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nightwishesworld · 3 years

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Jealousy

It was a quiet day at the Dimitrescu Castle. The girls were unusually calm going about their business in and out of the basement, keeping their messes down there for the most part. None of the staff was being chased down the corridors in fear of their life and even better; there were no crashing sounds of decorative pieces being broken. Only silence. You and Alcina settled in the library for the afternoon. It started off nice with the two of you lost in your own novels, but it wasn’t long until the vampire grew bored and wanted cuddles. You were more than happy to oblige. It was one of those days that you’d call perfect. Alcina lounged on the couch with her head resting on your lap. Her eyes are closed and all she can focus on is your rhythmic breathing and the feeling of your fingers gently massaging her scalp. A perfect lazy afternoon. You almost thought she had fallen asleep until suddenly her eyes were open, glowing their beautiful gold. Alcina raised her head and sat upright, eyes glued her eyed to the main doors.

"Someone coming, Darling?" You ask in a low voice, reaching blindly behind you for the weapon concealed under the cushions.

She nods. "Sounds like a woman running out of breath. Perhaps a maiden managed to escape the basement." She leaned toward you like she was ready to shield you from whoever was making their way down the corridor. You could hear the footsteps now, they were coming closer and closer to you. Alcina was right, it was definitely a woman, the footsteps were much too delicate to be a man. Said vampiress was practically on top of you now, her arm supporting her weight on the opposite side of you, just in case you needed to be protected.

Whoever it is was just outside the door. You both braced yourselves as the door now twisted. Just as Alcina was about to pounce on the intruder, you both recognized her as one of the maids. False alarm. It was only Mihaela, a very dear friend of yours from the below village. You grew up together and considered yourselves sisters. When her father passed away Alcina welcomed the girl into the castle with open arms. The girls had been introduced to Mihaela on more than one occasion and knew not to harm her. You'd like to think they consider her more or less a friend.

"What are you doing here, dear," Alcina immediately relaxes back onto the couch. "It's your day off, is it not?"

The girl nodded, physically unable to get any words out.

"Good Lord, Mihaela, did you run all the way up the mountain?"

She nodded again. Alcina stood to fetch her a tall glass of water. Mihaela eagerly accepted. "Y/n!" she rasped. "You'll never guess who's in the village right now asking about you."

You share a sideways glance with Alcina, waiting for the girl to continue. Who could possibly be asking about me?

"E/n, your ex!"

If you were drinking something you would have choked. That was a name you hadn't thought about in years. To say you were not expecting that would be the understatement of the century. You don't know what to say. What can you say? What could they possibly want with you after all these years? Money? A place to stay? Work?

Sweet spawn of Satan Aclina would kill them.

She's still staring at Mihaela with an expressionless look on her face.

"What?" You hope you simply heard her wrong.

Mihaela nods vigorously. "I know! I couldn't believe it either. There I was, helping my little brother open up shop for the day and I see them walk by. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but the next thing I know they're inside the shop hugging me! I could barely get a word out I was so floored."

"I thought they left to tour Romania looking for their 'dream job?'"

"Didn't work out. I guess no one would keep her employment for long. They said they were too good for the jobs anyway, can you believe that?"

"Honestly? Yes. You remember how outlandish they were, guess they haven't changed too much."

Mihaela giggled. "It sure felt that way."

"So wait, how did my name get brought up?"

"They asked if you were still around- seemed pretty keen on seeing you again."

Alcina rolled her eyes. "Marvelous."

You take her gloved hand in yours and give it a reassuring squeeze. She eases up a little bit as you rub circles on top of her hand. "You said no, right?"

"Of course I did!"

"Then why do you look so nervous, Mihaela?" Alcina asked.

The girl stood like a statue, only moving to twiddle her thumbs. Silence fills the room as the matriarch waits patiently for the girl to speak. Her eyebrow arches as if she says "I'm waiting..."

Finally, Mihaela speaks. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in.</p>

"As I was leaving I heard them asking others of your whereabouts. It's only a matter of time before they find out the truth."</p>

"Well that's just fantastic then, isn't it? Now we can't even go down to our own village without risking an encounter."</p>

Mihaela gave a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, Lady Dimitrescu. They're not staying in our village, just passing through. I believe they said the village just east of us, on the other side of the forest."

Alcina hummed. "Best to stay away then, don't you agree, Love?"

You couldn't nod your head quick enough. "Of course. What do they want with me though? I haven't even thought about them in years."

Mihaela shrugged. "I guess they just wanna talk? Reconnect with all our old friends? I didn't ask; just said you weren't around anymore."

"Couldn't you have just told them I died or something? That would have solved everything! They wouldn't be going around using about me AND if they ask to visit my grave you just bring them to the coolest tree in the forest and say I'm buried under it. My body intertwined with its roots. You could've had so much fun with the dramatics!"

"Do you think they'd be stupid enough to come looking her y/n up here?" Alcina asks in an almost hopeful tone.

Mihaela rolls her eyes. "Well, I only came to warn you. You know how...persistent they can be. Now that I'm here, may I stay and pick up some work?"

"Of course you may, my dear. If it's the trek back down you want to avoid I can always call a carriage for you."

"That's very generous of you, my Lady, but really, I don't mind. I like to keep busy."

Alcina nodded, accepting the answer. "Very well, dear. My study could use another dusting once you've regained yourself."

As the doors close behind Mihaela, the matriarch relaxes and lies back down with her head on your lap."Well, that was interesting."

You immediately start running your fingers through her hair. "No kidding, What the hell do they want from me? I thought we agreed we'd never have to look at each other ever again, now they wanna talk?"

"I wouldn't know. You've never told me about this person."

"I was sparing you, trust me." Alcina still looked up at you, her eyes flurrying with emotion. "There isn't much to tell, Al. We were together a few years and couldn't make it work so we started hurting each other, sometimes just out of spite. Really, Al, it's nothing I ever felt compelled to bring up; especially to you." You can't hold back a giggle. "You know how jealous you can be."

"I do not get jealous."

"Al, not two weeks ago you almost slaughtered the village butcher cause you didn't like the way he looked at me."

She rolled her eyes. "That swine was looking you up and down like you were nothing more than a piece of meat."

A comfortable silence fills the library. You're both lost in your own worlds together. Alcina stares up blankly at you as you continue to read."It was a serious relationship then? If it lasted a few years then it must have been."

You try to hide behind your novel and Alcina tosses it to the ground. You can't look her in the eyes without blushing and feeling really uncomfortable. "It was-umm...we were...briefly engaged."

"What?!" Alcina bolts up from her spot. "You were engaged?!"

You nod curtly. "Briefly engaged, yes."

Alcina just stares at you, completely flabbergasted. "When were you planning on telling me that?"

You pulled a confused face. "Um never? Why would I ever bring that up? Under what pretense is that an ok thing to bring up?"

"I..." She sighs, "I don't know."

"I'm sorry, Alcina. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"I suppose it's not. You're here now and that's all that matters."

You crawl on her lap and give her a sweet kiss. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Later That Night

You were out on the balcony gazing up at the array of constellations, waiting for Alcina to join you when there was a knock at the bedroom doors. Strange, no one is around at this hour. From your vantage point, it sounded like one of the servants talking to Alcina. He handed her something through the crack of the open door before having the door slammed in his face. Alcina joined you out on the balcony and handed you a rather beaten-up-looking envelope. "This was left for you by the main gates. Can't imagine who it's from?"

"Fuck, already?"

Alcina hummed as she sipped her wine. "A letter from your ex-fiancee."

"Wanna read it together?"

Alcina shakes her head but it looks forced. "It's none of my business."

"I don't care Alcina, really. This is clearly bothering you and I want to know what's going on between them and me."

"Well, if you're sure then." She hands you a letter opener and curls up next to you. The action briefly reminds you of a puppy looking for attention.

You waste no time opening the envelope and pull out a short, sloppily written letter.

I hope this letter finds you well. Please, before you crumple this up and throw it away please just hear me out. I want to apologize for how I treated you when we were together. Obviously, we were both dealing with a lot back then because we were young and stupid, but I'd like to think I've changed a lot since then. Don't get me wrong, I still have my moments, I'm only human, But I really have changed. If you still hate me and never want to talk to me again I understand. I wanted to say I'm sorry and see if we could make an effort to at least stay friends. I'm not the wreckless teenager you used to know and I've always thought about reaching out to you.

These past years of backpacking have taught me a lot and helped me grow up. I had to learn how to fix my own problems and not lean on someone else's support. I had to learn how to live off the land and support myself through the good and bad times. I realize now that I wasn't able to take care of you because I was unable to properly take care of myself. I see that now. You were never far from my mind; I thought about you every day I was gone.

The blacksmith told me you're working at Dimitrescu Castle as a handmaiden? Never thought you of all people would ever accept that kind of job, but hey, I guess I'm not the only one that changed. I hear it's pretty tough up there...then again you're the toughest person I've ever met. If anyone can handle it it's you. How are they treating you up there? What's it like living in such a massive castle? You know me, I would probably lose my way and get lost haha.

I really hope you decide to write back, but no pressure. I understand everything we went through was...a lot to deal with and you want your space. Just in case you want to respond, I'll leave my address enclosed. A nice elderly couple is letting me stay with them in exchange for work. How sweet is that? It's mostly just labor chores around the house that need to be done so it's no big deal.

Best regards,

E/N

You share a look with Alcina who only scowls at the piece of paper. "I don't like the sound of this."

You shake your head, genuinely lost for words."I don't even know what to say, honestly."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know."

Alcina sighs and sits you on her lap, straddling her thick thighs. "I know you're going to say forget about them because of me," she silences you with a single finger to your lips. "But it's ok. I know you love me and only me. You're allowed to have friends outside the castle, my love, and I have no right to deny you. Even if this particular friend was your ex-fiancee; I trust you completely."

Your heart was melting in your chest. Even though it looks like it took all her strength to say those words you know she means it. 'Thank you, Alcina. I know you don't like this, but I would at least like to hear what they have to say. Our relationship wasn't a happy one at the end and, well, I don't know, I guess I just want some closure. But I promise every letter I get we will read together."

"Oh you don't have to do that, love, I trust you."

"I know and I appreciate that very much. But I want you to know exactly what's being said between the two of us, even if it's just to ease your mind about them."

