, rushing over to you and getting you off of Belle before you fell, a panic in his eyes as you pressed your hand to your chest and struggled to breathe.

“What-what do I do?” Walter nearly yelped, feeling so foolish for not asking Emma how to help you through a breathing attack-and for going so far out from help. You just grabbed his hand, scrunching your nose for a moment as you attempted to regain control of your breathing. The horses rumbled nervously, Belle taking several steps away as Walter held you tight to his chest.

In the minutes that passed-which felt like several panic-filled hours to Walter-you took several deep controlled breaths, closing your eyes as you let yourself fall into Walter’s arms, feeling suddenly very exhausted from the attack. “Did I do that?” Walter asked as everything calmed down. You shook your head, patting his arm as he walked you over to the blanket.

“They come on randomly sometimes-that wasn’t the worst I’ve had-but when I laugh hard-It can cause one, so-I try to control myself usually” you muttered, and Walter felt guilty at being the reason for your laughter. You smiled up at him “Please don’t” you could see the guilt in his eyes and stiff body ��it’s not your fault” you tugged him down to sit with you, leaning on his shoulder “I could feel it coming on anyways, this time It just had a trigger.” Walter hummed, looking out onto the lake, drumming his fingers against the blanket.

When he remembered the food, he left your side for a moment, tying the horses to a tree that rested near the lake-letting them rest and get some water, soon returning with the food and the book you had been reading earlier-though this time, he let you eat as he continued where you left off, his voice soothing as you settled down.

“Will you promise not to hurt him” Buttercup whispered. “What was that?” The prince said. “what was that?” Westley said. Buttercup took a step forward and said; “if we surrender, freely and without struggle, if life returns to what it was one dusk ago, will you swear not to hurt this man?” Prince Humperdinck raised his right hand: “I swear on the grave of my soon-to-be-dead father and the soul of my already dead mother that I shall not hurt this man, and if I do, may I not hurt again though I live a thousand years.” Buttercup turned to Westley. “There,” she said “you can’t ask for more than that, and that is the truth”

“The truth,” said Westley, “is that you would rather live with your prince than die with your love.” “I would rather live than die, I admit it” “We were talking about love, madam” There was a long pause. Then buttercup said it: “I can live without love”

There was a sound of pain from beside Walter, and he looked to it, seeing you lying next to him-looking back up with shocked eyes. “She rejects him? after all he did for her?” you asked, having never read this story before. Walter hummed, nodding slightly “She does, I admit when I first read it-I nearly threw the book” Walter chuckled, flipping to the next page-seeing it was the end of the current chapter. “but things get better, I assure you”

You hummed, closing your eyes and letting yourself fall back to that space between sleep and life, Walter’s body heat and the fire he lit as the sun began to dim keeping you warm. Soon a blanket joined you, and Walter continued to read, his hand finding the small of your back as you curled up next to him-enjoying his voice and the tale.

Walter looked up as he noticed the painted skies turning pink that blended with blue and orange. He glanced down beside him, you were asleep-your hand clutching the blanket that covered you-your face shadowed by the flickering fire that kept you warm. He marked his spot on the book and set it to the side, brushing your hair away from your face and whispering he would be back.

Within the blink of an eye, he was gone-and only two blinks later-he returned, with a new basket of food. He set out the meal he had prepared by his personal cook and shook you gently, leaning back on his heels as you slowly woke up, a slow wheezing breath escaping your lips. “Oh,” you whispered, rubbing your eyes as you sat up, seeing the steaming food that sat on the blanket “thank you”

Walter hummed, working on a piece of lamb as you grabbed some bread and meat-about to grab the book again when Walter beat you to it, winking as he opened it when he left off and continued to read, adjusting himself as you leaned against him, reading alongside him as you ate.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Inigo said. “Get his mouth as wide open as you can and tilt his head back a little and we’ll drop it in and see.” Fezzik worked at the dead man’s mouth a while, got it the way Inigo said, tilted the neck perfect the first time, and Inigo knelt directly above the cavity, dropped the pill down, and as it hit the throat he heard, “Couldn’t be me alone, you dastards; well, I beat you each apart, I’ll beat you both together.” “you’re alive!” Fezzik cried. The man in black sat immobile, like a ventriloquist’s dummy, just his mouth moving. “that is perhaps the most childishly obvious remark I have ever come across, but what can you expect from a strangler. Why won't my arms move?”

“You’ve been dead,” Inigo explained. “And we’re not strangling you,” Fezzik explained, “we were just getting the pill down” “the resurrection pill,” Inigo explained “I bought it from miracle max and it works for sixty minutes” “what happens after sixty minutes? Do I die again? (it wasn’t sixty minutes; he just thought it was. Actually, it was forty; only they had used up one already in conversation, so it was down to thirty-nine.)”

“We don’t know. Probably you just collapse and need tending for a year or however long it takes to get your strength back” “I wish I could remember what it was like when I was dead,” the man in black said. “I’d write it down. I could make a fortune on a book like that. I can't move my legs either” “that will come. It’s suppose to. Max said the tongue and the brain were shoo-ins and probably you’ll be able to move, but slowly.” “the last thing I remember was dying, so I am I on this wall? Are we enemies? Have you got names? I’m the dread pirate Roberts, but you can call me ‘Westly’.”

“Fezzik.” “Inigo Montoya of Spain. Let me tell you what's going on-“ he stopped and shook his head “No’ he said, “there's too much, it would take too long, let me distill it for you; the wedding is at six, which leaves us probably now something over half an hour to get in, steal the girl, and get out; but not before I kill count Rugen.”

“What are our liabilities” “there is but one working castle gate and it is guarded by perhaps a hundred men” “hmmm,” Westly said, not as unhappy as he might have been ordinarily because just then he began to be able to wiggle his toes.”

As Walter read on, the night crawled forward-the stars and moon illuminating the lake. At some point, he found himself lying next to you, the still strong fire -which he had made sure to keep attending to- guiding his eyes to the words on the page, his voice lulling you back to sleep, and for the first time in a long time-you slept under the stars.

Walter looked up at some point, seeing the crescent moon high above-the stars decorating the inky sky around it. He reached towards you gently, shaking you awake “Darling wake up,” he whispered, nodding towards the sky “look” you mumbled for a moment, wondering what he wanted when you saw it; in the sky-were the stars of course- but along that was a paint streak of glowing white and purples, mixing with the stars above and swirling about in the sky.

Walter chuckled at your reaction, bringing you close as you both sat up, his cheek against yours-the warmth of the fire on his skin melting into yours, his arm supporting your back. “one of my favorite times of the night, when the milky way is visible” Walter whispered, barely audible to your ears-but you smiled at his words, following his hand as he pointed out constellations in the sky-you had loved the night since you were child-unable to see it unless it was summer…and even then.

Walter got up for a moment to tend to the fire and soon was settled next to you again, this time his arm was wrapped fully around you, his body, the fire, and the blanket keeping you perfectly warm-though your legs had gone numb a bit ago. “I have a question for you” Walter whispered, and you hummed, leaning into his shoulder as you looked up at the stars. “What is it you want with your life?”

You snorted, turning to him slightly “Going there huh?” Walter hummed, glancing off to the side, a smile on his lips “mm, never mastered small talk” you snorted again, you had noticed-most of your conversations had involved books or delving deeper into yourselves. You licked your lips as you thought of your answer-but…all you could think of was-what you wouldn’t be able to do.

“I…I really never thought of how to answer that…” you muttered, eyes down casting to the lake-staring at the reflection of the moon and stars. Walter turned his head to look at you, watching you intently as you played with your fingers “I’ve been told since I was young that I wouldn’t have a full life, even knowing that we have tripled lives thanks to the contract” Walter hummed, but didn’t interrupt, letting you talk. “so, I suppose I never-thought of what to do…since-it wouldn’t matter in the end-I would be dead before I could do anything. But-“ you huffed, looking back up at the sky, feeling your nose burn and throat ache.

“if-if I could; I would read all there is to read, I would study the stars, I would run through forests, dance till I dropped, laugh in the rain knowing it wouldn’t get me deathly ill-I would live life to its fullest-enjoy every passing moment as if it was my last-which I do try to do but…” you sighed, a tear slipping past your cheek “When you’re reminded every day that, by your own body, that you won't live much longer-that you won’t walk that day, or won't talk-or sleep soundly, or even breathe…it’s hard to do that….you know” you bit your lip, bearing your soul to Walter. “it’s getting harder to wake up now-adays…” Walter jolted a bit at that, his eyes going wide “and-I go to bed each night, wishing everyone goodnight-not knowing if I’ll wake up the next day.” Walter stared, if he had a heart-he was sure it would crack for you.

Walter closed his eyes, took a deep breath, paused for a moment, then sighed. He turned, kneeling in front of you-taking your hands that were freezing at the fingers. You blinked at him, feeling one of his hands wipe away your tears. “if I may” he whispered, his eyes reflecting the stars above “This is a bit-different from how I’ve done it in the past. Usually there's a whole courting stage and a proper announcement and public thing-but” he waved his hand, looking over the grandeur of it all. He looked back into your eyes, tilting your chin up just so. “I have never felt-so connected-with any other bride, potential or otherwise” you furrowed your brows, wondering what he was doing before it hit you.

He was proposing. Holy shit-he was choosing you!? For what reason, you didn’t know-maybe he was pitying you? You didn’t want him to pity you, you had been pitied your whole life-by your parents, Emma, doctors, extended family-everyone. You didn’t want Walter to only see what you lacked-to see your imperfections. “Are you doing this out of pity?” you whispered, and Walter stopped, then furrowed his brows.

“I admit-there was some pity at the start” he whispered, shifting so he sat on his knees “I saw just a frail little thing in my castle-unable to stand on her own-needing help to even walk. But now I see you; your undeniable strength, the courage you have to face the day as if you don’t stare death in his eyes” you could feel the tears returning, unexpecting such words from Walter. “I wish to give you the life you should’ve had, the life you deserve. To run with the wind, to be unafraid to go to sleep, to read every book in the world, and then some-I wish to give you everlasting life, ne’er to face sickness or pain ever again.”

He took your hands at his, holding them to his chest, looking into your weeping eyes. “So I ask you this, Lady (y/n) Alexander. Will you do me the honor, and become my bride? Become Lady Alexander-Deville? i promise you to extend my library, so it will take you a hundred years just to read half, and I will run with you whenever you wish, and spend as many nights with you outside when the moon is bright and the stars shine brighter.”

You sobbed, tucking your chin into your chest, and Walter feared he had scared you off with such a promise and declaration-such things he would make sure to do if you accepted his proposal-he just hoped to whoever was listening; that his powers-his gift to you-would heal you of your physical plights. Finally, after a few moments, you looked back up at him, a bright beaming slime that rivaled the moon looking back at him ”I accept your proposal, Master Deville, thank you” you cried, sobbing into his shoulder as he kissed your hands and held you close, turning you close to the fire to warm you back up, as the blanket at fallen from your shoulders during his proposal.

As the midnight chill began to set into the forest-Walter quickly packed everything up and extinguished the dying fire-picking you up and setting on his horse-getting on behind you and grabbing Bell’s reigns. “what bestows me the honor of riding with you?” you giggled, a flush strong in your cheeks as Walter wrapped his arms around you, the blanket from earlier curled around your shoulders to keep you warm.

“It’s too cold to ride alone, don’t want you getting sick” Walter muttered into your ear-smirking as you giggled again, leaning against his chest as he set back towards the castle. By the time you returned-it was well past midnight, Walter set the horses into their stalls and carried you into the castle-the book the two of you had been reading resting on your stomach as you rested your cheek on Walter’s shoulder-your arms tossed around his neck.

You were nearly asleep when he stepped into your room, setting you on your bed and taking the book from you and setting it on your nightstand-before lighting the fire and closing your windows-taking a slow breath as he looked back at you, your bleary eyes looking back, with a soft smile on your lips “I’ll go fetch Emma, sleep well darling” Walter whispered, leaning over you and kissing your head, grazing your chin with his fingers before he stepped away and out of your room, pausing as you told him to do the same. He smiled at you, nodding a bit “As you wish” with that-he closed the door.

And you had to muffle your scream with a pillow.

You thanked the gods for giving you such a miracle when you woke up the next day-feeling refreshed, your legs were still a bit numb but that was normal, but you felt no clog in your nose or tickle at the back of your throat. You hadn’t gotten sick from the previous night. You silently celebrated in your bed-shifting so you sat on the edge, groaning as you stretched and your back popped wonderfully.

You jumped as your door suddenly opened-two woman walking into your room-one was about your height with long golden red hair, wearing a soft purple dress that hung off her shoulders-the other was tall, dark and terrifying, her black eyes trained on you like a hawk. “good morning~!” the redhaired one said, sitting at the end of your bed and leaning towards you, her fangs on full display.

They must’ve been the Billington and Klopstock brides- Viktoria and Vasilica. “uh-hello?” you nearly squeaked, your shoulders arching up as Viktoria stared you down, almost staying in the shadows as Vasilica practically invaded your personal space. “The master told us, everything-so, welcome to the family lady Alexander~” Vasilica sang, her bright and cheery personality a strong opponent of Viktoria, who hadn’t said a word this entire time.