Alcina smiles down at you and strokes your lips. "What have I done to deserve you?"

"Whatever it was, you definitely deserve me."

Three months and several letter exchanges later

“Why do we entertain this, again?”

You glanced up after opening the latest letter received. “Because, my love, all they’re looking for is a friend. It’s been a long time since they left the village and a lot has changed, the people included. Trust me, as soon as they make more friends down there they will get bored of me.”

Alcina only groaned in response as she laid herself down on the bed, rather dramatically, so her head was in your lap. “Doesn’t sound that way to me. Last week they said, and I quote, it means the world to me that we’re talking again. I can’t believe after all this time and everything we’ve been through you’re still willing to talk to me.” She sighed. “I’m still surprised myself.”

You lean down and kiss her lips chastely. She pulls you back onto her and bites your lower lip, causing you to gasp. She takes this opportunity to deepened the kiss, caressing your tongue with her own.

You only pull away when the need for oxygen is desperate. “You’re needy when you’re jealous.”

She scrunched her face in disgust. “I told you I am not jealous. There’s nothing to be jealous of. They are nothing.”

“It’s ok babe, I think it’s cute.” You kiss her sweetly. “Shows me how much you love me.”

A light blush powdered Alcina's cheeks. “Well, I do love you.”

“I love you too.”

She closes her eyes and focuses on the feeling of your fingers running through her hair. “So, what are they saying this time?”

“Nothing interesting. They’re still looking for work, I think they might still be holding out on us hiring them. Even though I made it very clear there’s no place for them here.”

“Absolutely not,” Alcina growled. “It’s bad enough I have to listen to you read these damned letters why would I want to hire them? Short-staffed or not that...person is not allowed in my home.”

“I know Darling, I made it very clear. You know that.”

“I know you did. You were sweet enough to let me read it.”

You chuckle as you continue reading. “I let you read all the letters, Alcina. You’re my partner and I love you. You have a right to know what’s going on.”

She moved to sit up and kissed the top of your head. “I appreciate that.”

She made her way over to the vanity and starts taking off her makeup. You paid her little attention as you continued glazing over the letter. This has become your weekly routine; open the letter, read it first by yourself, and then give it to Alcina to read over so she can make fun of the person for the rest of the night. You think it’s her way of letting all her jealous energy out. She knows you and this particular ex were extremely close. It was the deepest relationship you had been in previous to Alcina. But it was also the most toxic relationship you had ever been in.

Every week you got the letter you would assure her there was no reason to get jealous or upset as she does. Not that you minded the extra cuddles and kisses that came along with jealous-clingy Alcina. It was cute. The way she gets close and cuddly with you like an attention-starved kitten.

You were about halfway through the letter when you realized the handwriting changed ever so slightly. It appeared sloppier than the previous paragraphs, almost as if the writer’s hand was shaking as they wrote. Then as you continued down the page the reason became apparent.

“....what are the odds us giving our relationship a second chance? I’ve changed a lot over the years and now that I’m back...maybe things would be different? I never lost feelings for you. This has been on my mind for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to bring it up until today.”

Oh god....

You turn back to Alcina who thankfully hasn’t noticed your sudden nervous energy. You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your nerves, before continuing.

“My feelings never really went away, only transferred from person to person cause I wanted them to be you. But they weren’t and never can be. You have always been so special to me- you should know that by now. It’s nice having you here again. You were a major part of my life growing up. I wish I could change not having you around these past years cause you were my everything.”

You raise a hand to cover your mouth and bit down on one of your fingers.

As you look up to check on her your heart sinks as you’re met with her eyes burning into you through the reflection of the mirror. She knows something’s wrong. Of course, she knows- she always knows! It’s like she can smell your nervousness from across the room. She doesn’t break eye contact even when removing her lipstick.

You try your hardest to pretend she isn’t staring and continue on reading.

“If there’s a way to make your feelings for me come back you better believe I’ll find it. But I know I can’t force you to feel something you don’t anymore. It’s just always been so easy to connect with you. That’s why I want to try and rekindle our flame. You’re such a loving, generous, kind-hearted person to be around. I always admired you for that. To this day I’ve never been able to connect with someone as deeply as I did you.”

“For fuck sake...” you thought. “It can’t get any worse than this right? It can’t possibly get any worse.”

You don’t have to look up to know that Alcina’s stare has intensified. Her eyes are practically burning holes in the back of your head. You know the game she’s playing too...she’s gonna wait until she knows you’re finished reading and come over to read it for herself and let the rages of hell consume her. After all, you’ve seen how out of control her temper can become, this year alone she’s gone through three replicas of her vanity. And that was only because Mother Miranda called.

“....I’m glad to hear you’re in good health. Your health has always been something I worry tirelessly about, even when we weren’t on good terms.”

You sigh in relief. “Ok, that’s not so bad. I guess I can forgive that one. My health has always been up and down, even Alcina worries like a dog over me some days.”

“When I leave again maybe you can come with me? We always did talk about living in the country. We can have our own land for whatever animals you want and a barn to match.”

You actually yelp out of surprise. “Holy shit that’s worse...that’s so much worse. Alcina is going to be livid when she sees this.”

Your attempt to steady your breathing fails miserably. The most you can hope for now is to not make eye contact- then she sees how much of a nervous wreck you are. “Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look- FUCK!”

In an instant, Alcina’s up and making her way to stand behind you, won’t glass in hand. She’s already glaring down at the piece of paper like it personally cussed her out. “What did that lowlife say this time?”

“Alcina, I don’t think you should-“ it’s too late. She’s already snatched it out of your hands.

You start inching away as you watch her facial expressions morph from displeased to disgust, to seething as her eyes scan the bottom of the page. Her breathing is heavy, her nostrils are flaring, and her eyes glowing a bright gold as she recites the final paragraph out loud.

“I’m always going to be here for you from now on. I made the mistake of missing all those years with you. I ain’t missing no more.

Goodnight, MY LOVE?!”

You bring a hand up to hook around her arm. “Calm down, Alci.”

She doesn’t respond. Everything is quiet for what felt like hours when in reality it was only about a minute. You watched her eyes scan over the page over and over again until they fall back on you.

You have never really been scared of the vampiress, she never gave you a reason to be. But those eyes hold no mercy. You want to run away and cower somewhere she’ll never find you, the abandoned passages maybe, but fear has you frozen in place.

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, it’s one of those psychopathic smiles someone sees right before they die. She notices your cautiousness and is quick to retract her claws and thread her fingers through your hair. “If you’ll excuse me, darling. There’s some business I must attend to in the basement.”

“Alci-“

“I’ll be back later tonight, porumbel mic. Don’t wait up.”

Hours passed before you abandoned the idea of sleeping and decided to stroll around the castle. It was usually only done with Alcina when one of you had trouble falling asleep, but since she was still nowhere to be found you figured it couldn't hurt to try by yourself. Bloodcurdling screams from the basement were particularly loud tonight. The girls must have found themselves new toys to play with. No matter which part of the castle you were in you could hear the muffled cries of the damned. You wrote it off as Daniela and Cassandra being particularly intense. Eventually, you ran into Bela while in the west wing. She flashed you a broad smile.

"A little late for you, isn't it y/n?"

"Couldn't sleep. Your sisters are having a lot of fun tonight, huh?"

The eldest vampire sibling shot you a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

"All the screaming in the basement, that's them, right?"

She started laughing. "Oh no, y/n, that's all Mother's doing. She's pretty pissed about something; I haven't seen her this mad in decades! And from the looks of it, I bet you know why."

You rubbed the back of your neck and look around the corridor, really anywhere other than Bela's eyes. "Well..."

"Ooh! What is it? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything, not really. It's just, someone I used to be in a relationship with has been sending me letters and Alci thought it would be alright if I responded. Just to make sure they knew I was happy and safe and all that kind of stuff. Then after I'm done reading what they sent me I give the letter to your mother to let her read. So she knows there's nothing going on between the two of us, ya know?"

Bela nods, stars shining bright in her eyes. "OOh what did the letter say?"

"They um, confessed they still had feelings for me. And they were thinking about running away with me to the countryside."

Bela looked like she was going to explode from all this excitement. You knew she was only pretending to not know about all the other letters. Bela was the gossip seeker of the family. Nothing made the girl happier than to have something to blackmail you with, or anyone really. There was no escaping her wrath, not even Alcina could.

"Mother must have been seething!"

"Yeah," you felt rather guilty about it. "I guess she's taking her anger out on the basement dwellers."

Bela giggled. "Better them than us, right?"

"No question about it."

It's after three in the morning when Alcina finally crawls into bed next to you. She's already stripped herself naked and there's a thin layer of sweat covering her body. She wraps herself around your back and you try to be as still as possible, giving the illusion you're fast asleep. You should have known better. This is Alcina Dimitrescu we're talking about here. The woman can probably smell your anxiety from the other side of the castle.

"I told you not to wait up."

You sigh and roll over on your back. "I slept a few hours, then woke up and couldn't fall back. Even walking around the castle didn't help."

The vampire shifted her body so she was almost laying on top of you; her arm is draped over your middle, a leg nudging between yours, and she's nestling her face in the crook of your neck.

"Do you feel any better?"

Even in the low light of the moon, you can see her looking at you. "A little bit."

An uncomfortable silence filled the bedroom. Neither of you knew what to say if there was anything to be said. You decide to break the silence.

"I'm sorry, Alcina. You were right from the beginning. I shouldn't have engaged with them," your eyes widen at your own words. "Sorry, not the word I should have used."

She chuckles into your neck before giving your pulse point a kiss. "It's not your fault, porumbel mic. My anger is not directed at you."

"Still, I should have known this would happen. I'm not responding, of course."

She starts kissing and licking down your neck. "Good. Alcina Dimitrescu does not share her porumbel mic with anyone."

Soft quiet moans began escaping your mouth, which encouraged Alcina even more. You shared a brief moment of unspoken words before joining your mouths to one another. You move to straddle her and press your body into her with everything you've got. For the rest of the night, you proceed to remind Alcina just how much you love her.

A week later in the village

It was a quaint little village, full of blossoming flowers in the spring and cheerful wildlife wandering around the outskirts. The people of the village fended for each other all year round. It was a very tight-knit place to live. Chatter fills the air along with the tantalizing aromas from various shops as the people go about their daily routines. You and Bela had accompanied Alcina while running some errands. Nothing important, really, just picking up various perfumes and lotions the matriarch was running low on. Bela made herself comfortable sitting by the fountain in the village square, growing rather impatient and bored.

You were about to suggest going in the shop with Alcina to help move things along quicker until you heard it. That single sound made your heart stop beating and drop to the pit of your stomach.

"Y/n!" They called from a distance. You groaned when you saw their silhouette approaching, and nearly pulled your own hair out when you saw how happy they were to see you. Bela, however, looked very pleased with the change of atmosphere. "OOH y/n is that them? The one from the letters that wants to run away with you?"

You nod.

As they get closer Bela pretends to gag. "Ew, you were seriously going to marry that?"

You elbow her in the side, hoping they didn't hear that. "I was young ok. Please just go get your mother and tell her to hurry up."

The girl flashed you an evil smile. "With pleasure."

She got away just in time. They greeted you not with a handshake, or a playful punch to the shoulder, but with a bone-crushing hug that lasted a little too long to be comfortable. "How's it going y/n? Gosh, I never thought I would be lucky enough to run into you here!" They pulled away and looked you over a few times. You had the inclination to cover yourself even though you were completely clothed. "You look incredible."

"Thanks, it's uh, nice to see you too."

"So what are you doing here little miss handmaiden? Running some errands for your Lady or is it your day off or something? Do handmaidens even do stuff like that? I don't know. Anyways, if you aren't doing anything right now, you wanna grab something to eat?"

Fuck no

Before you could think of an excuse Bela was at your side again, smiling even more wickedly than before. "Mother is making her final purchase and then we're returning home. We best meet her at the carriage." Her eyes fixate on the person standing opposite of her like a wolf to its prey. "You must be e/n. I've read so much about you!"

You elbow her in the stomach. "Bela!"

Meanwhile, e/n had never looked so embarrassed. "Oh, so you let them read all our-"

The gods were smiling upon you today. Being saved from awkward conversations left and right.

"Come along, my darlings. Time to go home," Alcina calls behind you. Your heart starts racing in your chest, whether it was from anxiety or anticipation you had no idea. As soon as Alcina locked eyes with your ex her entire face shifted. She went from calm and happy Mother Alcina to cold-hearted Lady Dimitrescu almost instantaneously. Your ex was in awe of the tall woman before them. They heard rumors about the Lady of course but always believed them to be just that; rumors and wives' tales.

Bela ran to her mother's side. "Mother, look, it's e/n from the letters."

You pinched the bridge of your nose and could swear you feel a migraine coming on.

Alcina looked them over and nodded. Her expression was neutral, but you knew her eyes held no mercy. "So it seems."

Your ex bowed in respect to Lady Dimitrescu ad greeted her politely. It wasn't bad actually, too bad they're already on Alcina's blacklist. "It's an honor to meet you, Lady Dimitrescu."

She smiles, "I know it is, dear."

You lost composure for a split second and let out a snort. "Apologies, my lady, are you ready to return to the carriage?"

Alcina only waved you off. "Oh come now, my love, there's no need to be so formal. They're a friend, after all, are they not?"

Yup, definitely feel a migraine coming on. Though you had to admit, the look on their face was absolutely priceless. They rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly. "I'll just um...I'll see ya around, y/n."

Alcina wore the proudest smile you had ever seen as they walked off.

"You're ridiculous sometimes, you know that?"

The vampires only laughed in response. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Alcina opened the carriage door for you and Bela to enter first, ever the gentleman, and took a moment to survey the village around her. Only when her eyes met your ex's did she enter the carriage herself, pulling her girls close.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #tall vampire lady #lady Alcina #resident evil village #Lady Dimitrescu

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

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

A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

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A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

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A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

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

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

#eris vanserra #autumn court #morrigan #a court of silver flames #long post #kp analysis #lucien vanserra #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #lady of the autumn court #helion spell cleaver #acotar series #mtp

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pastthevaulteddoors · 4 years

Text

It’s not Wednesday... but I don’t care. Here’s a little bit of If-WWX-was-raised-by-the-Wens story.

“I still find it hard to believe that you stood up to your father like that.”

The Unclean Realm had nothing on Lotus Pier’s scenery or Cloud Recesses’ serenity, but it definitely gave Wei Wuxian a sense of security with its sturdy walls and many guards posted along the parapets. Although he felt that if he started flashing his unorthodox talismans those many blades would turn inwards on him.

Jin Zixuan shook his head, shame clear on his face. “It was the only decision I could make,” he began. “I couldn’t sit back and watch Qishan Wen tear apart our livelihood.”

Nie Mingjue sat at the head of the hall, his blade safely kept to his side. Wei Wuxian noticed how Meng Yao moved from his usual right hand post to stand at Sect Leader Nie’s left, closer to where his brother sat. Jiang Cheng’s fists were clenched tightly over his knees and Nie Huaisang looked among his friends with wide, worried eyes.

“Thus far, the Wens have been unable to establish their supervisory offices within Qinghe’s territory. We can spare a few troops to assist you in Langya,” Nie Mingjue stated.

“That would make a world of difference,” Jin Zixuan said. “Qin Changye is wavering on his jurisdiction and continues to cower under my father’s influence. Laoling Qin Sect might not stand for much longer, if they haven’t already fled to Carp Tower.”

Sect Leader Nie slammed his fist on top of his table, rage clear in his brown eyes. “Lanling Jin Sect is sitting, waiting to see who wins before they pick a side. Are they going to sit in their tower and watch the rest of us burn?!”

Jin Zixuan frowned. “Qin Changye’s daughter, Qin Su, was a helpful voice on pushing the sect to fight, but her cultivation is low and has already gone into hiding with her mother. Assuming they join in with Lanling Jin Sect, we might have a voice among the populace.”

“This is ridiculous!” Jiang Cheng scowled. “The Wens are slaughtering our people and raising them again for their corpse army. They’re not even sacrificing their people to devour our freedom, but using bodies as puppets and shields.”

Wei Wuxian looked down at his full tea cup. It was difficult to get him down, but he couldn’t escape his hand in this disaster. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he said eventually. “It was… they were supposed to overwhelm the sects into submission, not murder everyone.”

“You’re young and not a war strategist. It’s not at all surprising for you to be deceived by human nature’s darker side,” Meng Yao said diplomatically.

“What you can do now is use your skills to undo the mess your talents created,” Nie Mingjue followed up to Meng Yao’s comment, although he did not sound as soothing as his Vice Envoy.

“Don’t blame this all on him,” Jiang Cheng said. “Qishan Wen would have attacked regardless. Wen Qing warned us of a pending plot.”

Wei Wuxian had to admire Jiang Cheng’s bravery to talk back to Sect Leader Nie and not back down to the glower directed his way. He certainly didn’t get his balls for his dad!

“What’s done is done,” Jin Zixuan injected. “What we need to do now is figure out how to disable Wen Rouhan’s power.”

“The Unclean Realm is not out of hot water yet,” Wei Wuxian said. “Do you know about the Yin Irons?”

A flash of confusion crossed Nie Mingjue’s eyes. “No.”

“I’m not surprised,” Wei Wuxian went on. “Each major sect has housed a Yin Iron for several centuries and the information was forcefully buried to hide them. It provides a subtle pulse of protection and growth of cultivation, which is why the five have been able to remain firmly stable for as long as they have.”

Nei MingJue frowned at him but did not interrupt. Wei Wuxian stood then, and stretched with his new spotlight. “Do you really think your warriors are strong from blade cultivation alone? No, of course not!”

“Wei Wuxian, do not insult our practices!”

“Not insulting, but I’m coming around to a point!” Wei Wuxian began to pace. “The Yin Irons used to be one, and so Wen Rouhan has been gathering them to bend resentful energy of core-hosted corpses. They’re stronger than resentful corpses, if you haven’t noticed.”

He suddenly turned and held up a hand. “He already has two. His own from Qishan and,” he lowered his fingers as he counted them off. “The Yunmeng’s Iron is likely in his possession now. I had a moment of it’s control, but…” he lowered his counting hand and gave a short look to Jiang Cheng.

“Then where are the other?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“One is here, somewhere,” Wei Wuxian waved a hand wide. “And one is in Lanling, likely controlled by the Jin Sect. But with how close Sect Leader Wen and Sect Leader Jin are, I doubt I is a buried secret and being used as a negotiation tool.”

“I have not heard of any Yin Iron in Lanling,” Jin Zixuan stated.

“You weren’t supposed to. No one really was,” Wei Wuxian scratched his cheek with in index finger, looking to play this off as a poor joke. “I may have found it through my research, then confirmed such things at Cloud Recesses.”

Nei Mingjue didn’t look pleased. Who would with new information? “And what would you have us do about it? We’re fighting a war. We don’t have time to play detective and puzzle this out.”

“That’s… ah, kind of important to the puzzle of winning,” Wei Wuxian stopped pacing. “I don’t know the details, but I know the gathering of the Yin Iron will result in a weapon. No one will be safe.”

“What weapon? What does it do? What defenses can we put into place.”

“That’s… just it. I… don’t know,” Wie Wuxian winced at Nie Mingjue’s terrifying expression.

“Then what use are your assumptions?” Sect Leader Nie’s voice boomed through the hall and felt like a hard punch to the stomach. “We can’t rely on these magic artifacts that we don’t even know if they exist. What we need to do,” Nie Mingjue slammed his fist once more against the table and a cracking sound could be heard. Baxia shivered with murderous glee in her stand. “Is start pushing them back and raze all the Wens until they are nothing but a bad memory.”

“If I just had a little time to research—”

“We don’t have time!” Nie Mingjue hollered, and somewhere in the ringing of his voice, Nie Huasang pleaded with, “Brother.”

“Wei Wuxian, he’s right,” Jiang Cheng spoke up finally. His chest was out, feeling the comradery to agree with a sect leader in his father’s place. “We have to act now. Every day they kill and raise our cultivators while losing none of their own if only through their resurrection. We need to focus on the fight.”

“But if we could find the Iron we could disable his ability,” Wei Wuxian began.

Nie Mingjue looked ready to bellow yet again and another of Nie Huasang’s pleas were lost when the chamber door shyly pushed open.