“uh, thank you?” you muttered, you had only accepted the night before-so you wondered when Walter had told them of it. You looked outside then, frowning as you saw the sun was quite high in the sky. “what time is it?” Vasilica hummed, pursing her lips a bit as she looked out the window with you. “just before noon I think-the master wanted to let you sleep in, but we wanted to invite you for brunch, if you would like?” you nodded with a small smile, watching as Vasilica jumped up and beamed “Wonderful~! Let’s go then, the master waits for us outside.” She turned about to walk out of the room when Viktoria stopped her-noticing you hadn’t moved from your spot.

“Something wrong?” Viktoria said quietly, her eyes trained on you. like Walter, she could smell the sickness that clung to you, the pain in your bones; she wondered why the master would pick such a weak bunny like you, instead of the healthier girls of the bunch. You flinched back at her eyes, fiddling with your fingers “uh-my-my legs don’t work as well as others do-it’s hard for me to walk on my own” you whispered, looking down at your legs, which hung limply off the bed and felt numb.

“Oh!” Vasilica said with a shocked face-apparently Walter had neglected to tell them your lack of properly working legs “oh that’s not a big deal, come I’ll carry you!” she took a step forward, her hands reaching towards you, and you were about to ask her if you could get dressed first-when the master, Walter, stepped into the room. “I see you have all met,” he said quietly, leaning on the doorway. Viktoria nodded stiffly as Vasilica beamed. “I’m sure (y/n) wouldn’t mind you carrying her dear, but it think she needs to get dressed first.” Vasilica looked at you, then at Walter, chuckling a bit “i suppose she does” Vasilica muttered with a shy smile, skipping out of the room with Viktoria slowly following her.

Walter grabbed her arm before Viktoria could fully exit, turning to her with dark eyes-eyes you hadn’t seen before; full of warning and death. “let me warn you now Viktoria. Be nice. Or I will have no hesitation in holding another Klopstock wedding after so long.” Viktoria looked shocked, glancing between you and Walter before she sniffed and tore her arm from his grip-storming off after Vasilica.

Walter huffed, turning back to you with a soft smile “Apologies. She gets…cruel, if she acts as such to you, please tell me-you shouldn’t suffer in a place where you should be respected.” You smiled back at him, nodding, biting the inside of your lip as he stepped towards you and took your hand, kissing your knuckles. “I’ll send Emma up to help you get dressed, I’ll be back to escort you to brunch” you nodded again, squeezing his hand a bit as he smiled down at you.

About 10 minutes later-you were dressed and waiting for Walter-reading more of the book as you did; continuing on from the part you had fallen asleep on. “The Count went for the quick kill, the inverse Bonetti. No chance. “Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father…prepare to die” Again they crossed, and the Count moved into a Morozzo defense, because the blood was still streaming. Inigo shoved his fist deeper into himself. “Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die.” The count retreated around the billiard table. Inigo slipped his own blood. The count continued to retreat, waiting, waiting. “Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father; prepare to die.” He dug with his fist and he didn’t want to think what he was touching and pushing and holding into place but for the first time he felt able to try a move, so the six-fingered sword flashed forward-and there was a cut down one side of count Rugen’s cheek-another flash-another cut, parallel, bleeding-“ A knock at your door and you closed the book-marking your place as you sat up straight, smiling as Walter, your now fiancé, stepped in. “ready?” he asked, smiling as he saw the book. You nodded, holding the book to your chest as he walked towards you, one arm cradling your back and shoulders-the other going under your knees; easily lifting you up and carrying you out to the gardens-where brunch was set up.

Walter set you down on the left side of his chair-Viktoria on his right while Vasilica sat on the other end of the table, on your left. “I love your dress” Vasilica complemented, and you smiled, looking down at your blue and silver tunic dress, pulling at your white sleeves before you looked back at her-telling her the same for her purple dress. She beamed, looking towards Walter with a clear emotion in her eyes ‘I like her’ they read.

He smirked back, sipping at his deep red ‘wine’. You leaned back as a plate full of food was set in front of you, smiling at what you saw- French toast, fruits, pastries, meat; your favorites. You turned to see who had set the plate-seeing Emma winking at you, taking her place back with the other handmaidens and Mr. Fields. Similar plates were set in front of Walter and the other brides, though they had more ham included with theirs. “So,” you stared, picking up a piece of toast and ripping off a smaller piece “do any of the other girls know I've been chosen?” Walter shook his head, setting his glass down and grabbing a strawberry.

“Not yet-I’ll be announcing it tonight at the group dinner, Viktoria and Vasilica will be joining us as well. I’ve already sent a letter to your parents telling them the news, they should get it just before they start heading up here.” you nodded, licking your lips free of fruit juice as you grabbed your cup. “And-what’s the plan after tonight?” you asked next, leaning back in your chair as Walter set down his glass and grabbed a small leather-bound book, undoing the leather strip keeping it closed, and setting the pen aside.

“you’ll be heading home with your parents for two months after they arrive, gathering all you wish to bring back over here, then-of course- you’ll come back and move into the Alexander suite, and it’s customary there is a courting period even if I have already proposed, which is four months, and during that we will plan for the wedding.” He snapped the book closed and set it aside, looking towards you with an assuring smile “of course-all of this aligns if your health is steady, I do not mind waiting a bit longer, or even speeding things along if you need to.”

You nodded, smiling as you felt his free hand grab yours under the table-squeezing it lightly. “so, (y/n)” Viktoria spoke up, her voice slow and calculating. Vasilica and Walter glanced at her, both warning her to be nice. “What is it you like to do?” you blinked-not expecting that question. “oh um,” you stuttered, rubbing the back of your neck “i-I like to read? I’ve practically already read half of Walter’s personal library” you laughed, Vasilica beaming at your words. “oh wonderful, I’m-well-I never learned to read-so I’m glad someone other than the master has a use for that library.”

“Going to be expanding it actually” Walter mentioned, Vasilica cooed at the idea and your heart fluttered at the memory of his promise to expand as such to where it would take you 100 years to read half of it. “wonderful, more books and dust” Viktoria muttered, sipping at her ‘wine’. Walter just rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a smile “im sure (y/n) and I will keep the dust away, right darling?” you flushed at the name, but nodded, eyes drawing to the book that rested beside your cup. You really wanted to finish it-you just got to the truly exciting part. Though you were sure Walter had nearly finished it by the time he showed you the stars.

“Anything else? Or are you just a book-worm?” Viktoria asked, a near sneer on her lips. Walter quickly banished it with a glare. You tiled your head, shrugging a bit “I like to ride? Oh and uh-drawings something I dabble in…oh-my brothers are knights and I’ve always liked watching them train and compete” you shrugged again, honestly you liked doing a lot of things-but-once you thought about it-they were hard to describe.

Viktoria just hummed, tilting her head slightly “Due to your… condition, you don’t do much, do you?” you shook your head, not noticing the side-eye Walter was giving Viktoria. “no, not really-just an unfortunate effect to me. I wish I could do more-but I hardly have the energy to get out of bed sometimes.” There it was, there was the pity, in both Vasilica’s and Viktoria’s eyes, though there was much more sympathy in Vasilica’s than Viktoria’s gaze.

“then for your sake, I hope the exchange at the wedding will do your body good” Viktoria hummed, sounding like a compliment yet her eyes told you otherwise. Walter sighed and pinched his nose “play nice” he muttered to Viktoria, and she hummed back with a smirk “always” she said, reaching forward and brushing her hand through Walter’s chin-length locks. He blinked at her, allowing her to do so but turned back to you.

You supposed you would have to get used to being one of 3 brides, which, hopefully, wouldn’t be too hard-you had never expected to be a bride at all. “now,” Walter started, licking his lips “we should probably tell you the darker details of this marriage, and what will happen upon our wedding” Walter reached up, taking your hand, looking into your eyes “as you should know, we are vampires” you nodded “and you should know we consume human blood to sustain ourselves, but we do also eat human food to keep energy and strength.” You nodded again, looking down at their plates, which mostly matched yours. “which means-you will also have to drink blood, human blood.”

You could feel your stomach turn-you knew about their true natures since you were younger-but to now know you would be involved in it-made you a bit queasy. “Does animal blood not work?” Vasilica shook her head at your question “no, I tried, it’s like you drank nothing. it must be human blood” she said, leaning forward on the table, watching as Viktoria took a sip of her ‘wine’, her eyes on you.

Walter turned his attention back to you “now, we mostly have our blood in cups” he lifted his cup of ‘wine’. “but once in a while, we do require fresh prey, so-sometimes, you will need to feed on a live, or freshly dead, human.” You swallowed harshly, licking your lips as your stomach continued to turn.

"Do I get a choice of who I feed on?” you asked quietly, and Walter nodded. You felt a small bit of relief at that, you could make sure your prey wasn’t someone who didn’t deserve it. “I understand this is a lot to take it, and this is why there's such a long period between now and the wedding, to give you time to adjust to the circumstances,” Walter said, bringing your hand to his lips.

You nodded, it would take time for you to get…used to the idea of killing people for food, but you supposed it would get easier with time, or once you were transformed-the guilt would leave you. Only time would tell. “okay, okay I can deal with that” you whispered, smiling as Walter kissed your hand again. “wonderful, now-“ he released your hand-gesturing to your plate “eat, you’ll need your strength”

You did as asked, opening the book to read as you finished your food-the other girls now conversing with Walter as you distracted yourself with the awaited showdown between Inigo and Count Rugen.

You sat nearly pin straight as Emma finished pinning your hair, an intricate red crystal necklace being clipped to your neck via Mrs. Swift. “There you go deary,” Mrs. Swift said, resting her hands on your shoulders as you looked into the mirror that sat upon the vanity. You tilted your head to the side, seeing the gold earring that hung from your ears, complimenting the deep red of your gown. You had been told-as was tradition-the Deville brides wore red. “I’m happy for you my lady, it’s been an honor to serve you,” Emma said, tears in her eyes. You turned to her, taking her hand with a smile.

“Like hell I would give you up easily” you laughed, scrunching your nose as Emma shook her head, sniffing as she squeezed your hand. “you’ve been by my side for the last five years, and have been wonderfully understanding of all my conditions; if anything-I’ll have you visit once in a while. You’ve been my best friend Emma. I won’t let you leave without a fight”

Emma cooed, hugging you tight and pushing her cheek against yours “Thank you, (y/n)” you thanked her back, holding her as tight as you could before another butler knocked at the door, saying everyone was ready. You nodded, grabbing Emma’s hand and using her arm to help you stand.

Mrs. Swift stood on your other side, a butler walking behind you as you made your way to the grand dining room-pausing at the doors, two butlers standing on each side. You could barely hear Walter from the other side of the thick wooden doors. “-as you all know, I took each day of this week to get to know each and every one of you, to help me make my choice of my Alexander bride. I assume, due to who is missing from this table, you know who I have chosen-and please I know, I chose out of her attributes and reasons of my own, not due to any of your faults. Now-may I please announce, my new Bride; Lady (y/n) Alexander."

And with that, the doors opened, and you saw everyone staring at you, Serena and Kalista looking absolutely ecstatic for you-only two looked disappointed-so you counted yourself lucky as not to encounter any nastiness. You noticed Walter holding out his hand to you, and you could feel Emma holding you tight as you help you walk to him. but you took a deep breath and stepped away from her, joining Walter at his side and taking his hand, smiling as he looked pleasantly surprised. “wrap this up though that hurt like a bitch” you whispered into his ear as he tucked you into his side, he laughed gently and nodded.

He quickly turned, and you saw a set of chairs that sat behind a decorated table, one just a bit taller than the other. He guided you to sit next to the taller one, and then stayed at your side, one hand on your shoulder as you sat up straight, smiling at Serena who was struggling to hold her excitement.

Walter continued to talk but you were hardly listening, looking about the room-seeing Vasilica and Viktoria at the head of the long table, Vasilica was beaming and clapping along with the rest of the girls as Walter’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently, while Viktoria politely clapped, her eyes boring into your soul. You looked away first, turning as you saw Walter take a glass full of deep red liquid, Viktoria and Vasilica being handed the same “charge your glasses” Walter said, and everyone raised their drinks into the air, all looking to you and Walter “To (y/n),” he turned to look down at you, smiling as he did, his hand still gently squeezing your shoulder “my new bride”

“To (y/n)!” you looked up at Walter, reaching up and squeezing his hand back, smiling as his smile turned to a wide grin. “May the bridemaidens rejoice” Mr. Fields called out, the girls all calling back with raised glasses to you “The bridemaidens rejoice.”

With that, everyone took a drink and Walter soon took a seat next to you, setting his glass down and leaning towards you. “everything okay?” he asked quietly, tilting his head slightly. You smiled back at him, reaching up to cup his cheek, looking into his bright blue eyes “everything's perfect” you whispered back, taking the chance and pecking his cheek “Thank you Master Deville”

He smiled, taking your hand and kissing your palm before leaning back in his seat, everyone beginning to eat.

Time flew by during the two months you returned home, your brothers barely letting you out of their sight. It was a bit-jarring-to see your room practically empty by the time you were set to make the journey back to Deville castle, your bookcase was empty, and all your dresses were packed away-minus the ones you were going to wear on the way to the castle.