“We’re in the middle of a meeting!” Sect Leader Nie finally did bellow, making the courier shiver in fright.

“A- apologies, Sect Leader, but there’s urgent news.” The courier didn’t dare enter further than the threshold. Luckily, Meng Yao sprang into action and swept through the hall to accept the poor bowing man’s missive. “Thank you,” he said softly and dismissed him.

When Meng Yao turned he held two scroll with a darkened expression. “It’s from First Young Master Lan,” he said the name formally before he rushed back to the dais. A collected intake of breath came from the room of young men. No one had heard from Lan Xichen in months. It was a horrible oversight to not look in on one’s allies, but they never called out for help, nor did they stand down. All anyone knew was that the Wens burned the mountain and was followed by an eerie, frightening silence.

Nie Mingjue unrolled one of the scrolls given to him by his Vice Envoy, the second, Meng Yao unrolled himself. The two read in silence for a few minutes with matching stoic and pained expressions, then slowly resolve.

Meng Yao couldn’t seem to shake himself from the words, but when Nie Mingjue set the missive down, appearing grave. “Xichen is the now Sect Leader Lan after the death of his father,” he informed the group. Wei Wuxian didn’t realize he was wavering on his feet until a hand reached out and pulled him down by the wrist. Nie Huasang shuffled so they could share a cushion.

“And the others?” Jin Zuxian barked.

“When the Wens attacked, the surviving Lan Sect was forced into hiding in the back mountains. Some magically protected barrier is there,” Meng Yao spoke when Nie Mingjue did not continue. There was a catch in his voice as he tried hard to reign in his emotions. “But they were smoked out this past month.”

“And Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but interrupt, his nerves on edge for news of the man he.. he…

“Taken by the Wens as compensation for the delay of handing over their Yin Iron,” Meng Yao said tightly. “Which is also now in their possession. Cloud Recesses, or what remains, has been forcefully turned into Gusu’s first cultivation office.”

Jiang Cheng cussed under his breath, and Jin Zuxian smacked a fist onto his low table. Wei Wuxian felt dizzy, and if Nie Huasang had not put his hands on him he surely would have fallen over.

Wei Wuxian never felt so guilty for what he had aimed the Wen Sect to do until this very moment. Once, he was giddy with the thought of inviting Lan Wangji to his Sect, to show off the patchy hills where he and Wen Ning went hunting, or showed him all his projects and experiments in his workshop. Surely he would have been able to impress the peerless Lan Wangji with his intelligence and cunning, but not like this. Not as a prisoner.

Suddenly filled with adrenaline, Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet, throwing off his friend, and bowed very low. “Sect Leader Nie,” he began in an impassioned rush. “Let me return to Qinghe. Sect Leader Wen might not know of my defection, he might not know what I did at Lotus Pier. Please, let me try to get the Irons out of his grip and rescue Lan Zhan.”

“Out of the question,” Nei Mingjue’s answer was swift as a butcher’s knife. “You can’t go gallivanting across the countryside to rescue your schoolyard crush when we need you here to paint your arrays.”

Jin Zuxian was next on his feet, bowing as well. “With all due respect, he is our friend and we should not abandon him.”

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jaing Cheng was up next, bowing for permission. “We need strong forces, and Lan Wangji is as strong as they get.”

Nie Huasang was next to his feet. “Brother, I—”

“Not another word!” Nie Mingjue slammed his fist onto the table. It finally cracked down the middle but did not break entirely. “Listen to yourself! You are heirs to your sects. We have people to protect. Your responsibilities lie with them. One man will never rise above the strength of your sects.

“In an hour we’ll begin a new campaign. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zuxian, I expect you to be there was heads of your sects while your fathers are unable to represent them. Wei Wuxian,” he pointed an angry finger at the boy. “Resume working on your arrays.”

“Brother—”

“Huasang, make sure the Jins are hosted properly,” Nie Mingjue stood suddenly, concluding the end of their discussion. “No more talk of a rescue mission.”

#the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #work in progress wednesday #only it's not wednesday #Bored At Work

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galadrieljones · 4 years

Text

As You Were (Chapter 5)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in, what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, and who have recently endured a terrible tragedy on their family farm. Amidst their joint desire to find hope for the future, the two groups decide set out west together, changing the course of the story (as we know it), and the very course of their lives.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second game. Joel lives.

Chapter 5: Living Room Jam Session

"There are a million ways we should have died before today, and a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight, for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes, or two days, we don't give that up. I don't wanna give that up."

That night, Cici went out to the circuit breaker next to the shed, and she switched on the electric fence. It worked after all.

“It’ll use up a lot of fuel,” she said to Joel. “But we can’t risk it.”

The farm was peaceful. Almost like nothing had ever happened. A couple cows had escaped, earlier that day. Joel had offered to help wrangle them, but Noah said don’t bother. “We can’t feed them anyway." He shrugged. He slaughtered a cow in the early evening. He showed Joel how to clean and butcher the meat, and how to salt and cure it for longer term use. They had steaks for dinner that night, prepared this time with a few potatoes, seasoned with dill from the garden, which was picked almost clean.

Joel was beginning to gather that their time on that farm was coming to a rapid conclusion. They couldn’t stay there, not much longer. If there were spores in the tributaries, that meant they could get into the water table, too. Cici and Noah knew this. They had been making four hour drives to the Fox River in Fon du Lac for several months now, bringing back water sourced from Green Bay. They said this was how they were able to trade for their fuel for the generators, from the Amish on the other side of the hill—making long drives to clean water. Even with the rain, they could no longer water their crops or sustain their livestock, and the Infected were becoming more of a threat every day. They had a lot of reserves, but it was only a matter of time before they ran out of food, or worse. Like Cici had said, him and Ellie showing up like they had, it was almost happenstance.

“I can get you your fuel tomorrow,” said Cici. They were still outside, leaning against a tree, looking at the circuit breaker. “You made good on your bargain. Thank you, Joel.”

Joel had got a big old cut on his forehead from the events down at the trench. She had patched it up for him with alcohol and gauze. Hadn’t made a fuss, just did it. “Cici, I know we ain’t known each other that long, but I ain’t leaving you and Noah here to deal with this all by yourselves.”

“You don’t owe us anything.”

“I know that,” said Joel. “And trust me, I been wrestling with it myself. But it don’t change anything.”

Cici straightened up off the tree and looked around. Her hair was down now, kind of tangly and windswept. Noah and Ellie were inside the house. “Noah said he told you about LaCrosse.”

Joel looked down at the grass as if to count the moonlit blades. “He didn’t go into a lot of detail,” he said. “But yes, he gave me the gist. Said your husband, he died in a fire. I’m sorry, Cici. I truly am.”

She just shrugged her shoulders. “We never got to find out, what’s been going on,” she said, blinking back tears. “We couldn’t stay, after it happened, and then we couldn’t go back.”

“Noah wants me to come with him,” said Joel. “Back. To LaCrosse. He asked me after dinner.”

“There’s no point,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do. Even if you find the source of the problem, the farm is too far gone to save.”

“I think it’s more about closure,” said Joel. “He didn’t say as much, but I get it. I told him I’d go. I hope I ain’t crossing any lines in doing so.”

She closed her eyes.

“Me and him are gonna head up tomorrow,” he went on. “I figure, the sooner the better. Shouldn’t take more than a couple days. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come with us, or if you'd be okay staying here, with Ellie. I don’t want to take her, because she’s just a kid, and she’s been through enough, and I don’t know what the hell we’re getting into up there, but I won’t leave her here alone.”

“It’s okay,” said Cici. She didn’t even try to argue. “I’ll stay. I don’t—I can’t go back there anyway.”

“Do y’all have anywhere to go?” said Joel. “I mean, aside from this farm? Noah mentioned family down in Moline. The I-80 runs right through there. I don’t know what we’ll find, but we could take you.”

Cici shook her head slowly, staring at the earth. “My sister-in-law was trying to get back there like six months ago. She said she’d come back for us, if it was all clear, but we never heard from her again.”

“I heard about some turf wars going on in the Quad Cities,” said Joel. “Just warning you. It was the kind of place too small for a QZ, but it was too big and too isolated to try and save. The military all but abandoned it. Now that was years ago. Things could have changed. Either way, it’s right on the Mississippi, so if your little problem extends into Illinois and Iowa, it probably ain’t gonna be pretty. But we can try.”

She took a deep breath, and she opened and closed her fists a couple times. She had little bones. She was small, but she wasn’t a weakling. “I wanna think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go inside,” she said, pulling herself together. She had this way of tucking her hair behind her ears. It was like hitting a reset button or something. Truth be told, he was a little confounded by Cici. Not in a bad way. He just found it very hard to predict her, despite her seeming steadfastness, as a woman. “Ellie and Noah are into the vinyls," she went on. "Who knows what they’ve got playing in there.”

“You guys got a ton of records,” said Joel as they headed back to the porch in the moonlit grass. “What is it with that? You just collectors or something?”

“My husband was,” she said. “William. He used to say that if the apocalypse ever came, at least we’d still be able to listen to music.”

“Well, he was right,” said Joel.

The seemed to comfort her. He saw her almost smile, out the corner of his eye.

“What’s this band called again?” said Ellie. She was sitting on her knees on the floor, in the middle of a big old pile of records. Noah was on the floor nearby, sifting through the pile one-by-one. It had been a long time since he’d really taken inventory, since before his dad died.

He picked up the vinyl, examined it front and back. “The Wallflowers.”

“The Wallflowers?” said Ellie. “Weird name, but I like it.”

“Do you know what a wallflower is?”

“Uh,” said Ellie, “like a flower that…grows out of the wall?”

Noah was amused. “It’s a metaphor. It’s like, somebody who stands on the sidelines. They don’t really get in on the action.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Ellie.

“The singer for this band is Bob Dylan’s son.”

“Neat,” said Ellie. “Who’s Bob Dylan again?”

Noah started going through a stack on his left, where he kept the sixties stuff. “This guy,” he said.

“Ah,” said Ellie. “The Blowing in the Wind guy. Very cool.”

“Did you guys ever listen to music in the QZ?”

“Yeah,” said Ellie, “but we didn’t have records. And everything I wanted, I had to steal or trade for with my ration cards. It was like, music or food sometimes. I had a walkman though, so I would just listen to tapes.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No,” said Ellie. “It broke like a thousand miles ago.”