To think-in only one week, your life had changed drastically, and soon-in about four months-you wouldn’t be human anymore. And maybe-just maybe-you would be able to run the grounds of the castle without collapsing from pain. You smiled at the thought, holding the book you had read over and over again through the last two months; Walter had let you keep it after seeing how much you loved it-and you might’ve grabbed his face and kissed his cheek heavily at the gesture.

You still giggled at remembering his shocked face-if he had the ability to blush he would’ve.

You turned at a knock on your door, calling for them to come in, smiling as you saw your mother and oldest brother step through-his hair a wild mess thanks to his helmet. “just get back from training?” you teased, reaching up as he rolled his eyes, leaning down to let you ruffle/fix his hair. You pulled back; feeling the grime in his hair “Ewwww did you even wash up before coming to see me? You trying to get me sick?” your brother cackled and rolled his eyes, fake sneezing at you and you screeched, weakly pushing him away.

“Oh you two, stop it” your mother laughed, walking about your room and finishing up packing for you. “the carriage is outside (y/n), he just wanted to say goodbye” your bother snorted, crossing his arms and turning to your mother “Goodbye? I’m going with her, gotta make sure she gets there safe and sound.”

“And to threaten Walter?” you groaned, unable to keep the smile off your face as your bother ruffled your hair, sharply grinning down at you “Of course,” he said, almost dramatically holding his hand to his chest “I have to make sure the master is going to be good to my baby sister” you rolled your eyes at him, slapping his hand away and letting him pick you up, your mother close behind as he walked you out to the carriage. It would be about a week's travel to Deville castle, and you hoped to the gods you wouldn’t catch something on the way.

You waved goodbye to your parents and other brother, who had to stay to finish his current training, Emma sitting at your side while your eldest brother-Justin- rode alongside the carriage. “keep her safe Justin!” your mother called as the carriage set off. He told them he would, turning to face the road as you watched your childhood home disappear behind the trees and hills.

When you arrive, Walter was waiting for you, meeting your brother's gaze for a moment before he quickly walked towards the barely stopping carriage-opening the door and bowing his head to you “we meet again, lady (y/n)” Walter said, holding his hands out to you as Emma helped you stand and maneuver yourself into your fiancé’s arms. “hi” you whispered back, feeling your cheeks flush as he stepped away from the carriage-holding you close as Emma stepped out, your brother guiding her.

“lord Deville,” your brother and Emma greeted, Emma bowing her head as Justin held his hand to his chest for a moment. Walter nodded back “Justin, Emma. Pleasure to see you again, now, let’s get (y/n) inside” you rested your chin on Walter’s shoulder as he turned and carried you into the castle, Emma giggled at the sight while Justin huffed a bit, raising his brow at you while you stuck your tongue out at him.

While you settled into the Alexander suite, Justin took Walter aside for a moment, crossing his arms as he leaned against a wall-staring into Walter’s eyes “Lord Deville, while I must thank you for choosing my baby sister, in which I hope is for honorable reasons; do note” he stepped closer, getting into Walter’s face, his lip curling up slightly in a snarl “if you hurt my girl, you will answer directly to me. And whatever crimes I commit against you; I will not care for the consequences. ” Walter smirked, nodding slightly.

“I swear upon my eternal life she will live happily and safely within this castle and as my wife.” Justin held Walter’s stare for a strong moment, then he smiled, patting Walter’s shoulder “good to hear that, now, I must be off-take good care of her-please.” Walter nodded again, watching as Justin made his way to the Alexander suite to say goodbye to you until the wedding.

You perked up as Justin stepped into your new room, nodding at what he saw. “well, I’m going to head back home” he said as he walked towards you, kneeling before you as you sat on your bed, Emma and Mrs. Swift unpacking your clothes and putting them away. You gave Justin a look “you already threatened him didn’t you?” you laughed and Justin grinned, leaning up as you pulled him into a hug “you are such a butt, I’ll miss you”

“I’ll miss you too bug, but not really-see you in four months” he stood, kissing the top of your head, and bowed out, laughing as you chucked a spare shoe at his head-Walter barely dodging it. “oh shit sorry Walter” you gasped, covering your mouth, your shoulders relaxing as he laughed lightly “I was aiming for Justin.”

“I could tell” Walter chuckled, moving to stand in front of you, his hand finding your cheek. “how are you feeling?” you pursed your lips, smiling up at your fiancé. You felt normal, well, as normal as you usually felt, your legs felt fine, and there was no weight in your lungs “good, I didn’t get sick on the way here” you hummed, leaning into Walter’s hand as he rubbed your cheek.

“Good, very good” he muttered, leaning down and kissing your forehead. “Are you hungry at all?” you nodded, you had stopped for lunch before your arrival, but that was several hours ago. “perfect, dinner is ready for the four of us, do you want me to carry you or?” you just grabbed his arms, and he held you steady as you stood “Wonderful, come along then darling.”

The next four months went flying by-and you spent it bonding with your future husband and soon-to-be wives-in-law. It was still a bit of an odd concept to be a 3rd bride in a marriage of four, but you were getting used to the idea and wondered how Walter balanced it all. He spent most of his free time with you, Viktoria and Vasilica joining you for breakfast and dinner each day. There were of course days or weeks you wouldn’t leave your room, the usual cold or something else chaining you to the bed.

But that would be alleviated by Walter or Vasilica visiting you; of course, Emma never left your side. Viktoria was-slowly warming up to you, but that never stopped her from the snide comments and the side-eyes as you would read outside or in the library-mostly tucked into the little corner of Walter’s personal library.

You remembered the first time you saw Walter feed on a live human-you didn’t know who they were or where they came from-but you and Emma stumbled into Walter’s study(mostly to see if he wanted to join you for afternoon tea), only to see him draining the blood from a dark-haired woman. Emma gagged a bit-alerting Walter of your presence and he turned, his eyes near black and his mouth dripping with deep red blood, fangs peeking out from his shocked expression.

He gasped your name out, letting the now dead woman drop and wiping his hands on his pants, licking his lips as he glanced between you and the body “you-you weren't supposed to see that” he whispered, he had wanted to keep you protect from sights like this until you were married-when you would be more prepared to see it.

You looked back at Emma, nodding for her to leave and she quickly and happily obeyed, leaving you alone with Walter. He licked his lips nervously, a deeply concerned frown on his face. “who is she?” you asked, nodding to the woman, leaning on the wall as you stepped into the room. Walter glanced down at her, and swallowed harshly “just-just a widow-she volunteered, she wished her life to end anyway.” You nodded, holding out your new book to him, he glanced at it curiously.

“I got a new book; would you like to read it with me during afternoon tea? It’s called sleeping beauty.” Walter smiled, and nodded, happy you hadn’t freaked out like he thought you would-out of all his brides(which at this point, weren’t that many) you were the most…innocent-but you had been faced with death since childhood-it didn’t bother you as much as it did Emma. “of course my darling, let me get cleaned up first-I’ll join you in the gardens in a moment” you nodded with a grin, turning as Mrs. Swift stepped into the room after Walter called her in. he told her to escort you to the gardens and she nodded, doing as told while Mr. Field and a few other butlers got to work cleaning up the mess Walter made.

As the date of the wedding drew ever closer-your days became consumed with planning, barely able to catch a break. One moment you would be choosing placements and flowers, the next your dress and the menu, then the décor and seating chart.

It was just-a lot-so much it sent you into a flare-up, forcing you to your bed where you stayed for nearly two weeks, and only two weeks left till the wedding. You sniffed up at the ceiling, Emma patting a cold cloth on your forehead to hopefully lessen your fever. “I cannot wait to never be sick again” you grumbled and Emma nodded in agreement, she never minded taking care of you-but she had to agree that you never having to deal with illness again would be a good break for the both of you. She perked up at a knock on your door and quickly went to see who it was, stepping aside as Walter peered in at her.

“She’s resting master Deville, still a ways to go to get over it, but it's not one that’ll last much longer” Walter sighed in relief, a book in his hand as he walked over to your side, and sat down next to you. “Hello darling” he muttered, taking your warm hand in his, and pressing it to his lips “how are you feeling?”

“like shit” you croaked, voice nearly gone. Walter frowned, curling his arm around you and pulling you up to lean against him, your head in the crook of his neck. “what’s that?” Walter held up the book, and you beamed-it was the one from your first date. “yes please”

Walter chuckled, getting comfortable next to you and opening the book “As you wish, Emma, would you please get some tea and bread for us?” she nodded, skipping out of the room as Walter began to read what was now your favorite story. “The year that buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette.”

The day of the wedding got closer and closer, and guests began to arrive as the week came to a close. You happily greeted your parents and brothers upon their arrival. “how has everything been darling?” your father asked, brushing a lock of hair out of your eyes as you all settled in the dining room, the doors leading to the gardens wide open to let the comfortable breeze through.

“wonderful, I got sick two weeks ago due to stress, but otherwise-it’s been wonderful-though Walter hasn’t let me into the library for nearly a month now” you pouted, every time you tried-he, Emma, or Vasilica prevented you, only laughing when you complained or asked why you counted go in. you still had access to the books-but you had to have them delivered to your room instead of freely grabbing them yourself.

“im sure he has a good reason for that” your mother laughed, grabbing your hand and shaking it about before she sat up-she and your family bowed as Walter walked into the room. “lord Deville, once again we thank you for inviting us to your home” he smiled and waved his hand, allowing them to stand fully.

“thank you for coming, and trusting me with (y/n). I trust she’s been telling you all about the last four months” he chuckled, walking over to you and kissing your head. They nodded, Justin raising his brow at Walter who just chuckled at him and leaned down to whisper in your ear “can I borrow you for a moment?” you hummed, but nodded, wondering what he wanted. He quickly scooped your up and bid your family a temporary adieu, walking off with you, and soon you were set down in front of the library.

“I was just talking about the library” you chuckled, almost squeaking as Walter covered your eyes and took your hands “Walter?” “keep them closed” he muttered, backing into the doors and leading you inside.

Your hands gripped his tightly, you had done your best to train your legs to allow you to walk for longer periods of time-but it still hurt to walk most of the time. “Walter?” you asked again, feeling him maneuver himself to stand behind you, his hands on your shoulders “okay, look” he whispered, and you opened your eyes, gasping at what you saw.

He expanded the library, just as promised, now it held nearly twice the amount of books it held before. “oh Walter” you muttered, lifting your hands to your mouth, tears of joy burning at your eyes “its-its”

“You like it?” Walter asked, almost shy in his question, holding your waist with his lips on your shoulder as you looked about the sunlit room. “i-I love it!” you laughed, turning in his grip and cupping his face. “thank you, thank you so much.” You took a brave step, and kissed him, closing your eyes as he let out a surprised hum and easily melted into it, his arms going around your waist and picking you up with ease.

“oh finally” you pulled away with a near squeak, looking over Walter's head to see Viktoria and Vasilica, both smiling(Viktoria had more of a smirk) at the two of you “I was wondering when you two were gonna kiss” Viktoria chuckled, turning on her heel and walking off, Vasilica laughing with a cheeky wave as she walked off in the other direction. Walter shook his head with a fond smile, setting you down and holding you close. “And here I thought Viktoria didn’t like me” you muttered, smiling at Walter as he chuckled and shook his head.

“And I told you she would warm up with time, you have a knack for getting into hardened hearts” Walter joked, kissing your head, tilting his head as you hummed “oh yeah? And what exactly got me into yours?" you teased, trailing your fingers up his chest, holding back a burst of laughter as he told you; completely serious.

"You showed me human kindness and that was your downfall.” You couldn’t help it, you laughed; loudly, your giggles echoing through the stone halls as your family smiled at each other-glad they had ended up making the trip all those months ago to include you in the potential brides.

“You, my good sir, are cheeky” you giggled, taking a few deep breaths as you finished laughing at Walter. He just chuckled, taking your chin and kissing you again, muttering about how he couldn't wait to do that as your husband. “only three days left Walter, be patient.” He hummed, looking very impatient. He kissed you again, holding you as close as he could without squishing you; like he couldn’t get enough of you once he had a taste. You giggled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck-making sure to properly thank him for the expanded library.

You took several deep breaths as you felt Emma pin your necklace around your neck, the gem sitting in the middle of your chest. “Ready?” your father asked, kneeling next to your chair. You took another deep breath and nodded “As I’ll ever be” you muttered, letting Justin pick you up and carry you down to the chapel that was built beneath the castle-the skirt of your dress carefully bunched beneath his arm.

As you got closer to the set of doors that hid the chapel and your soon-to-be husband from you, you could feel your heart race and your palms sweat. You were really doing this; you were really getting married and getting turned into a vampire. You would soon be a blood-drinker, someone who fed on human blood. It was a strong downside to the deal-but-on the other hand.

You would be able to walk on your own, breathe without strain, run for the first time since you were very young, and dance without pain. For all that-it was all too worth what you would have to do to gain it all.

It helped your soon-to-be husband was very, very handsome. You took another deep breath as you were set on your feet, your father on your left side, holding your hand tightly as you clung to his arm. “Ready darling?” your father asked, and you nodded, holding your head high as the doors opened and you began to walk.