“Bummer,” said Noah.

“Pretty much.”

They listened to the song. It was called “Josephine.” I know you’ve been sad. I know I’ve been bad. But if you’d let me, I’d make you ribbons from a paper bag.

“What do you think this song is about?” said Ellie.

Noah thought about it, looking up at the ceiling. “I think it’s like, the end of a relationship,” he said. “The guy messed up, but he doesn’t feel like he’s good enough for Josephine anyway. He’s apologizing, and he knows he can’t get her back, but he still loves her. That’s what I get from it, but it sounds dumb as hell when I say it out loud.”

Ellie examined the sleeve. It was just a whole bunch of yellow stars on a black background. “It’s not dumb,” she said. “It’s just really sad. Why doesn’t he think he’s good enough?”

“I don’t know,” said Noah. “Why does anyone think anything?”

Ellie thought this was kind of funny. “Good point.”

“Let’s try this one,” said Noah.

He took the Wallflowers record off the platter, put a new record on.

“What’s this?” said Ellie. “Lightning Bolt. Pearl Jam? I think I’ve actually heard of these guys.”

“This one’s got a story behind it. You want to hear?”

Ellie straightened right up. “Hell yeah.”

“Okay,” said Noah, looking down at the sleeve. It was like this big, red eye, full of white lightning bolt decals. “So apparently like, this album was supposed to be released a few weeks after the day the outbreak officially hit in 2013. It got pushed back like everything else, and then the stores all closed and it just like, never happened. My dad had really been looking forward to it, so like six weeks after shit went dark, him and some guys went to a Best Buy up in Madison and looted all these unreleased vinyls from the warehouse.”

“Holy shit,” said Ellie. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“I know. He said he had to get by military guys and everything.”

“Dude, your dad was a total badass,” said Ellie. “You should be proud.”

At first Noah got quiet. Ellie hadn’t thought anything of it. She’d never had a dad, or a mom, or anyone to be proud of like that. She just thought it was so unbelievably rad that he had a story like this to tell other people, about his dad. Eventually, Noah smiled. She smiled along with him. He said, “There’s one song on here I like a lot.”

“Play it,” she said. “As long as it’s not about people breaking up. Because that shit sucks.”

“It’s not,” said Noah.

He set down the needle, and together, they listened.

The song was slow and beautiful, thought Ellie, but it grew. Piano—crisp and clean and rushing as the river—gave way to a man’s voice and the guitar, big as a boat. She sat without talking. She tucked her hands in her lap and looked down at her wrists. She closed her eyes and tried hard to let the music overwhelm her. It was hard for Ellie to let things overwhelm her. She wore heavy armor. She would make a joke. She would roll her eyes.

But this was different than the other song, thought Ellie. It was sad, maybe sentimental, but it was a good kind of sentimental. All the missing crooked hearts, they may die, but in us they live on. I believe. I believe 'cause I can see. Our future days. Days of you and me. It was strong, and it seemed to be about trying. Like, trying to be better, through the eyes of someone else. Loving, and being loved, even when it’s hard. You have to try. It put her back in time, almost to another universe, but she hammered it away. She liked this song much better than the last song. She wished to live inside the music.

When it ended, she looked at Noah, who was looking at the ceiling again, leaning back on his hands and listening, with intent. The song had filled the house with a purifying energy and brought it down, made it simple. The bad things that had happened that day, they were clean.

“That one was awesome,” said Ellie.

“Are you okay?” said Noah. He seemed like he was half-joking, but sort of earnest. It was enough joking to make her smile, but not too earnest to freak her out.

“Oh,” said Ellie, looking down at her shoe laces. “I’m fine. I just—these songs sort of remind me of someone I once knew. In another life I guess.”

Noah waited what seemed like a long time before he spoke again. He was mulling it over, with his elbows now resting on his knees. Then he said, “I get that.”

They played the song again. Then, they couldn’t take it anymore. They took it off and put on some emo shit by a band called Coldplay. It was kind of terrible, they agreed, but they listened anyway, as it was like a dream.

A little while later, Joel and Cici came back inside. Joel held the door for her and once they were in the living room, raised his eyebrows and made fun of the Coldplay.

“You guys okay in here?” he said. “Sounds like you made a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Oh, we’re great, Joel,” said Ellie. “You guys are seriously missing out on our jam session.”

“Ha,” said Cici.

Joel stretched and got real big, and then he leaned against the kitchen table. He seemed kind of faded, thought Ellie. He had that cut on his eye. He seemed very tired. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I think I’m ready to head up. You wanna come Ellie, or you fixing to stay awake a while longer?”

Ellie got up and wiped her hands on her jeans. They’d gotten kind of dusty from handling all the vinyls. “I’ll come up,” she said. “I’m pretty wiped.”

“I’ll have breakfast ready early,” said Cici.

“Sounds fine,” said Joel.

“See you guys in the morning,” said Noah. He glanced up at Ellie then, as if thankful for something.

When they got upstairs, Ellie went to look in the mirror on the bureau and she took down her ponytail. Her hair felt like a rat’s nest. She started to brush it out, aggressively.

“Where’d you get that hair brush?” said Joel, taking his shoes off.

“Cici let me borrow it,” she said.

“Right,” said Joel. He put his face in his hands then, scrubbed them down his cheeks. “Ellie—"

She stopped mid-brush, turned around. “Noah told me about LaCrosse,” she said. “I wanna come.”

Joel took a deep breath, as this had caught him by surprise. “Ellie, no.”

“Well what the fuck?” she said. She set down the brush on the bureau, hard. “Why the hell not?”

He just took to staring at her. She wasn’t actually that mad, he thought, she just seemed genuine in her confusion. “Because,” he said. “I got no idea what we’re walking into up there.”

“Oh, but you did in Pittsburgh, when you drove us straight into a fucking trap?”

“That is beside the point.”

“How, Joel?” said Ellie. “Noah is only four years older than me. I can hold my own.”

“Those are four critical years, Ellie,” said Joel. He was trying not to raise his voice. “And honestly, it don’t matter whether you can hold your own, because this thing going on in, it ain’t about you. It ain’t about me neither. You understand? It’s about Noah atoning with his dad’s death. He needs help, and he asked me, and I am providing that for him.”

“I can help,” said Ellie.

“I know you two get along,” said Joel. “But you're helping most by staying put.”

“What about Cici? She doesn’t wanna go?”

Joel waved her off, started rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “No,” he said. “Cici’s made her peace. Or what’s left of it.”

��She doesn’t seem…at peace.”

“I didn’t say she was at peace. I just said she’s made her peace.” Ellie seemed to understand this, and now, he could tell she was just scared, of being left behind. “Look, Ellie,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t come. That’s the end of this conversation. But we’ll only be gone a couple nights. You got Cici with you. She might seem quiet, but I think she's pretty hardcore, and you two got the electric fence. Me and Noah, we’ll be okay.”

“I know,” said Ellie, like she was defending herself. She had flipped open her switch blade, was studying the tip. “I know.”

“We good then?” said Joel.

She hesitated, but then she closed up the knife and flopped back onto the bed. “Fine,” she said.

He was relieved.

“But then you better fucking bring something back for me.”

This surprised him. He gave her a look. “Bring something back?” he said. “Like a souvenir?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A souvenir.”

“A souvenir from LaCrosse?”

“You heard me.”

Joel tugged the covers back, was getting ready to crawl beneath. The day had become a heavy weight, all of it resting right on his eye lids. He was glad it was all okay. “All right,” he said, yawning. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Good,” she said.

“Now get some goddam sleep.”

“Ay ay, cap’n.”

A few minutes went by. Joel was about ready to get under the covers for good when Ellie said, “I gotta pee.”

He looked at her. “Now?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Just—just be quick.”

“You think I wanna take my time peeing in that thing? Outhouses are like the one bad thing about this place. Other than the whole, contaminated-water part, I guess.”

Joel took a breath, told her he would leave his lamp on. “Just hurry, and turn the lamp down when you get back.”

“I will,” she said.

Ellie went pee in the outhouse and did her best not to make any sounds. When she got out, she didn't feel tired, so she went over and stood by the river like a detour. She did not plan on staying long. She just looked at it, right down into it, and then it blinked back at her like the little bitch it was, bubbling deceptively in the moonlight. She suddenly hated that something so innocent could also be so deadly, and so fucking sad. The night was cooling down but it was still humid. She switched open her knife and wiped the sweat from her forehead on the back of her hand. She switched her knife closed again, then open again. She tried thinking about anything else, but that stupid Pearl Jam song had awakened something inside her.

“I haven’t seen you in…in I don’t know how long,” she said.

"Forty-five days?” said Riley. She was nervous. “Well, forty-six. Technically. Wanna know what I’ve been up to?”

The rain outside was like a drum. Ellie didn’t care. “All this time,” she said. “I thought you were dead.”

Riley felt everything, but just like everybody else in the whole wide world, she couldn’t show it. “Yeah,” she said. And she took off the dog tag. “Here. Look.”

“God fucking dammit,” said Ellie. She was on her knees now, overcome by something, and she stabbed the knife into the river bank. “Stupid fucking bullshit. Fuck you.” She stabbed it again, and then she felt like a complete dumbass, put it away. She thought about crying but she stared back at the river instead. “Go away,” she said.

“Ellie?” said someone. It was Cici, she was calling out to her from the porch. It must have been too long. “Ellie, you okay?”

“Shit,” said Ellie. "I'm okay." She got up, frantic, and her knees were all wet from the river bank. “I'm okay. I'm coming."

"Just checking," said Cici.

When she got back up to their room, Joel was under the covers. The lamp was dim. He lie very still, on his side, facing the wall, and she stood watching him for a second to see if he'd roll over and scold her or something. But he seemed like he was sleeping, and she was relieved. She didn't know why she cared, but she did. So she turned down the lamp right away and tried to be as quiet as she could so as not to disturb him. She took off her shoes and set them down silently, one by one. Then she took her jeans off, too, hung them over the bedpost to dry. She only had the one pair. She got under the covers and pulled them up to her chin, trying to sink into the mattress, forcing her brain to shut the fuck up. Please. For once, just shut the fuck up. But then,

“'Night, Ellie,” said Joel. He had not moved, by the dim light of the moon coming through the window.

She was near on startled. His voice was really deep and it always filled the room no matter how quiet. “Oh, shit,” she said. “Sorry, Joel."

"That's okay," he said.

"‘Night, Joel.”

Days of you and me.

***

On the record player: “Josephine” by The Wallflowers, “Future Days” by Pearl Jam, “The Scientist” by Coldplay

#the last of us #tlou #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #joel tlou #ellie tlou #as you were #cw: animal death mention

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sixish · 4 years

Text

I was rereading The Paleblood Hunt by Redgrave because the first time I read it I didn’t have much knowledge of the old hunters DLC, but anyway this is just going to be about Lady Maria because I’m gay. @percysonjack @airayart Line your brains with eyes with me.

First, apologies for formatting and if the cut doesn’t work and people have to power scroll past this- I’m on mobile.

I’m going to try my best to summarize first because I assume most people are normal and don’t go balls deep and obsess over the lore.

So basically there’s a giant labyrinth under Yharnam full of secrets. The school of Byrgenwerth sent scholars down there to investigate and they found Old Blood (assumably Ebriatas). The school splits down the middle with half believing they shouldn’t mess with it and seek to ascend through insight, while the other half wants to use old blood as a means to ascend. The blood users go off to create the Healing Church as well as the first Hunters; this includes Gherman and Lady Maria.

Far away, in a Fishing Hamlet (that’s actually a whaling town, and might even be where our Hunter is from but that’s a whole other can of worms), a giant creature is in the sea. Assuming a beast, the people of the town manage to kill it, but not without great sacrifice to them. Eventually, the carcass of whatever they killed washes up on their shores and it turns out to be a Great One— Kos.

News spreads and Gherman and Lady Maria set off to the Fishing Hamlet. They butcher everyone there, splitting their skulls in half searching for eyes to replicate the success of Byrgenwerth’s ascended Vacuos Rom (a student, presumably, whose brain was lined with eyes from the great ones). This is evidenced on the fact that skulls from the Fishing Hamlet can be found with scratches on the inside. Another thing of note is that the townsfolk are called kin (of Kos?). At the end of their massacre, they find the body of the dead Great One and find an intact baby inside.

Now, Lady Maria is of distant noble blood from Cainhurst Castle, but she rejected her peoples use of vile blood in pursuit of great physical strength and knowledge. Her weapon rakuyo relies heavily on dexterity.

We find her “corpse” in a clock tower blocking the path into the Fishing Hamlet, with a slit throat. She says to us “A corpse should be left well alone... oh I know very well how the secrets beckon so sweetly.” We all thought she was talking about herself, but she was talking about Kos! The secrets/insight of the Great Ones is alluring, but she warns us of the consequences as she once lived.

At some point she must have regretted the mass slaughter she and Gherman did because we find her weapon thrown deep into a well. The townsfolk can be heard begging for care from Maria or speaking fondly of her so she must have, in an effort to make amends, tended to them in the last moments of her life. But unable to save them, they turn into pseudo beastly/great one kin, and she commits suicide in the Astral Clock Tower. In her death, she guards the place she committed her most violent act of atrocity in.

#THE DRAMA #bloodborne #kod #i probably messed some little things up but i needed to #just cry over lady maria real quick #long post

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tarralin · 6 years

Text

Recovery

Fox Hunt, Chapter Eleven

(Board gifted by @under-sengoku-skies)

Find Master List, Ao3, and Ko-Fi links in blog bio!

Thank you @rainyluneotome for beta reading!

TW: combat, gunfire, mention of death

~*~

Croatia was mostly a peaceful country but a known terrorist group had recently moved in and started snatching young people for their cause. Men forced to fight for ideals that weren't their own and women were either used for the men's entertainment here or trafficked internationally to other terrorist cells.

That's where she came in. Her newest command position set her-- and her squad-- as judge, jury, and executioners unless otherwise stated in mission briefings. Guilt had already been determined for their newest targets and they were hours away from takedown. Sleep was deserved…

“Mabel!”

Macon's scream jolted her awake the very moment Mark yanked her from the cot. Dirt dusted her face as she hit the ground, rolling on instinct just as stray bullets blasted through her pillow. She didn't bother asking either of her brothers what was happening. She'd find out later... if they survived that is.

Gunfire and agonized screams sounded on the other side of the tent. Soldiers were being butchered. Her soldiers. Her squad she had led to the outskirt of known enemy territory. Her gut had told her to move on to safer grounds but that required time the victims didn't have.

She had led them to slaughter.

“Mabel!” It was Mark’s voice now that called to her in a stage whisper. His face was the emotionless mask he usually boasted on all their previous missions and the familiarity grounded her. They’d get through this, they always did. She pulled both tact knives from her belt with an exaggerated flex of the fingers, the age old sign they used since childhood signaling she was ready to move.

The three slipped from the tent as a unit, successfully ambushing a passing enemy trio from behind and making quick work of their throats. Macon looted two rifles as his eyes scanned the vicinity from point. Mabel’s eyes caught sight of a flash to her right and sprinted the distance to terminate the threat, leaving Mark to take rear point.

Mabel’s target spotted her too late, his warning shout to comrades was drowned out by his own blood filling his lungs from the new holes she’d given him. His fall allowed her to steal his weapon easily, flipping it to her perspective as she gripped her spare blade in her teeth. Three new targets cleared a tent corner and dropped cleanly as her shots blasted through their craniums.

Mark and Macon flanked her as they crept through the hellfire that rained through the camp. Together, they picked off all intruders that crossed their path but screams and gunfire still rang into the night from the opposite camp side.

“How many shots y'all have left? I got six.” Macon growled.

“Ten,” Mark quipped.

“Five,” Mabel moaned. She'd be able to make the few bullets count but dropping to find a new rifle would be out of the question once the fire flew. “We'll grab what we can and pick off as many as possible. Then--”

“No,” Macon snapped. “You two make for the trees and get out of here. I'll find Rica and Jules and we'll rendezvous at Nonna Lorenza's in Venice.”

“No,” Mark snapped back to the elder sibling. “You won't make it far with just six shots. We do this together or not at all. Jules wouldn't want you going alone and I need to see Rica safe with my own eyes.”

Mabel met Macon's gaze and nodded her agreement. “ ‘The family that slays together…’ Let's go get our girls.”

~*~

MC always knew it would be a bloody end for her but never did see think she’d relive the worse night of her life once more. The past had haunted her sleeping hours and robbed her of precious rest for the better part of the last decade, couldn't it let her die in peace?

The sandpaper down her throat told her ‘no’. She’d been screaming in her sleep-- the only time she ever did-- while that blood painted scene replayed before her unconscious vision. The sandpaper also meant she was still alive. Still denied reunion with her brothers of both blood and bond.

Then again… maybe living was her Hell? It certainly felt like it right now. She couldn't move, an invisible concrete block restricted her arms. She couldn't see, a piercing light washed her vision in white. And she needed water almost as much as the time she had been stranded in the Sahara for two days.

And what was that buzzing sound? Were mosquitoes to be apart of her personal Hell, too?

“I draw the line…”

The buzzing stopped and a merciful angel of darkness blocked the blinding light. Something must have pleased the angel because they extended a cooling touch to her forehead and chuckled softly.

“I have been called many things… but never an angel.”

I know that voice! Hallelujah!

“Right now… you're my angel. Just… keep out the light.”

The cooling touch continued in soft strokes down her cheek and jaw. The lapse between strokes seemed to last an eternity and she leaned into them as much as the invisible block pinning her down would allow. “I'll stay then and keep the light out. Ieyasu is fixing you something to help you rest easier…”

Oh, so you're a devil after all?

“No… no sleep…”

“You need it, Dearest.”

She pulled away from the coolness, as if she could escape her prison. “No… I can't… can’t watch again.”

The coolness found her at the same moment a glorious liquid crossed her tongue, quenching the desert sands of her esophagus. “You won't have to… Just rest.”

The sweet chill of the angel’s touch and voice remained as darkness overcame the light, pulling her into the first deep slumber she had in years.

~*~

The light was the first thing she was aware of as her eyes creaked open. It didn't hurt like last time and revealed she was in her own room. A breeze danced through the window and greeted with the freshness of a new day to clear the lingering fog of her mind.

Why am I still in bed? I have work to do!

“The only thing you have to worry about is rest.” A hand swooped in keep her head pinned to the pillow. The cool touch reminded her of the dark angel she dreamed of. Only now she wasn't dreaming but this angel really did dress in white.

A fire blazed to life beneath her ribs as she fell back to the mat. “Oh, I recognize this pain! Guess I wasn't as fine as I thought I was… How long have I been out?”

“This is the fourth morning. Though, you did stir several times. We had to restrain you before the wound reopened.”

That explains the invisible block… She knew she had a tendency to scream and thrash about when the nightmare came. How many times had she woken on the floor tangled in the sheets? How many black eyes had RM or JR earned when they tried to wake her from the past terrors? The reason she preferred a nighttime workout was so she’d be too exhausted to dream, but bloody fights always triggered and called its presence as a siren’s song lured sailors.

Focusing on Mitsuhide, she could see dark circles lining his bloodshot golden irises. Shoulders slumped forward as if only his will kept him sitting up. White tufts of hair stuck out in various places, no doubt from scrubbing his hands through to keep awake. What have her screams been doing to him?

It took every ounce of strength she could muster to pull her hand from the covers and raise it to his cheek, relishing in the weight of his head in her hand. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

His hair swayed side to side as he shook his head in her hand and he covered her fingers with his own. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Mitsuhide, you look as bad as I feel! That's a lot to apologize for.”

He chuckled at that and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Your color has returned. Do you remember anything from that evening?”

“I remember it ending very differently than I’d hoped.”

“Ah, that it did,” he smirked as he wrapped her hand between both of his, dragging a slow kiss across her knuckles. “Anything else?”

“All of it,” she sighed. “I remember tunnel visioning, I didn't even feel those two creep up on me before it was too late. I remember a mouthful of blood…”

“Mmm, yes, and because of that, you've earned a few new titles. Tales of Azuchi’s Rasetsu have already been heard in town while the soldiers speak of a Lady Akaoni.”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “I understand the ‘man-eater’, but why a red-horned demon?”