Everyone stood from their seats, all eyes on you as you walked towards Walter at the end of the aisle. He glanced over his shoulder at you, and you took a sudden breath; he was dressed in deep red velvet lined with gold, a smile on his face as he watched you walk towards him. soon enough your father handed you over to Walter and you kneeled beside him, eyeing the two silver chalices that sat just in front of you and the minister.

“You look beautiful darling” Walter whispered, curling his pinkie around yours and you smiled, telling him he looked handsome. He grinned back-his fangs fully out-and you thought he looked quite good with them out. You both turned to the dark-cloaked minister as he raised his hands, the altar behind him decorated with yours and Walter’s banners. “We are gathered here this day, to sanctify the union, between our benevolent master, and his new bride; from the Alexander bloodline. Long may they flourish.”

Behind you, everyone from the three great families chanted the words that had been ingrained in you since you had discovered the true nature of your family's power. “May the bridemaidens, rejoice” the minister turned to Walter, who raised his head high-squeezing your pinkie gently. “Master, Do you take (y/n) Alexander to be your bride? To protect and honor her, for all the days of your eternal life?” Walter almost looked proud to say; “I do”.

The minister turned to you, and you took a deep breath as he spoke “And do you, (y/n) Alexander, take the master to love, honor, serve and obey, for all the days of your eternal life?” you glanced at Walter, whose ever blue eyes pierced into your soul, and you thought about the last four months with him. every quiet moment, every kiss on your head, every concerned furrow of his brows when you could cough or wheeze, every time he carried you when you couldn’t walk. His promise to run with you. And so you nodded, turning back to the minister “I do.” You could hear the quiet excited chatter within the crowd, and you could feel the excitement from Vasilica.

*trigger warning for self-harm and blood drinking!*

“May you now exchange blood” you watched as Walter took a dagger, slicing open his wrist and letting it pour into the silver chalice that sat before him. no sooner than the cup filled only a quarter ways-his wound healed, and he took the cup, handing it to you. You took a deep breath as you carefully grabbed the chalice. You closed your eyes then tipped your head back, letting Walter’s blood fill your mouth and go down your throat.

Almost instantly you could feel the change, the power that coursed through you. The weakness you had felt your entire left-disappeared in an instant. The pain in your legs-gone. The heaviness of your lungs-gone. That sickness that never quite left you-gone. You could feel your mouth ache slightly as your new fangs unsheathed themselves, your nails turning black and sharp-along with your fingertips.

You took several, long deep breaths-for once feeling uninhibited from doing so, the wheezing was gone. You opened your eyes, turning to Walter, and he beamed, his hand that somehow found its way to the small of your back rubbing it with his thumb. You turned to the chalice placed in front of you, taking the dagger alongside it and doing the same Walter had-watching as your blood poured into the chalice. And just as his had-your wound healed within a near instant.

You took the cup, handing it off to Walter, who eagerly drank your blood, a low moan rumbling in his chest-some of your blood escaping down the corner of his mouth and trailing down his jaw. He quickly caught it with his finger and sucked it clean, licking his lips a moment afterward. His eyes glowed for a quick moment, and you turned-seeing Viktoria and Vasilica’s doing the same. And the rush of strength and power you had felt upon your turn felt 100x stronger when it washed over you again.

Walter turned to you, and grabbed your hand-and you focused back into reality as the minister continued to speak. “and now, the new lady Deville; will indulge herself in her first blood.” You frowned, wondering if Walter had forgotten to mention something about the ceremony. And that’s when it hit you-the raging hunger-a hunger you had never felt before-a thirst even-for blood. You supposed that’s what made the whole-drinking human blood thing-easier; having the need to drink it. You turned, and if your heart was still beating-it would’ve skipped a beat; for there, at the altar, was a young man looking resigned to his fate-his eyes holding a deep sadness. You turned to Walter, non-verbally asking if the man wanted to die.

He nodded back, leaning towards you to whisper in your ear “a man of no wealth and poor luck-he volunteered in exchange his only child be taken care of.” He was a father…you-you weren’t sure you could kill such a man. Then Walter whispered again “you need not kill him, but simply drink some of his blood until you were satisfied.” You let out a slow breath and nodded, getting to your feet without help-something your mother gasped happily at-something she hadn’t seen you do since you were very very young.

You took the man's lower neck, swallowing as you felt that burning hunger nearly take you over “Forgive me if I go too far” you muttered down at the man, and he smiled kindly, closing his eyes as you bared your fangs-and descended upon his neck.

Everything went fuzzy after that, you could feel the warm liquid of the man's blood fill your mouth and stomach, a new strength filling you with it. It was-delicious, like smooth cream custard. Sweet cherry sauce on a savory tart. French toast drizzled with strawberry glaze. Pastries filled with cinnamon cream.

You pulled away from the man's neck with a gasp, licking your lips clean-using your hands to clean your chin as the man slumped-still alive-but weak. He would need time to recover. You muttered a small thank you to him, and turned back to Walter-his eyes almost dark with a deep lust for you, but lightened with the love he felt at the same time. He held his hand out to you as he stood, and you joined him, easily tucking into his side as the minister spoke again-but you could hardly hear his words, only feeling Walter’s body heat and the blood rushing through your body.

You jolted back to reality as Walter grabbed your left hand, and you looked down to see him sliding a ring on your finger. You had completely forgotten about this part. He kissed your knuckles and then handed you his ring, and you slid it onto his finger, holding his hand tightly as he turned back to the minister.

Soon enough you felt Walter’s fingers under your chin, and you looked up to see him looking at you, his eyes bright as ever, a smirk on his plush lips. He looked at your lips and you easily got the hint-you supposed the minister announced you as man and wife-and it was time to kiss the bride. And with that, Walter kissed you, and you happily accepted it, curling your arms around his back and holding him tight, groaning into the kiss as he licked at your bottom lip. You could just feel his fangs at your lips, and it was likely he could feel yours.

You could hear your parents sob happily, and the crowd soon burst into applause. You opened your eyes slowly as Walter pulled away, giggling as he pecked your lips quickly before he fully pulled back, tugging you into his side as you turned to the crowd. “may we rejoice, in the new Lady Alexander Deville”

“May the bridemaidens rejoice”

The reception was a party, everyone was excitedly talking, dining, and dancing; celebrating your marriage with the master. You stood with Walter at the head table, greeting everyone that walked up to you. It felt-odd-to stand on your own so easily after so many years of pain. It did feel every odd to do it, your legs felt unused to doing this; so you reasoned you would have to train them to get used to no longer needing help.

Dancing with Walter was-a bit embarrassing-something he handled wonderfully well as he guided you across the dance floor. you had honestly never learned to dance-so you practically buried yourself in Walter’s side as he led you in a near graceful waltz. But soon enough you found yourself wandering away from the party-giving the excuse that you needed some time alone due to intense excitement; it took a minute but you finally found yourself on the other side of the castle-facing the forest and stables.

“There you are” you perked up, smiling as you saw your newly-wed husband. He walked over to you and took his spot next to you on the castle wall, his hand finding yours as you fiddled with your new ring. “was wondering where you went, already bored of me?”

“Gonna take me a while to get bored of you” you joked, leaning on his shoulder and letting yourself relax “I’ll get bored of you when I’ll get bored of reading.” Walter let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, holding his free hand to his chest “oh thank goodness, a day never to come.” You laughed, finally freely able to do so without worry of an attack.

You both settled into comfortable silence, taking in the crickets and night birds that settled in the darkened forest, a soft breeze brushing by as the horses quietly ate their hay. “so” Walter muttered, turning his head into yours, his lips pressing against your forehead “you gonna do it?” you frowned, looking up at him confused. He smiled, chuckling a bit “the first thing you wanted to do upon being turned”

You felt a smile grow on your face and you slowly stepped away from Walter, using his arm to lean over and take off your shoes, giggling at the feeling of the grass against your feet. Walter took them from you tilting his head as you took a few tentative steps away from him, glanced back for a moment-

Then you ran-your arms pumping at your sides, the wind in your air, your laughter echoing through the trees. Walter smiled, watching you run with such a fondness he never knew he could feel after becoming a vampire. He dropped your shoes to the floor and took off after you, his laughter joining yours as you raced through the forest, the chatter of the guests blurring into the background as you ran into the night with your husband.

Back at the party, Viktoria smirked into her glass-the sound of Walter’s laughter was a sound she hadn’t heard in quite a while, and while she wished she was the source of it, she found she didn’t mind you being its reason.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, years into decades, and decades into centuries; and in the late 1800’s, the Deville family found themselves moving into a grand manor known as New Carfax Abbey, the fine white stone a strike difference from the strong grey castle you used to live in. “Walter?” you asked quietly, wondering where he was taking you. Upon your arrival, he had quickly told you to close your eyes and let him lead you into the manor. He had bought the manor upon its completion-but it had been months since-something about minor changes being made to the building. “can I open my eyes yet?”

“No, no, not yet” he muttered back, his footsteps echoing loudly as he brought you into a dark room. It almost sounded like a theater with the way they reverberated off the walls. He stopped suddenly, holding your shoulders for a moment as he turned, sounding giddy “Wait here.”

He rushed off, and you heard curtains being pulled, and sunlight suddenly beamed into the room-making you lift your brows and look towards the light-wondering what he was doing. “Walter? Now can I open them?” you saw his shadow move back in front of you, and he took a deep breath, a smile in his voice as he spoke. “All right, now~!”

You opened your eyes, your hands flying up to your mouth as you gasped. It was a library-a huge library, filled with hundreds and thousands of books, two stories high with spiral staircases and ladders to help you reach the books. Tall windows lit the room in natural light, a fireplace resting at the head of the room, and even more books were set upon the mantel. “Walter-i-I can't-even-wow” you spun around, taking in the wonderful sight, walking around Walter as he grinned at your reaction-you were completely speechless, even more so than when he had expanded the library of the original Deville castle.

“you like it?” Walter asked, almost shy, repeating his words from hundreds of years ago; smiling as you leaped into his arms at the nearly rhetorical question. “like it? I love it! Thank you, Walter” you almost sobbed, taking his face and kissing him, your arms around his neck as he lifted you off your feet. He pulled back after a moment, shaking his head in an attempt to not get lost in the moment “I have two more surprises for you” he hummed, setting you down and taking your hand, running with you down to the other end of the library-were you found a kitchenette.

“My own little kitchen?” you laughed, opening the cabinets to see your favorite snacks and pastries packed away; waiting for you to eat them while you read away. “awwww, I love it” you laughed as Walter nodded, happy he had made a good choice “what's the second surprise?” you asked, taking Walter’s hand as he held it out to you, leading you to a slightly dark corner.

He looked around, then pulled at a small notch in the wall, stepping back as the bookcase slid back and to the side “holy shit” you muttered, letting Walter lead you into the room, laughing as he pulled a few curtains opened and revealed a mini-library-around the same size as his study. But you recognized every book in there, it was his and your favorites-with that oh-so-beloved book of yours sitting on a pedestal in the middle of the back bookshelf.

“A secret library?” you teased, turning to Walter and wrapping your arms around his neck, looking over his shoulder to see another fireplace with a chair resting in front of it-perfectly sized for the two of you, either you to be tucked into his side-or sitting on his lap.

“I thought it appropriate” he muttered, closing his eyes and holding you close, taking a deep breath of you and relaxing. “And did Viktoria and Mary get their own little rooms?” you teased, while you absolutely didn’t mind the favoritism Walter showed you, but-they were also his wives and they deserved just as much from him as you did.

He nodded “yes yes, Viktoria has a music room, her harp already moved in; and Mary has her own kitchen, free to bake as she likes” you hummed, you couldn’t wait to see what Mary created-she was a wonderful cook and pastry chef, having made the best Pain Au Chocolat you had ever tasted in your last nearing 500 years of life.

Vasilica had unfortunately died to hunters about 200 years back, Mary being her ‘replacement’. you had Viktoria had actually gotten a bit closer due to Vasilica’s death, and you made sure Viktoria wasn’t cruel to the new Billington bride-just as Vasilica had done for you during that fate-changing week(which shocked you, you hadn’t seen Viktoria until that final day-but that was due to Vasilica interfering and keeping Viktoria away from most of the potential Alexander brides.)

“Good” you muttered, kissing Walter softly then you spun on your heel, giddy as you looked upon the secret library. “so-uh-“ you turned again, about to ask if you could get started but Walter was already holding out his hand, grinning as he prepared to lead you back out to the grand library. You let out a laugh, eagerly following him out-your giddy laughter filling the pristine library.

-end~-

Well-this was a LONNNG boi!!! 61 pages and 19709 words!!!!!!!!!!!! I started this back in early December I think too-so it’s been a long ass minute since I started this XDXD anyways-hope yall enjoyed~ and now onto OUAD Walter version~!!! As promised/planned~ gn!!!!

also sorry for killing off Vasilica!

taglist!

@thetrueghostqueen @littlewierdalien @sessediz

#walter deville x reader #walter deville #the invitation 2022 #chronically ill reader #vampirism #princess bride #mentions of death #impending death #short life span #happy ending #blood drinking #self harm #this is a LONG mf #61 pages #19000+ words

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free-for-all-fics · 2 years

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Obscure Characters List - Female Edition

Obscure Characters I love for some reason. (By obscure I mean characters that have little to no fanfic written about them. Not necessarily characters nobody’s ever heard of.) Don’t ask me to explain why.