“To be fair, you didn't see the mess your hair was in when Masamune and the real night guard arrived.”

That earned a laugh she regretted as her wound objected to the merriment, forcing a grimace as she spoke. “Masa is okay? What kept him detained?”

“Yes, he is fine. There was an ambush in the north part of the castle, meant to serve as a distraction, but I'm sure they didn't anticipate Masamune patrolling the perimeter himself instead of holed up in an office somewhere. There were four of them and they weren't very talented swordsmen. Although, one did almost have him…” the weight of his head rested fully in her hand as his eyes fluttered closed.

“Mitsu, tell me.”

“The young guard he was training took the blow in his place. There was nothing we could do aside from ensure a warrior’s ceremony.”

The one Masa was training…? “One of my maids’ son?”

A single nod in response.

She rose from the floor as far as her shoulders before that searing flame in her side blazed to life again and sent her crashing back to the mat as Mitsuhide pinned her shoulders in place.

“What in the blazes do you think you're doing?!”

“I have-- I have to go see her,” she gritted through the pain. “Those men tried to tote me off. I was the target. All this was because of me.” Again.

His hair swayed across her brow now as he shook his head at her again. “None of this is your fault and you can speak with her later if you wish but, for now, you need to rest. We've managed to stave off any infection but you still need to regain your strength.”

“Eh, I've had worse scrapes than this. I'll be up before long now.”

“Yes, I'm sure you'll be up by the time I return.”

“Return?” That ensnared her attention. Where are you going?”

His hand returned to stroking her forehead, eyes drifting to the window. “Away.”

Ah, can't say. Azuchi's rat must still be on the loose.

She released a sigh and tugged his robe to bring his gaze back to hers, forcing a smile through the pain for him. “Just don't make yourself a martyr. In fact, I'd like you to take these.”

Reaching into her kimono, she retrieved the trio of pendants that had called the chain around her neck ‘home’ for the last five years. “Nobu calls me his good luck charm, well… these are mine.”

A single white brow arched as Mitsuhide ran the chain through his fingers and inspected the small plates. “The writing on these match the print on your back. What do these talismans say?”

“They're not talismans,” she chuckled darkly. “Back home we call them ‘dog tags’. Soldiers wear two matching tags so they can be easily identified if they fall during battle.”

His second brow joined the first as he blinked down to her. “That does not sound like a favorable fortune to wear around your neck, Dearest. Why do you have a third then?”

“One is mine. The other two belonged to my brothers, Macon and Mark Clements. They were always trying to look after me and having those just feels right. Imagine having two Hideyoshis, but one of them with Masa’s prankster attitude, and you have my brothers with me as their Mitsunari.” His sudden laughter brought a smile to her as she continued. “And they are lucky. My other one still has the head of a bullet that was meant for my heart implanted in it. So, please, wear them. You can give them back when you return. I'm not going anywhere. And… I'll try to have an answer for you on staying here.”

Days of exhaustion seemed to evaporate off his shoulders. She loved that cunning smirk of his but the rare, beautiful smile it melted into curled her toes with glowing warmth. Warmth that only continued to spread as he leaned down to trail a searing path of slow kisses across her brow, cheek, nose, until finally claiming her lips as he meant to the night of the attack.

“I look forward to it, Dear One.”

~*~

Mitsuhide left at dusk after visiting once more and ensuring Masa’s soup made its way to her stomach. Masa retrieved her finished bowl himself and to inform them that Mitsuhide’s horse was ready for departure.

Nobu sat with her that night.

“I don't sleep much anyway,” he gave as a way of answer when she arched her brows at him when he settled against the wall.

“As my current position as Chatelaine proves, that is a lie.”

“Perhaps,” a self-deprecating chuckle before his eyes rolled back to her. “What do the markings on your back mean?”

She turned her eyes to the ceiling. “Just a means of atonement.”

“Atonement? Why--”

“Not something I wish to speak of.”

She could feel his eyes on her as as heavy as the silence settling over them. “They have something to do with the nightmares?”

She clenched her jaw to keep from snapping at him. She knew he was just curious and possibly trying to lull her to sleep with small talk. This particular subject was never small for her but, if she remained quiet, maybe he’d drop it.

After another loaded silence, he released a heavy sigh. “As curious as I am to learn how one such a you acquired the skills I've witnessed, I won't force you to relive the battles of your past. But… I dislike disruptions in my home, my little fireball. I simply need to know that this recent incident won't cause further distraction.”

Ah, of course. Gotta keep the machine running and well oiled, eh? I can respect that. “I’m used to managing my terrors, Nobu, and they do not interfere with my daily work. They'll dissipate once I’m back on my feet.”

The intense stare he leveled her with almost took the breath from her. It was the exact one Macon used when he thought she had lied to him. And just like Macon, Nobu's shoulders relaxed once he found she hadn't. “Do try to sleep, fireball. I’ll wake you should your terrors catch you again.”

She would have replied, if not for the sudden lump in her throat that refused to budge. Instead, she willingly surrendered to the darkness.

~*~

The warm sunshine of the garden welcomed her with open arms as she reclined under the wisteria.

Having spent an additional two mornings in bed pushed her past the end of her patience and the entire room sickened her in ways unrelated to her injury. Fresh air was what she needed and that was what she was going to get. Flames of pain still ignited around the wound but the blazes were diminishing more and more with each new morning, enabling her to redress the wound herself for the first time with the modern medical supplies she always packed her purse with.

Now, it was time for some good old Vitamin D while hiding from the mother hen--

“Princess!”

Damn. Mission failed. Note to self: Locate and recruit any of Hideyoshi’s descendants because-- hot damn-- those tracking skills!

“Do you know how worried I--” his march across the garden ended abruptly before muttering a curse under his breath, no doubt noticing the peculiar arrangement of her kimono; uncovered arms and shoulders, thighs-to-toes bared to the sun. “What are you doing?”

She snickered at the changed projection of his voice and finally peeped her eyes open to find him facing the way he came. “It's called ‘sunbathing’. Quite common back home and a favorite pastime of mine actually. I don't have the proper protection from the direct sun but it is bright enough here under the shade.”

“Princess, you really shouldn't be… lying about… like that… let me give you my kimono.” The blush creeping over his ears could be heard in his voice.

“That would defeat the purpose of sunbathing. I do all my best thinking like this. Besides, you seem to the only one here persistent enough to actually find me so you can either go back the way you came or you can join me. Either way, I need silence.” She finished while crossing one ankle over the other to emphasize her indifference.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Hideyoshi settled into the grass facing away from her. Now, to tackle the issue at hand...

Or… is it even an issue at all? She wasn’t born of this time. Yes, she could blend in and quack like the other ducks but that was a skill of survival. Everything up to now has simply been a means to an end coming up in six weeks. Was this really something she could live with?

Despite the war time hardened lifestyle, the people and land here held a measure of peace she had never encountered before. But when would that peace run out? This era is named for the wars that shaped it. It would be the gamble of a-- literal-- lifetime to remain here with only the hope that her miniscule interference of pulling one man from a burning building would be enough to secure a better future.

And what of RM and JR? After everything they've been through already, her disappearance would be the final nails in their coffins. Both had international connections that could very well burn the world to the ground if those two so much as suspected foul play.

Her family… Her career…

Mitsuhide…

Could she really be so selfish?

~*~

Two evenings later, she found herself waiting at the stable. Mitsuhide’s personal page returned that morning with news of his lord's expected arrival in the afternoon. After ensuring the maids work and renovation schedule, she had taken over the grooming jobs from the stable hands and set out to clearing the horses manes of tangles and debris.

RM's mother came from generations of Texan ranchers and still continued equestrian breeding for race horses. MC always found it calming helping with the animals during the few free summer days she had with RM and JR. How easy it was to fall back into that easy pattern of care.

“And you say you don't sing.”

“Mitsuhide!” Her head snapped up at the voice entering the gate and she met him halfway in his path to the stable. “I wasn't singing.”

He grinned down at her. “Of course not, my mistake. As you can see, I have returned. Do you have an answer for me, dear Chatelaine?”

“Now?” She squeaked, freezing in her tracks as he circled his horse around her. Here is definitely not the place to hash this out!

His lips tilted into that smirk she missed the last several days. “Oh? Has the resident rasetsu turned into a little mouse in my absence? Might be fun to plan a chase then.”

“You will lose! But yes, I mostly have an answer.”

“ ‘Mostly’?”

“Well, it's not exactly an easy answer. There's choices and conditions to be heard… are you getting off the horse or not?”

His golden gaze never left her just as that smirk refused to falter while he continued to trot in circles, raising her curiosity.

“Why?” She switched tactics. “If I gave you an out right ‘yes’, what would do?”

Finally halting his steed beside her, Mitsuhide’s eyes glinted with a predatory gleam as he gracefully dismounted. She watched with open curiosity as he marched to her but only when he opened his arms did she think to take a step back too late. Without a care as to who witnessed the display, his arms swooped under her hips and lifted her into the air against him. A shriek of surprised laughter escaped her as she was spun in the air.

“Is this is a sufficient answer to your ‘if’,” that predatory edge never left his gaze as he settled her back on her feet, ignoring the stunned silence of the passing stable hands.

She could feel her own face flush by the open act. Oh, come on girl! You've been in far more publicly compromising positions before and never even blinked.

“I take it you tracked down our rodent problem?”

His smirk was triumphant now. “I found a few leads. I also have a gift on its way here that I'm sure you'll enjoy.”

“A… you what?” What does he mean a gift?

“You'll see in the next few days--”

“I don't like surprises.”

“But first, I must speak with Nobunaga and Hideyoshi with what I've discovered.” He lifted a lock of her hair to his lips in parting, pointedly deflecting her statement.

Her eyes followed after him. What has gotten into him, blowing through like a whirlwind and leaving like that?

His pace around the corner slowed just enough for him to glance over his shoulder at her, that knowing smirk back in place as if he hadn't just caused her to question his sanity.

Oh, dear Kitsune, this is part of your game, is it?

She glanced into the town before her as a plan formed. He was wrong if he thought she wouldn't be up for a little Cat-n-Mouse.

~*~

The kimono crafter had always been popular among the town for the sixteenth century version of window shopping. However, wartime meant less spending on pretty things and-- despite the constant flow of people in and out the door-- the elder tailor had been struggling financially. So when he heard the bell of his stall's flap signal a potential customer, he was half-tempted to ignore it completely.