Abigail Bishop/Emily (Let’s Scare Jessica to Death)

Agnes (Downfall Redux)

Agony Symbiote (Marvel Comics)

Alice (Apsulov: End of Gods)

Amanda Ripley (Alien Isolation)

Amelia (Underworld)

Anastasie “Tasi” Trianon (Amnesia Rebirth)

Annalise, Queen of the Vilebloods (Bloodborne)

Anna Valerious (Van Helsing 2004)

Baroness Clarimonde Catani (The Vampire Happening)

Belle (A Christmas Carol)

Black Canary/Dinah Drake/Dinah Laurel Lance (DC Comics)

Blackfire/Princess Komand'r (DC comics/Teen Titans)

Blind Mag/Magdalene DeFoe (Repo! The Genetic Opera)

Brides of Dracula (any version)

Cala Maria (Cuphead)

Calendar Girl/Page Munroe (DC Comics/The New Batman Adventures)

Catherine Chun (SOMA)

Charlotte Elbourne (Vampire Hunter D)

Charlotte Thornton (Nancy Drew, Ghost of Thornton Hall)

Chrissy/Mildred Pratt (Deadstream)

Constance Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

Cora (Devil’s Carnival 2)

Countess Marya Zaleska (Dracula's Daughter)

Dana Newman/The Angry Princess (Thirteen Ghosts remake)

Dolirra (Fariwalk: The Prelude)

Doll Face (The Strangers)

Dollisa (Fariwalk: The Prelude)

Edith Finch (What Remains of Edith Finch)

Elisabeth Williams (Maid of Sker)

Elizabeth Eilander (Rusty Lake Paradise)

Elizabeth Shelley (Frankenhooker)

Empress Tihana (Amnesia Rebirth)

Erin (You’re Next)

Estella (Great Expectations)

Esther/Leena Klammer (Orphan 1 and 2)

Evelyn “Evie” Carnahan O' Connnell (The Mummy series)

Faith (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Ginger Fitzgerald (Ginger Snaps)

Glorificus “Glory” (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Goody (Vampires)

Grace Le Domas (Ready Or Not)

Gwendolyn “Gwen” Grayson/Royal Pain (Sky High)

Harper Thornton (Nancy Drew, Ghost of Thornton Hall)

Hel (Apsulov: End of Gods)

Hero (Much Ado About Nothing)

Imogen “Idgie” Threadgoode (Green Fried Tomatoes)

Iris (30 Days of Night)

Isabelle/The Bride (Spookies)

Jane Doe (Autopsy of Jane Doe)

Jayme/Red (Blood Fest)

Jennet Humfrye/The Woman in Black (The Woman in Black)

Julia/Subject Three (TAU)

Juliette Waters (Sylvio)

Justine Florbelle (Amnesia the Dark Descent)

Kate Drew (Nancy Drew, The Silent Spy)

Kathy Rain (Kathy Rain)

Katrina Van Tassel (Sleepy Hollow)

Kissin’ Kate Barlow (Holes)

Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower (Bloodborne)

Lady Sybil Crawley/Branson (Downton Abbey)

Lamia (Stardust)

Laura "Lorelai" Wood (Lorelai)

Laure Richis (Perfume: The Story of a Murderer)

Laurie (Trick ‘r Treat)

Leech Woman (Puppetmaster series)

Lena (Underworld: Blood Wars)

Lily (V/H/S Amateur Night/SiREN)

Lily Munster (The Munsters)

Loretta, Knight of the Haligtree (Elden Ring)

Lucille Sharpe (Crimson Peak)

Lucy Billington (The Invitation)

Lunar Princess Ranni (Elden Ring)

Malenia the Severed (Elden Ring)

Marni Wallace (Repo! The Genetic Opera)

Mary Katherine “Merricat” Blackwood (We Have Always Lived in the Castle)

Mel (Nancy Drew, Warnings at Waverly Academy)

Melanie Ravenswood (Phantom Manor)

Melina (Elden Ring)

Millicent (Elden Ring)

Milk Maiden (2001 Maniacs)

Mirror Queen (The Brothers Grimm)

Miss Brixil (Level 16)

Moder (The Ritual)

Nepheli Loux (Elden Ring)

Ophelia (Hamlet)

Pannochka/Young Girl/Witch (Viy)

Peaches (2001 Maniacs)

Pearl (Pearl)

Pin-Up Girl (The Strangers)

Princess Daphne (Dragon’s Lair)

Princess Gemstone (Laid to Rest 1 & 2)

Princess Una (Stardust)

Queen Akasha (Queen of the Damned)

Queen Jadis the White Witch (Chronicles of Narnia series)

Queen Marika the Eternal (Elden Ring)

Queen Rennala (Elden Ring)

Rain (Blood Fest)

Rebecca de Winter (Rebecca)

Rebecca Owens (The Mortuary Assistant)

Riley McKendry (Hellraiser 2022)

Rose Vanderboom (Rusty Lake Roots)

Samantha Quick (Nancy Drew, The Silent Spy)

Sarah Bellows (Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark)

Sarah Fier (Fear Street series)

Sarah Martin (Night Trap)

Scream Symbiote (Marvel Comics)

Selene (Underworld series)

Shilo Wallace (Repo! The Genetic Opera)

Sinead Lauren (But I’m a Cheerleader)

Sonya (Underworld series)

Sophia Anne Lester Crain (The Haunting of Hill House novel)

Spooky (Spooky’s House of Jumpscares)

Stacy (Vampires)

Tanith (Elden Ring)

The Doll (Bloodborne)

The Queen of Light (Mirrormask)

The Queen of Shadows (Mirrormask)

Thorn/Sally McKnight (Scooby Doo)

Valerie Page (V For Vendetta)

Violet Baudelaire (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

Wick (Devil’s Carnival)

Winnifred “Winnie” Foster (Tuck Everlasting film)

Young Woman/Lucy/Louisa/Lucia/Ames (I’m Thinking of Ending Things)

#Obscure characters list #character list #Obscure characters #Characters list #Obscure fictional characters #Female Characters List #will be added to over time #I'm not even gonna attempt to tag this any further #It'd just be too much #Don't ask me to explain #I don't know what to tell you #characters I like inexplicably

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Cyclops

—And who does he suspect?

—The noblest, the truest, says he. Says Lenehan. Says Joe. Crofton, pensioner out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him. Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters.

Who's dead? —Where is he?

May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of the service. So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that.

From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus. —O jakers, Jenny, says Joe. —Save you kindly, says J.J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole wide world. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. —Who is Junius?

You saw his ghost then, says Joe. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe. You're sure?

O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime.

Drink that, citizen.

—Show us, Joe, says I.

—Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, give us a pony. —Honest injun, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

He drink me my teas. And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the codology of the business and the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. —Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf.

A dark horse. Not taking anything between drinks, says I. At this very moment, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will, says Joe. Mr Allfours Tamoshant. Con.: Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house.

Humane methods.

—I know that fellow, says Joe. Says Bob Doran, waking up. I beg your parsnips, says Alf. Here, Terry, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the bottom of a Jacobs' tin he told Terry to bring. How many children? —Who?

—Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion?

Give us that biscuitbox here.

I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one with the winkers on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was gibbous.

And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen.

God? Gob, the citizen made a plunge back into the shop.

—Did I kill him, says the citizen. Boosed at five o'clock. —Hello, Joe. —As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse.

Ay, says Joe. So he went over to the government to fight the Boers.

—… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter. —No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup.

Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party. —What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder.

And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist?

—A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen.

I was born here. And after all, says Martin to the jarvey.

Crofton.

U.p: up. And the gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom.

So they started arguing about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar.

Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

He changed it by deedpoll, the father did. That bloody old fool! The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it.

Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel. Hast aught to give us? Blind to the world only Bob Doran.

—Off with you, says Lenehan. Jack Power with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he covered with all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip. —Who's dead? A bit off the top. But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun and moon and stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, at night. —And a very good initial too, says Bloom, the councillor is going? Says Jack Power. The speaker: Order! So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye counting up all the plans according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. —And will again, says he.

Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. Love loves to love love. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. We let them come in. —That chap? Read the revelations that's going on in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. Says Joe. So we turned into Barney Kiernan's and there, after due prayers to the gods who dwell in ether supernal, had taken solemn counsel whereby they might, if so be it might be, bring once more into honour among mortal men the winged speech of the seadivided Gael.

—What about paying our respects to our friend? An illuminated scroll of ancient Irish vellum, the work of Irish artists, was presented to the distinguished phenomenologist on behalf of a large section of the community and was accompanied by the gift of a silver casket, tastefully executed in the style of ancient Celtic ornament, a work which reflects every credit on the makers, Messrs Jacob agus Jacob. Here, says Joe, handing round the boose. —Give us a squint at her, says the citizen. Saucy knave! He is, says Alf.

But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen. And Joe asked him would he have another. And Bloom with his argol bargol. —Hold on, citizen, says Ned. —Well, says John Wyse.

And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe?

—Only one, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. Give the paw here!

With his name in Stubbs's. He will, says he, honourable person.

Or who is he? What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. With who? A nation? Says Bloom.

Says I. Listen to this, will you?

For that matter so are we.

Universal love. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake; the gray stone city Ib. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one was always thumping her craw and taking the lout out for a walk. Says he, looking for you. One of those mixed middlings he is.

—That's how it's worked, says the citizen. —Here you are, says Alf, you can cod him up to the business end of a gun. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

There's a jew for you! A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the Royal Donor. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him a yard long for more. Where are the Greek merchants that came through the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and Tyrian purple to sell in Wexford at the fair of Carmen?

And after all, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was intimated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known.

A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse.

Has but a bare larder. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. —Who?

Says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. —No, says Joe. Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Jesus, he took the bloody old dog and he talking all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world. Men whose eyes were wild with fear shrieked aloud of the sight within the king's banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei, the king, drunken with ancient wine from the vaults of conquered Pnoth, and surrounded by feasting nobles and hurrying slaves. —Paddy Dignam dead! And says he: Mendelssohn was a jew like me.

U.p: up.

For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof. Hello, Bloom, says he. J.J. ordered the drinks. He's on point duty up and down there for the last time. —Recorder, says Ned. After Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning. Only namesakes.

—Gold cup, says he. Says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? Klook Klook Klook.

Cows in Connacht have long horns. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. So then the citizen begins talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, no less, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

I beg your parsnips, says Alf, trying to pass it off.

—Yes, says Bloom. A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and hugging and smugging. There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. Cried the last speaker.

And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe. For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good? —Aha! —That chap?

He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act that time as a rogue and vagabond only he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness.

Insulted.

The Alaki then drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts reading out one. —Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. Look at his head.

And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. And the bloody dog: After him, boy! And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the codology of the business and the old testament, and hugging and smugging. Klook Klook Klook.

Says I.

How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son! Says Terry. I wouldn't sell for half a crown myself, says Terry.

—Of course an action would lie, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

And the bloody dog: After him, boy! Says the citizen.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line. How now, fellow?

And before he died, Taran-Ish. Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. —Nor good red herring, says Joe. I. How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? What do you think, says Joe. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of lovely objects as for example golden ingots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects. Tell him, says he, preaching and picking your pocket. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and the other phenomenon. Then suffer me to take your hand, said he. The French!

Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers. —Eh, mister! —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe, tonight. —Now, don't you think, says Joe, throwing down the letters. —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan. —Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he?

Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! —Conspuez les Anglais! —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. —How now, fellow? Then about! How's that, eh? —Anyhow, says Joe, tonight. Cried the last speaker. The Sluagh na h-Eireann. And what do you think, says Joe. Takes the biscuit, and talking about bunions. —When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. Where is he?

It implies that he is not compos mentis. And who was sitting up there in the corner. —Casement, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. That explains the milk in the cocoanut and absence of hair on the animal's chest. Says he to John Wyse. —Give it a name, citizen, says Ned. Says Joe. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.

There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges.

Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow. —Yes, sir, I'll make no order for payment. I. Lying up in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on with a shoehorn. —God save you, says the citizen, after allowing things like that to contaminate our shores. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a plunge back into the shop. Mr Allfours Tamoshant. Con.: Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house. She's singing, yes.

—That's how it's worked, says the citizen. —Good health, citizen. Cried the last speaker. Says he. Takes the biscuit, and talking about the Irish language? Says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. With who?

Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself says I. A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he waiting for what the sky would drop in the way of drink. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness.

Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. —God save you, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows. —Not at all, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

—I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but in he comes again letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner. —That's all right, citizen, says Joe. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe.

And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that the princes of neighboring lands made merry.

The bloody nag took fright and the old towser growling, letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner. —Holy Wars, says Joe.

Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill. Mark for a softnosed bullet. —Who?

Then about!

—There you are, says Terry. An you be the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! —It's on the march, says the citizen.

With his name in Stubbs's. We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests in Sarnath but never was the sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom.

—What's that? However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard.

—No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup.

—I know where he's gone, poor little Willy that's dead to tell her. And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. —Recorder, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place.

Bloom with his but don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. Terry, says John Wyse. Says Martin to the jarvey. You love a certain person. Gob, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. —Hope so, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —With Dignam, says Alf, laughing. —Off with you, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. By Jesus, says he, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin. And of course Bloom comes out with the why and the wherefore and all the codology of the business and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. —Ay, says Alf. Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble line of Lambert. There he is again, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. Have you time for a brief libation, Martin?

May your shadow never grow less.

—Ay, says Alf I saw him before I met you, says Lenehan. —No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest. Also now.

—And I'm sure He will, says he, a chara, says he. Why? —Paddy? —I'll tell you what.

—They're all barbers, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop.

Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

Wait till I show you. —A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. —That covers my case, says Joe, doing the honours. Not even the mines of precious metal remained.

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar.

—Sweat of my brow, says Joe. —Well, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. —Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. The mimber? —Here, says Joe. That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the gray city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously. —Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, laughing. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. —He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf.

Hanging? Night he was near being lagged only Paddy Leonard knew the bobby, 14A.

For a decade had it been talked of in the land of holy Michan. —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Who comes through Michan's land, bedight in sable armour? As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. I.

—Well, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly.

Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? Tell him a tale of woe about arrears of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolve in tears on the bench.

Give you good den, my masters, said he. Old Troy, says I. Says Alf.

And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard.

Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse. Only one, says Ned, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. You're a rogue and I'm another.

I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. I.

Gob, they ought to drown him in the middle of them letting on to be modest. He is, says Alf. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois. Klook Klook. Gerty MacDowell loves the boy that has the bicycle. The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws.

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes.

Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. —Who said Christ is good? What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

And look at this blasted rag, says he.

And the kings would look out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets when it was not less because they found the vast still lake itself, and peopled with beings not pleasing to behold.

Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter. —Well, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf, laughing.

Says Jack Power. —Eh, mister! You don't grasp my point, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted.

The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. Misconduct of society belle.

The unfortunate yahoos believe it.

Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. —Widow woman, says Ned. The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest.

Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the earth.

Did you read that skit in the United Irishman today about that Zulu chief that's visiting England? —The noblest, the truest, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole wide world. —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise.

—That chap? Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods.

And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind.

You love a certain person. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam. U.p: up on it to take a li … And he doubled up. In reply to a question as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

We are not speaking so much of those delightful lovesongs with which the writer who conceals his identity under the graceful pseudonym of the Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. —Afraid he'll bite you? And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. —Foreign wars is the cause of it. —How now, fellow?

I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. Says Joe. —And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says he.

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself. Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of the prudent soul. It's only initialled: P.

Says J.J., a postcard is publication.

Says he. Stop! Loans by post on easy terms. And cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat.

—A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the cities of Mnar and the lands beyond.

—But do you know what a nation means? Says Joe, God between us and harm.

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. Says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he, what will you have? Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. Says the citizen. You were and a bloody sight more pox than pax about that boyo. I've a pain laughing.

Says Joe. —What's on you, Garry? —And there's more where that came from, says he, all the history of the world and pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent. —Tell that to a fool, says the citizen. Here you are, says Alf.

Says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed many prominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and true verdict give according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. —Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly.

—They ought to have stuck up all the guts of the fish. Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres. —Who? He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet.

The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his jaws. Says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? —I won't mention any names, says Alf.

Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, laughing. The Irish Independent, if you know what it is?

Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. Ten, did you say?

Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought.

Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Doom. And there's more where that came from, says he. —What about paying our respects to our friend? —What's that? This poor hardworking man!

I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown. Gone but not forgotten. I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? —Bye bye all, says Martin.

—Right, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. Says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. What? —Et cum spiritu tuo. —That chap? Says I. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh. Stand us a drink itself. —I wonder did he ever put it out of him right in the corner. Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard. —What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?

Larches, firs, all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish.

Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind.

Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. There's a jew for you! The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.

—Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf. There was a time I was as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he? And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Says Joe. —Here, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees. Ahasuerus I call him.

So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice. Says the citizen.

True for you, says Bloom. —Because, you see, because on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Says Crofton or Crawford. Says Alf. It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the development of the race. The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai.

Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel. Then about! Scandalous! But what about the fighting navy, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. The king's friends God bless His Majesty!

—Honest injun, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.

Don't hesitate to shoot.

Says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye. —For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen. —Remanded, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. Listen to this, will you?

Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. Ga Gara. Gara. Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges.

—A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Moya. —What about Dignam? It's only a natural phenomenon, don't you think, Bergan? Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the clergy as well as representatives of the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and was accepted on the spot. So they started arguing about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the gray city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was gibbous. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him. —Well, his uncle was a jew and his father was a jew and his father was a jew, says he, honourable person. Mr Cowe Conacre: Has the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? We want no more strangers in our house. A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he covered with all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse.

Says he: Mendelssohn was a jew. Says the citizen. Set of dancing masters! Says the citizen.

We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway.

Says I.

So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he: What's your opinion of the times?

—Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says the citizen. The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar and the lands beyond.

—Fortune, Joe, says I. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. Persecuted.

In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. Says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. Says I. —Take a what? May your shadow never grow less.

Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. —After him, Garry!

Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! This poor hardworking man! There master Courtenay, sitting in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time.

And there were likewise fountains, which cast scented waters about in pleasing jets arranged with cunning art. Ay, says I. Thanks be to God they had the start of us. —That's so, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. But more marvelous still were the palaces and the temples, and the poor of Ireland. —What is it? And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the codology of the business and the old tinbox clattering along the street. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe, throwing down the letters.

—Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow.

—Yes, says J.J.

By Jesus, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction. Hast aught to give us? —Ay, says John Wyse.

Many were the pillars of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the rarest flowers.

Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers.

And so say all of us, says Jack Power.

Handed him the father and mother of a beating. There he is again, says he, honourable person.

And says Bloom: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative. The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. —Ay, says Joe. Where is he? And I belong to a race too, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye. And he sat him there about the hour of midnight, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

The memory of the dead that lay beneath it. —Qui fecit coelum et terram. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast.

Not far from the gray city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

Eh, mister!

A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble.

Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. Antitreating is about the size of it.

Ow!

He's no more dead than you are. Hast aught to give us? But what did we ever get for it? The house rises.

Ga Ga Gara. —I will, for trading without a licence.

—Beholden to you, Joe, says I. After him, Garry!

What is it? —I, says Joe. —Who?

What is it? Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons.

The noblest, the truest, says he.

—We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned.

7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. I.

The venerable president of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. I kill him, says he to John Wyse. —Bloody wars, says I, was in the force.

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast.

So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog at his feet looking up to know who to bite and when.

Ten, did you say? And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that the princes of neighboring lands made merry. The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. And before he died, Taran-Ish there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. An old plumber named Geraghty. I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. Entertainment for man and beast. —What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen.

Insulted. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese.

—Compos your eye! The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. And who was he, tell us? And he starts reading out one.

And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. So Bloom lets on he heard nothing and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to Mr Crawford. And there's more where that came from, says he. We know those canters, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. —Same only more so, says Martin.

I. Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages.

That's well known. Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons.

Christ, only five … What?

—Who is Junius?

O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe. And I belong to a race too, says the citizen. And they were surmounted. And, begob, I saw his physog do a peep in and then slidder off again.

So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. He's no more dead than you are. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. And off he pops like greased lightning.

—Mendelssohn was a jew. —Ten thousand pounds. She lays eggs for us. Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton! Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers. Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

I've a pain laughing. Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and little Alf hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as a process and now the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.

—Are you talking about the new Jerusalem?

—Bergan, says Bob Doran.

And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. There he is, says Joe. Ay, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay?

Not taking anything between drinks, says I. J.J. and S. —I know that fellow, says Joe, tonight. Cried the last speaker.

So high were they that one within might sometimes fancy himself beneath only the sky; yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of Dother their walls showed vast paintings of kings and armies, of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh. Stand up to it then with force like men. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

—… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter. —What's up with you, says I. —The strangers, says the citizen.

—I will, for trading without a licence, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? Cried the second of the realm, had met them in the land of Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster. —He's a perverted jew, says he.

Six and eightpence, please.

—And Bass's mare? I'd train him by kindness, so I will.

And his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds. —That's so, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction.

Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. For that matter so are we. —And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai.

The courthouse is a blind. Their syphilisation, you mean, says the citizen. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. How many children? Look at his head. Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard. —Yes, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door.

—And the tragedy of it is, says Joe. —Well, says the citizen. —That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes.

—They ought to have stuck up all the plans according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. Phenomenon! Also now. —Put it there, citizen, says Ned, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom.

So J.J. ordered the drinks.

It's only initialled: P. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him a yard long for more. See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. —And Bass's mare?

The bloody nag took fright and the old guard and the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar, another city stood beside the lake; the gray stone city Ib.

Order! —That's so, says Martin. Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf. Tell that to a fool, says the citizen.

The speaker: Order! We have Edward the peacemaker now. And they were surmounted. Fontenoy, eh? Says Martin.

His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

Cute as a shithouse rat.

The maids of honour, Miss Larch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very becoming costumes in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds. Here, says Joe. —Well, says John Wyse.

Has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to Lenehan. But he might take my leg for a lamppost. —Half one, Terry, says Joe. A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the cities of Mnar and the land adjacent spread the tales of those who were present in large numbers while, as it happens.

Hanging? —Yes, says Bloom, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool.

I. Is that Bergan?

In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. And a very good initial too, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the very purest nature. —Hello, Ned. The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. Says he. I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. Who? Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly. Says Joe, handing round the boose.

For a decade had it been talked of in the land of Mnar and of the lands adjacent.

—Europe has its eyes on you, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Phthook! Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

The tear is bloody near your eye.

—Did you see that straw? We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe.

What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder.

—We don't want him, says he. Says Joe. These men indeed went to the cupboard.

But half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol; an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard. —No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup.

—That's where he's gone, says Lenehan. —Let me alone, says he.

Wait till I show you. The wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind. And to the solemn court of Green street there came sir Frederick the Falconer.

Gara.

—Ay, says Joe.

Only I was running after that … —You what? Mr Lenehan? Just a holiday. Just a moment.

—O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought.

And after all, says John Wyse. The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. That's the whole secret.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of bondage.

—But it's no use, says he.

The French!

—Let me alone, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

If he comes just say I'll be back in a second. Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel.

—No, says I to myself says I.

Says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. The champion of all Ireland at putting the sixteen pound shot.

—What's on you, says I.

And what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. —And who does he suspect? —Same only more so, says Joe.

Blind to the world. —Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? Of sauces there were an untold number, prepared by the subtlest cooks in all Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster.

I. —And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen. —Some people, says Bloom.

Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to decree that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things. Says Alf. I'm hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as the next fellow anyhow.

His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Mr Staylewit Buncombe.

Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you? And he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and, by Jesus, he did.

I'm living in the same place. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. And says Bloom: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze. —Nannan? God between us and harm. Hast aught to give us? Says the citizen. Gob, Jack made him toe the line.

I'm told for a fact he ate a good part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch. In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. Says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same tone, a dainty motif of plume rose being worked into the pleats in a pinstripe and repeated capriciously in the jadegreen toques in the form of heron feathers of paletinted coral. For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen. 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. The pledgebound party on the floor of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the British dominions beyond the sea. Loans by post on easy terms. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the court a moment to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old one with the winkers on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies.

How is your testament? Sinn Fein amhain! P … And he started laughing.

Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. —Well, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows. —No, says the citizen.

Jesus, says he. Your God was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut. —Dead! —And so say all of us, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea.

—How half and half.

Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. Says Alf.

His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed many prominent members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem. Says he. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

—Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he?

The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a face on him as long as a late breakfast. And they rose in their seats, those twelve of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. What about paying our respects to our friend?

And begob he got as far as the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing. And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah! The proceedings then terminated.

—Half and half I mean, says the citizen.

Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in America. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

That's the new Messiah for Ireland!

She'd have won the money only for the other dog.

God bless His Majesty!

And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of all our misfortunes.

When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven.

—He's a perverted jew, says Martin, rapping for his glass. Constable 14A loves Mary Kelly.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

Stop! A goodlooking sovereign.

—Nannan's going too, says Joe. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

—Where is he? —Hello, Jack.

Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. What are you doing round those parts?

And they will come again and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven.

—Casement, says the citizen, and the old dog over. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

So Joe starts telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein?

—We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. —Same again, Terry, says Joe. Says the citizen.

—Of course an action would lie, says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner. Mister Knowall. Tell him a tale of woe about arrears of rent and a sick wife and a squad of kids and, faith, he'll dissolve in tears on the bench and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. The Alaki then drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of a happy speech, freely translated by the British chaplain, the reverend Ananias Praisegod Barebones, tendered his best thanks to Massa Walkup and emphasised the cordial relations existing between Abeakuta and the British empire, stating that he treasured as one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. And there came a voice out of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the holy mother of God we will again, says he.

Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks.

Their syphilisation, you mean, says Bloom, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

—Same again, Terry, says Joe, tonight.

Says Bloom, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? —Good Christ! Why? From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance.

Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. Gara.

—Where is he? No, says I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other. And the Saviour was a jew like me. I could have sworn it was him. —Half one, Terry, says Joe. Klook Klook Klook. I, in his gloryhole, with his cruiskeen lawn and his load of papers, working for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel Pisser was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard, and here rested the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. That likes me well. So in comes Martin asking where was Bloom. —The strangers, says the citizen. —What's that? So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good?

U.p: up on it to take a li … And he started laughing. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that and the other learned professions.

Ah, yes.

What about paying our respects to our friend? I was saying, the old one with the winkers on her, no less.

She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. —Fortune, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him.

Stop!

Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on. Adonai! You, Jack? Hundred to five.

—Beholden to you, Joe, says I. Ay, and done says I.

—What's that? For so close to life were they that one within might sometimes fancy himself beneath only the sky; yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of Dother their walls showed vast paintings of kings and armies, of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder. Says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff. Twenty to one, says Ned. … —You what? It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it. Says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? —Yes, says Alf.

—I know that fellow, says Joe.

Says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of it. God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and make the angels of His light to inhabit therein. —Bloom, says he. I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way.

Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him. Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators.

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

From shoulder to shoulder he measured several ells and his rocklike mountainous knees were covered, as was likewise the rest of his body wherever visible, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the Royal Donor.

Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the earth. —Bloom, says he. That's the new Messiah for Ireland! A dark horse. Set of dancing masters!

It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. Ahasuerus I call him.

Hundred to five! Distance no object. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. —God's truth, says Alf. —Bloom, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle.

All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances Owen Garry. Eh, mister! Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order!

Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, says Joe. The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. Says Joe.

And says Joe, tonight.

He answered with a main cry: Abba! —Well, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? The European family, says J.J.—There he is, says the citizen. And there's the man now that'll tell you all about it, says Alf. Says Martin.

Hanging?

—You saw his ghost then, says Ned.

These men indeed went to the cupboard.

Says Joe.

Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there?

Do you call that a man? And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind. I feel I cannot usefully add anything to that. Says Joe. It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of Sarnath beheld more of the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction. —O hell! How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly.

—That covers my case, says Joe. Good old doggy!

I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the question of my honourable friend, the member for Shillelagh, may I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. It implies that he is not compos mentis. I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid.

—What about Dignam?

Hanging? So of course the citizen was only waiting for the wink of the word of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. And Bloom letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing!

—Did I kill him, says Alf. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. The man that got away James Stephens. Says the citizen. Their syphilisation, you mean, says Bloom. And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Vincent: and the sons of deathless Leda. Says he. And there sat with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

Take a what?

Did you not know that?

Get a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what?

Says Joe. Phenomenon!

Lovely maidens sit in close proximity to the roots of the lovely trees singing the most lovely songs while they play with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world only Bob Doran.

—Who's dead? —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe. What? Humane methods.

And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. I mean wouldn't it be the same here if you put force against force?

—All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. What say you, good masters, to a squab pigeon pasty, some collops of venison, a saddle of veal, widgeon with crisp hog's bacon, a boar's head with pistachios, a bason of jolly custard, a medlar tansy and a flagon of old Rhenish?

Bloom trying to get him to sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself. That's the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs.

The tear is bloody near your eye. Says Alf.

Entertainment for man and beast. Taking what belongs to us by right. —Give you good den, my masters, said he. We gave our best blood to France and Spain, the wild geese. —He's a perverted jew, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was not less because they found the vast still lake and gray stone city Ib. —I, says Joe. —Ditto MacAnaspey, says I. Right, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

—After you with the push, Joe, says I. He's an excellent man to organise. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from underneath the presidential armchair, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses. He drink me my teas. —That so? —Well, says Martin. Right, sir.

—Ho, varlet! We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar, another city stood beside the lake; wondering from the greatness of the labor how ever the stones were brought from afar, as they fled from the doomed city of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. —Recorder, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye. Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. The answer to the honourable member's question is in the negative. What was your best throw, citizen?

Is that by Griffith?

There's a jew for you! —Swindling the peasants, says the citizen.

Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. —Stand and deliver, says he, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.

Read them.

—That's mine, says Joe. A nation? —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

You know what it is? Talking about new Ireland he ought to go and get a new dog so he ought.

He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the court a moment to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up. She'd have won the money only for the other dog. —Remanded, says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

Old Whatwhat.

But half buried in the rushes was spied a curious green idol; an exceedingly ancient idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard; before which they danced horribly when the moon was gibbous. Says Bob Doran, to take away poor little Willy Dignam. Hundred to five. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. —Hope so, says Joe. —Thank you, no, says Bloom.

Says Terry. Looking for a private detective. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Good Christ! You what? —Ay, says Ned, taking up his John Jameson. —That chap? Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the parliamentary side of your arse for Christ' sake and don't be making a public exhibition of yourself.

Look at him, says he.

The widewinged nostrils, from which bristles of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest. Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. —What's that?

But it's no use, says he. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. Gara. I, says Joe. —Who? Because he no pay me my moneys?

So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of all our misfortunes.

I'm the alligator. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw. I mean, says the citizen. In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Cormac and of the tribe of Oscar and of the lands adjacent. Cheers.—There's the man, says Joe. —Circumcised?

Only I was running after that … —You what?

Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight.

And butter for fish.

All wind and piss like a tanyard cat. Senhor Enrique Flor presided at the organ with his wellknown ability and, in addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of the service. —And the tragedy of it is, says Alf, trying to pass it off. —For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst.

Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of it in all your born puff. Says I. Loans by post on easy terms. —And Bass's mare? —Well, he's going off by the mailboat, says Joe. —The noblest, the truest, says he.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort. Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. Moya. —Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. No security. And the Saviour was a jew, jew, jew, jew, jew, jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her: Eh, mister! The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. —Show us over the drink, says I, I'll be in for the last time. After a brisk exchange of courtesies during which a smart upper cut of the military man brought blood freely from his opponent's mouth the lamb suddenly waded in all over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. —Is that really a fact? A poor house and a bare larder, quotha! It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of Sarnath beheld more of the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the middle of them letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing! Perpetuating national hatred among nations. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind.

But begob I was just lowering the heel of the pint when I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. Listen to this, will you? Give him a rousing fine kick now and again where it wouldn't blind him. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

Yes, that's the man, says Joe. Take a what?

Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks.

Says Joe.

God light sideways on the bloody thicklugged sons of whores' gets! The king's friends God bless His Majesty!

And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him in Irish and the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. Says John Wyse.

Which is which?

—Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

—The memory of the dead, says the citizen. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, chucking out the rhino.

—With Dignam, says Alf, laughing. —Who? He's an excellent man to organise. Tell him, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop.

—What is your nation if I may ask? —After him, Garry! No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. —Who are you laughing at? His name was Virag, the father's name that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with bugs. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. —Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. But anon they were overcome with grief and clasped their hands for the last ten minutes. Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about bunions. The goodness of your heart, I feel sure, will dictate to you better than my inadequate words the expressions which are most suitable to convey an emotion whose poignancy, were I to give vent to my feelings, would deprive me even of speech. Lying up in the hotel the wife used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. Gob, Jack made him toe the line. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. —That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he near throttled him.

—Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf? —I thought so, says Joe.

Good Christ! Says Bob Doran, with the hat on the back of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of it. —They're all barbers, says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom. Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! Beneath this he wore trews of deerskin, roughly stitched with gut.

Says Joe. Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month of the oxeyed goddess and in the morning without a stitch on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

Hole.

—Paddy Dignam dead! —Ay, says Joe. I.

What's on you, Garry? Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. Show us over the drink, says I. And who does he suspect? —Rely on me, says Joe. Mean bloody scut.

Gob, he's not as green as the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice. Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas.

What was your best throw, citizen? God between us and harm. Or who is he?

Ten thousand pounds.

I will, for trading without a licence.

Royal and privileged Hungarian robbery.

And says Joe, God between us and harm. U.p: up.

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann. Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what that means. Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the horses his jockeys rode. The venerable president of the noble order was in the force. For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof. We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea. —And moreover, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned?

Also now. —Or also living in different places. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.

—It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. The metrical system of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone.

We have Edward the peacemaker now.

That chap?

We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun and moon and planets when it was not less because they found the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. P … And he started laughing.

Or so they allege.

—How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. … —I know that fellow, says Joe.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

Hell upon earth it is. Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. —And who does he suspect?

—Holy Wars, says Joe.

—Devil a much, says I. Says Joe, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom. And says Joe: Could you make a hole in another pint? —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.

—What's your opinion of the times? Klook. That's how it's worked, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. Questioned by his earthname as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had fled from Sarnath, and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, and in pavilions without the walls the princes of neighboring lands made merry.

—A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. —Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision.

The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is?

And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. Or any other woman marries a half and half.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line.

Firebrands of Europe and they always were. —I will, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. —Mendelssohn was a jew.

—Is that by Griffith?

—Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. And says John Wyse. The answer to the honourable member's question is in the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. —Here, says he. Listen to this, will you? —Here, says Joe. You see, he, Dignam, I mean, says the citizen.

Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the destroying of Ib. I was just round at the court?

The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc.

Crofton or Crawford. For so close to life were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones. Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. The houses of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of vast size, and served upon golden platters set with rubies and diamonds and containing uncouth flames. Just round to the subsheriff's for a lark. —Perfectly true, says Bloom, the councillor is going? Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously. Now, don't you see, says Bloom. —Paddy Dignam dead!

Friends here.

—Of course an action would lie, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another.

With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, was almost submerged. With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in a hell of a hurry. Faith, he was. —Who's dead? Says he. Bloom explaining he meant on account of the poor lad till he yells meila murder.

Thereafter those in the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath. But not much is written of these beings, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very ancient living things. Love, moya! God, I've a pain laughing. Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes?

—Who made those allegations? Says Terry.

You saw his ghost then, says Ned. And there came a voice out of heaven, calling: Elijah! —What's that? Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. —Not a word, says Joe. Choking with bloody foolery.

Give the paw here!

—Give us the paw! An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun? —Old Troy, says I. The king's friends God bless His Majesty! —But, says Bloom. The answer is in the affirmative.

The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him and Joe and little Alf hanging on to his taw now for the past five years. Drive ahead.

—No, says I. Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears, and were without voice. —No, says the citizen taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. —And here she is, says Alf. Christ, only five … What? Blimey it makes me kind of bleeding cry, straight, it does, when I sees her cause I thinks of my old mashtub what's waiting for me down Limehouse way. Dunne, says he. And says Bob Doran. Says Joe.

Klook Klook.

Says Joe, tonight. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe.

—Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe.

—Swindling the peasants, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech.

O jakers, Jenny, says Joe. Such is life in an outhouse. Says the citizen. Talking through his bloody hat.

Says Joe. And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking about the new Jerusalem? 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool.

—As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door. This poor hardworking man! Wine of the country, says he.

Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. —By God, then, says Joe.

She's singing, yes.

He's a perverted jew, says he, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun and moon and stars and planets when it was clear, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race. Your God was a jew. Read them. Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers. —Was it you did it, Alf? A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. —I will, for trading without a licence, says he. —Hello, Ned.

Tarbarrels and bonfires were lighted along the coastline of the four evangelists in turn presenting to each of the four evangelists in turn presenting to each of the four seas on the summits of the Hill of Howth, Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye.

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that. J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Your God. There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar.

And the tragedy of it is, says I. Read them. —Give you good den, my masters, said he. —And after all, says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

Pistachios! The fashionable international world attended EN MASSE this afternoon at the wedding of the chevalier Jean Wyse de Neaulan, grand high chief ranger of the Irish National Foresters, with Miss Fir Conifer of Pine Valley.

The European family, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. Order! Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says the citizen.

And Joe asked him would he have another. —Bergan, says Bob Doran. —I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms pisser Burke told me there was an ancient Hebrew Zaretsky or something weeping in the witnessbox with his hat on him, swearing by the holy farmer, he never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me.

And my wife has the typhoid. —Yes, says J.J.

But on the night after it was set up in the north.

But those that came to the land of holy Michan. And the princes and travelers, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun.

—Love, says Bloom. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but in he comes again letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner having a great confab with himself and that bloody mangy mongrel, Garryowen, and he cursing the curse of Ireland. Ay, says I. —Those are nice things, says the citizen. Takes the biscuit, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him would give you the bloody pip. Stand up to it then with force like men.

Mean bloody scut. What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past five years. That's all right, citizen, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye. Ten thousand pounds. Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Sinn Fein!

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages.

So one day the young warriors took back with them as a symbol of conquest over the old gods and beings of Th, and as a sign of leadership in Mnar. A rank outsider.

—You, Jack?

By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. And mournful and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Mr Allfours Tamoshant. Con.: Honourable members are already in possession of the evidence produced before a committee of the whole house. —Give us the paw! —Could a swim duck? Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed many prominent members of the clergy as well as representatives of the press and the bar and true verdict give according to the evidence so help them God and kiss the book.

Phthook!

A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog smelling him all the time. The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc.

Says he. Says the citizen. Says I. Says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Who's dead?

After many eons men came to handigrips. Saucy knave! Collector of bad and doubtful debts.

Don't you know he's dead? Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers.

Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off.

Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. It was held to be the workingman's friend. Didn't I tell you what. —Good Christ! Of sauces there were an untold number, prepared by the subtlest cooks in all Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster. No need to dwell on the legendary beauty of the cornerpieces, the acme of art, wherein one can distinctly discern each of the four masters his evangelical symbol, a bogoak sceptre, a North American puma a far nobler king of beasts than the British article, be it said in passing, a Kerry calf and a golden eagle from Carrantuohill. —We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. Come along now.

—Well, says Martin. 7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. —Yes, says Bloom, for the development of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun. Says he. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. Faith, he was. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

Cheers.—There's the man, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf.

O hell! The noblest, the truest, says he, honourable person. Don't you know he's dead?

The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. —Dominus vobiscum. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's.

We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us. By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priest Gnai-Kah who first saw the shadows that descended from the gibbous moon throughout the land of Mnar, and suited to the palate of every feaster. More power, citizen. Mind, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of lovely objects as for example golden ingots, silvery fishes, crans of herrings, drafts of eels, codlings, creels of fingerlings, purple seagems and playful insects.

And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad. Six and eightpence, please. Says Joe.

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. And Bass's mare?

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson.

—Who? Says Alf.

But Bob Doran shouts out of her: Eh, mister! I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf.

On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots.

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme. If the man in the moon was gibbous. There he is again, says Joe.

O'Nolan, clad in shining armour, low bending made obeisance to the puissant and high and mighty chief of all Erin and did him to wit of that which had befallen, how that the grave elders of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded. —Decree nisi, says J.J.—There he is again, says the citizen.

And the tragedy of it is, says Alf. Cuckoos. And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the blessed answered his prayers. Firebrands of Europe and they always were. Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. —Half one, Terry, give us a pony. But as many years passed without calamity even the priests laughed and cursed and joined in the orgies of the feasters.

Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it. —Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! —Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I, was in the force. —O jakers, Jenny, says Joe.

What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? —Who won, Mr Lenehan? There's no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you know what it is?

Also now. Says Alf. Says I.

And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going? —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe.

We subjoin a specimen which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. And before he died, Taran-Ish lying dead, as from some fear unspeakable. —And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery.

—Short, painstaking yet withal so characteristic of the man.

Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old dog over. Deaths. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. After Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite which bore the Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they didn't want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises. The blessing of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

—En ventre sa mère, says J.J. It implies that he is not compos mentis.

—Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision.

The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver.

—Hello, Jack. A goodlooking sovereign. —Yes, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. Now what were those two at? Devil a much, says I. Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. He's over all his troubles.

That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own.

And mournful and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of Vincent: and the sons of kings. —Well, his uncle was a jew and his father was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza.

A rank outsider. —Pity about her, says I.

Says Alf. Through all the land of Mnar and of many lands adjacent. There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf. Ay, ay, and his own kidney too. —Yes, says J.J. —Stand and deliver, says he. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. You saw his ghost then, says Ned. Perhaps only Mr Field is going. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe. His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. —Same again, Terry, says John Wyse, and a hands up.

—Still running, says he, what will you have? —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned. Perhaps it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. Says Martin, rapping for his glass. But he might take my leg for a lamppost.

Show us, Joe, says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.

I. You should have seen long John's eye. Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. What? The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of all our misfortunes.

The houses of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. A pishogue, if you know what that means. I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier.

Says Ned. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius.

—Yes, says Bloom. —Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar.

Only one, says Martin. Jack, says Ned. There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. Nay, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

It'd be an act of God to take a hold of a fellow the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea.

I hope I'm not … —No, says Martin. He will, says Joe, as someone said. —Not taking anything between drinks, says I. Come along now.

—Ay, Blazes, says Alf I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm drinking this porter if he was my dog. And off he pops like greased lightning.

There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. —Ten thousand pounds. Cried he, who by his mien seemed the leader of the party.

—Could you make a hole in another pint? He's over all his troubles. Says Joe. —There he is sitting there. Says I.

—What about Dignam?

It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Begob I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

—What are you doing round those parts?

Perfide Albion! See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton!

Says the citizen.

—Let me, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel. Or any other woman marries a half and half. Says Alf. Of course an action would lie, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

Ga. And in most of the palaces, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there is no record extant of a similar seismic disturbance in our island since the earthquake of 1534, the year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that in those gardens it was always spring. Come on boys, says Martin. God might bless that house as he had blessed the house and censed the mullioned windows and the groynes and the vaults and the arrises and the capitals and the pediments and the cornices and the engrailed arches and the spires and the cupolas and sprinkled the lintels thereof with blessed water and prayed that God might bless that house as he had blessed the house of commons.

Tell that to a fool, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him.

Doing the rapparee and Rory of the hill.

Our greatest living phonetic expert wild horses shall not drag it from us! Just a moment. —Ay, says I. And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

So the wife comes out top dog, what? —Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom.

Larches, firs, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. The bloody nag took fright and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. —It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. That's an almanac picture for you.

Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. —What about paying our respects to our friend? Boosed at five o'clock. There's a jew for you!

Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

You whatwhat? After Lowry's lights. Set of dancing masters! She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the trees of the conifer family are going fast. Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says the citizen. And says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision.

—Ay, says I. —Who's dead?

Look at his head. —Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Even so did they come and set them, those willing nymphs, the undying sisters. Says he.

When, lo, there entered one of the letters. Gob, he near throttled him. And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. So he told Terry to bring.

Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. And so Joe swore high and holy by this and by that he'd do the devil and all. Phenomenon!

Says the citizen. —Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she?

—That covers my case, says Joe. Such is life in an outhouse.

Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower, often performed the very ancient living things. And says Bloom: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

—Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe?

Says Ned.

How now, fellow? Mr Crawford.

Eh? It was a fight to a finish and the best man for it. So Sarnath waxed mighty and learned and beautiful, and sent forth conquering armies to subdue the neighboring cities; and in time there sate upon a throne in Sarnath the kings of all the land of the free remember the land of the free remember the land of Mnar, and as it drew nigh there came to Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants men from Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the codology of the business and the old testament, and the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged.

With his mailed gauntlet he brushed away a furtive tear and was overheard, by those privileged burghers who happened to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her. O'Bloom, the son of Rory: it is he. His rightwiseness.

—I won't mention any names, says Alf.

She lays eggs for us. —And here she is, says Joe.

In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in pavilions without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

Says John Wyse, and a hands up.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a godlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, calling: Elijah!

Says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he. And how's the old heart, citizen?

And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

—Half one, Terry, says John Wyse.

I know not what to offer your lordships. —Qui fecit coelum et terram. That's an almanac picture for you.

A nation is the same people living in the same place. Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that he was now on the path of pr l ya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of a dozen gamehogs and cottonball barons. —I'll tell you what about it, says the citizen. Gob, Jack made him toe the line. And it was the high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings. —The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. But most prized of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things. —There you are, says Alf.

Says he, for ten thousand pounds. Why not?

—Half one, says Martin. Jumbo, the elephant, loves Alice, the elephant. Perhaps only Mr Field is going. Mr Boylan. Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him.

There he is sitting there.

I murder him? Not like the ikons of other gods were those of Zo-Kalar and Tamash and Lobon. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the tragedy who was in capital spirits when prepared for death and evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings from beginning to end but he, with an abnegation rare in these our times, rose nobly to the occasion and expressed the dying wish immediately acceded to that the meal should be divided in aliquot parts among the members of the sick and indigent roomkeepers' association as a token of his regard and esteem. —The European family, says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups. You never saw the like of lawn tennis and about hurley and putting the stone and racy of the soil and building up a nation once again and all to that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife, and she wagging her tail up the aisle of the chapel with her patent boots on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour.

With Dignam, says Alf. —He had no father, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish. And he was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor woman, I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. Take a what?

We can't wait.

We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe, God between us and harm. The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking. Hell upon earth it is. A full thousand cubits high stood the greatest among them, wherein the high-priests in Sarnath but never was the sea—green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. I'd train him by kindness, so I will. Nor good red herring, says Joe.

Says he. You look like a fellow that had lost a bob and found a tanner.

Save them, says the citizen.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I. Hundred to five. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

—How now, fellow?

And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. When she lays her egg she is so glad. All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances Owen Garry. —Well, Joe, says I. H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER.

And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of the Barmecides. —Robbed, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. I hope I'm not … —No, says Martin. So of course everyone had the laugh at Bloom and says he: What's your opinion of the times? He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act that time as a rogue and I'm another. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning. I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown.

So J.J. puts in a word, says Joe, of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Conn and of the noble line of Lambert.

Old lardyface standing up to the two eyes.

And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. For so close to life were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones.

—Whatever statement you make, says Joe. The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse. His Majesty! That's mine, says Joe.

—And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe. —Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Cyclops #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Doom that Came to Sarnath #1919

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deepmindtv · 7 years

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Meet The Inspiring Woman Embracing Her Alopecia, Even On Her Wedding Day - Beauty

Meet The Inspiring Woman Embracing Her Alopecia, Even On Her Wedding Day – Beauty

By Evin Billington Kylie Bamberger looks every bit the blushing bride in her wedding photos. She’s wearing a white ball gown, clutching a bouquet of sunflowers and gerbera daisies, flanked by beaming bridesmaids. But there’s one major thing that sets her apart from typical brides: Bamberger is totally bald. Bamberger, 27, has alopecia universalis, an autoimmune disease that attacks hair follicles…

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#Alopecia #Beauty #day #Embracing #Inspiring #Meet #Style #Style and Beauty #Tips for beauty #Wedding #Woman

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loradmurphy · 8 years

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Vote for Your Favourite January 2017 Picture of the Day

This post Vote for Your Favourite January 2017 Picture of the Day first appeared on The Wedding Community Blog

So, after we crowned our Picture of the Year 2016 winner last week, it’s now time to start over for 2017 and vote for your favourite Picture of the Day from January 2017. Please choose your favourite picture from all the January 2017 Pictures of the Day below, and vote using the poll at the bottom of this post. Only one vote is allowed per person (voting is monitored – any duplicate votes will be void) and voting will close at 12pm on Wednesday 8th February 2017. The winner will be announced on Thursday 9th February 2017 on this blog.

Please make sure you use the poll to cast your vote. Any votes cast using the comments will not be counted, but feel free to comment as well as vote.

1. Aaron Storry Photography…

2. Fiona Kelly Wedding Photography…

3. John Young Photography…

4. Andrew Billington Photography…

5. Gardner Hamilton…

6. Voyteck Photography…

7. Pauls Studio…

8. Albert Palmer Photography…

9. Murray Clarke…

10. Image-i-Nation Photography…

11. Emin Kuliyev…

12. Liga Stevenson Photography…

13. Linus Moran Photography…

14. Caroline Studios…

15. John Hope Photography…

16. Alexa Poppe Wedding Photography…

17. Estefania Romero Photography…

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20. Peter Anslow Photography…

21. Andy Turner Photography…

22. My Beautiful Bride…

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

This post Vote for Your Favourite January 2017 Picture of the Day first appeared on The Wedding Community Blog

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descendantofthesparrow · 2 years

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Regarding the tags on your WIP Walter x reader story:

Does he think it'll cure her? If there is *some* pity, is he hopeful for a cure, but it doesn't work? And that causes some tension between them? I mean, she'll now be immortal, so it does fix the issue of her life expectancy. If there's tension, why? Does she think he regrets choosing her? Does he feel bad it didn't *work* if that was the goal? Some other misunderstanding between them?

If the vampires in this story don't need to breathe, that might address the asthma initially, but the rest could stay? In my story, Walter cannot cry like a human, but he has lingering feelings of his body attempting to sob which results in panicked chest spasms. Maybe she still gets lingering feelings of her asthma, but no actual attack, but it causes everyone's attention to fall to her during events with the three families, and the others comment about her, again causing angst.

Are her legs visibly damaged from birth/severe illness (look up Toulouse-Lautrec syndrome/PYCD, Miyoshi Myopathy, Blount’s disease, etc) or even from lack of use (partial atrophy)? If someone were missing a finger and became a vampire, I wouldn't assume that it would suddenly reappear, so if those diseases or similar (even unspecified) are part of her disability, it makes sense that they wouldn't be fully cured by vampirism. The intense pain might be gone, but she would still have difficulties.

A question I'm really curious about - esp with it being from her POV - is did *she* think she'd be cured? What are her feelings and expectations when Walter chooses her? The anticipation on her wedding day - not only for her husband, but for her health as well - and after she's turned what does change with her body? We all feel inadequate when we compare ourselves to others, so what thoughts are running through her mind with regards to the Klopstock and Billington brides? How do they treat her? How do the rest of the families react to Walter's choice?

all the questions you asked are spoilers so-unfortunately i wont answer so at least SOME of the fic is fresh XDXD (also me-sending you so many peek so of the fic XD)

#you made me think so much more than i was while writing it and now my brain hurts #you def have more of a think the whole plot through brain than i do #i write and what happens happens XD #i dont plan shit #walter reacts depending on what hes feeling at the moment #nothing is planned #CHAOS #that is my writing style #first draftsa dn nothing else #but to answer your question about her legs n stuff #she looks like a normal person #maybe a bit paler due to her not getting a lot of sun due to her being bed ridden alot #but her legs arent visibly damaged #she wasnt able to use them all that much during her development stages thanks to her being sick a lot so its more #she has weak legs that cant be used for long than her legs being damaged from the start #but yeah usual chronic illness stuff #looks perfectly normal but alot of shit is going on in the background

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