Now he wished he had.

His wife was happy to help with the foreign princess’ need while he was still trying connect the garments in their hands with the stated occasion. Lord Oda was taking her on a game trail? Then why did she prefer the sheer fabrics? Surely, the softer cotton would be better for sport.

“I'm sorry, my Lady, but what kind of game did you say you would be hunting?”

The Princess glanced up to him and he could have swore he saw a flash of pink dust her features before she turned back to his wife with a conspiratorial grin. “Foxes.”

~☆~

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #fox hunt #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen hide #my writing #ikesennw

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davidlratliffstories · 6 years

Text

Tales of Therafell: The Smith and the Chicken

Isolation can be a wonderful thing, from time to time at least. A simple escape from the worries and tiresome nonsense of the world around you. A time to sort your thoughts and breath the fresh air as you relax into a comfortable spot. But one cannot remain in such isolation for long. As beings whose based our very nature around our interactions with others, we must find some means to coexist with at least a few beyond ourselves. If for nothing else than to maintain our own sanity, to ground us in reality. For though the dark places of the world may hold some dangers, the darkness that lives within the mind can be far worse.

In this tale there was once a small town nestled in the middle of a forest. This town wasn’t much to speak of as it was the same as any other little place with its crops and livestock. But here there lived a man that folks around there called Old Jack who lived and worked in the smithy off at the far edge of town, out away from everyone else.

Old Jack had grown up in the town, the same as everyone else, but had also grown to distrust or outright despise everyone around him. This was because he had always been the butt of various pranks over the years. From the simple surprise scare to having cow dung shoved down the back of his pants, their was no limit to what they would do to anger him or cause him trouble.

There was a time, back when he was around thirteen years old, a group of the other boys had led him out to an old, abandoned barn in the woods. They had told him that some sheep had wandered off from the flock and headed in there. Claiming to need his help in rounding them up, they pleaded with him. He was a bit wary about the story at first, but didn’t want to risk losing any of the towns sheep should he be wrong. So he marched into the dark barn in search of the sheep only to have the doors slammed shut behind him. He pounded and screamed from within as the boys put a heavy bar across the door to hold it shut. It wasn’t till after nightfall that they came back and let him out again.

From that day onward he would never trust a single soul and shut himself away from the world until his father died and left him to run the forge. Having to take up his father’s work forced him back out into the world again and many people from the town came to him to have their tools mended and new shoes crafted for their horses. Though, never once did any of them every apologize for the things they had done to him in all those years. So his distrust and destine continued to grow day by day and, beyond the stone faced business arrangements he had to deal with, he would never come to speak nor spend any amount of time with those who lived in the town.

One day Jack awoke to the sound of clucking and a soft, sharp scratching noise in his room. When he sat up and looked around he saw a small chicken with white feathers clawing at the floorboards in search of a morning meal. He didn’t know what to think of it at first, knowing he had latched every door and window before lying down to sleep. Then he figured that it must have came through some hole in the wall that had gone unnoticed till now.

Rolling off from his bed, he slid his way over to the bird and lifted it to his chest. He then carried it over to the nearest window, opening it enough to slip the bird out before lying back down again. A short time later though, the same sound of clucking and scratching roused him again. So again he took the chicken and tossed it out the window.

After rubbing his eyes and giving a long yawn, he decided to give up on sleep and went to the wash basin to clean himself up and start his day. Then he fixed up a bit of breakfast with some eggs sizzling away in a cast iron pan next to a couple slices of old bread. He dug around in the cabinets for a bit of cheese he had stowed away but could not find it. Searching about, a sudden cackle shocked him back into focus and there stood the chicken once again.

Jack uttered a curse and stomped at the bird but it took no notice of him. Then taking up his breakfast, he plated it and began to eat, thinking to ignore it as well. But the chicken jumped up on the table in a flurry of feathers and scurried across his plate before jumping down on the other side and started to run. Old Jack gave chase, tossing obscenities at the thing like darts as it weaved this way and that through his home.

After a time, winded and red in the face from exertion and rage, he soon fell to his knees. His chest heaved as a thought of what a joke this was and what a sight he must seem, chasing a chicken about his home. He froze for a moment.

“Why those sorry,” he cursed aloud, “I’ll give them a right good piece of my mind,” then stomped out the door and down toward the town with the skittering chicken following close behind.

The first door he came to, as the little town was beginning to rouse from sleep, was the that of a man named Dale, a simple farmer who tended to the town’s wheat and corn. Jack pounded on the rough wood of the door, shouting out obscenities and demanding an answer. Dale soon stepped out with his eyes wide at the commotion.

“What wrong, Jack? Has something happened?”

“You know blasted well what’s wrong,” he shouted, “I don’t know how you and the rest of them pranksters did it, but it ain’t funny.”

Dale cocked his head, “Did what?”

Thrusting his hands down toward the small chicken at his side, Jack stared daggers at him. “This right here is what.”

He took a moment to look down before looking back up with an eyebrow raised, “I don’t see what your talking about?”

“The chicken,” he curses, “It’s been pestering me all morning and I know it has to be you lot whose done it.”

“What chicken?”

It took all Jack’s will not to punch him then and there. “Don’t you dare try that with me, Dale. I know better. You lot have been doing this kinda thing our whole lives and I’m tired of it. If I see you or anyone else wandering around my house at night, I’ll whip the lot of you.”

Dale looked on, eyes narrowed and mouth agape as Jack stormed off back to the smithy.

The day dragged on as he went about his work mending some old axe heads and butcher knives. All the while the chicken kept finding its way into one bit of trouble or another. It was knocking over racks of tools, jumping in the way his hammer in mid swing, and many other issues. Yet every person who came by claimed to not even notice it was there.

The hours soon past as the day drew to an end and he had had more than enough of the bird hopping about causing mischief. So he took it, killed it, plucked it, and fried it up for a late dinner. The savory meat felt like a fair reward for all he had put up with that day.

“That’s the end of that,” he said to himself.

However, as the sun rose on the next day, he found himself again awakening to the sound of cackling and scratching. Another chicken had found its way into his home. But he wasn’t having it again and immediately slaughtered the bird for breakfast before getting on to work once again.

The next day was the same. Another chicken, another meal, and another days work. Then the next day followed suit. Then the next day as well.

“Enough is enough,” Jack shouted with a curse, “This has gone too far.”

The latest chicken looked up at him and cocked its head sideways a bit too far.

His face crinkled up as he looked at it. “This one ain’t quite right either,” he thinks aloud, “I’ll toss this one out to the dogs.” He killed the bird and tossed it over into the woods for the wild dogs to eat before storming off into town again to give Dale another talking to.

Again Jack pounded on the rough wood door, shouting and cursing. Dale then answered, his eyes narrow and mouth tight as his tone struck bitter. Jack held his ground.

“What is it now, Jack?”

“This joke your playing has gone to far. I’m tired of it.”

Dale sighed, “What joke? We haven’t been playing any joke on you or anyone else.”

“Your a lying cuss and a stupid one too if you think I’d believed that,” he cursed.

“I’m telling you, Jack. We do not know anything about this chicken you keep going on about. It may be that all that time keeping to yourself has messed with you mind.”

His eyes went wide as his jaw tightened and his fists clenched.

“If your going to get angry about it and hit me, then go ahead. But what I’ve said is true.”

Fuming, Jack turned away and stomped his way back home.

The days continued by with a new chicken showing up day after day. On the twentieth day when Jack awoke to the then familiar sound, the condition of the bird he saw shocked him. Several patches of feathers were missing and large, black splotches covered its body from head to claw.

He leapt from his bed with a series of obscenities flowing like water from his mouth. “It ain’t enough that they pester me with this nonsense, now they got to give me the blasted diseased birds too?” He grabbed the chicken by the neck along with his hammer and a large, iron nail. “I’ll show them how sick of this I am.”

Marching down to the center of town, he found the old well and presided to nail the chicken to one of its posts. Then he returned to his home, a sly smile on his face, to await the coming complaints and fury about his actions. But no one ever came. The day fell to night and no one came.

The next day, curious about the lack of action over what he had done, Jack wandered back down into the town to see what was going on. It was quiet. No children playing in the streets. No baker announcing his wares. No farmers nor herdsmen tending their duties.

He went door to door pounding and shouting but received no answers. The last door he took to trying was Dale’s. As he rapped his knuckles against it, it swung on its hinges, emitting a soft groan.

The room was dark. “Dale,” he called out, “You at home?” He gazed about through the open door until his eyes fell upon a bed against the far wall where Dale lay, his back to the door. “Dale, you lazy cuss. Get up and greet me.” He didn’t move.

Jack stepped with caution into the room, wary of some new prank. “Dale,” he cursed, “Get up right now. Get up, I say.”

He grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him over before jumping back with a gasp. His eyes went wide and mouth agape, as Dale’s face came into view, eyes bulging out of his head as a thick black ooze drained from his nose and a large space on his head looked caved in. His ashen face and deep red lips terrified Jack.

Jack ran from house to house busting in the doors to find everyone else in the same state. Whatever had happened spared no one. He stumbled his way out to the center of town and fell on his knees by the well.

“No,” he repeated again and again, “It can’t be. What happened?” Tears welled up in his eyes. “No,” he continued to repeat.

Then a familiar cackle rang in his ear. He turned around and saw, standing there in the shadows, the same diseased chicken he had nailed to the well. The long, iron spike was still protruding from its neck and the black splotches had grown larger. He stared, dumbfounded and terrified, as it opened its beck in a large grin, revealing a set of almost human like teeth and a tongue like the tail of a snake trying to escape. He backed away until his back pressed against the stones of the well as the thing came closer to him.

He could not speak, breath, nor even think beyond the desire to get away. Yet as the creature came ever closer, he found himself frozen with fear. It was soon standing at his feet, staring back at him with those large yellow eyes. The stare seemed to pierce his mind as he envisioned his own death by the beast. A cold chill ran through him as his mind reeled.

But then, in a moment of either instinct or panic, he reached out, snatched the thing up by the throat, and tossed it, with as much force as he could muster, down the well. He stood for a moment, waiting for the sound of a sudden splash below. It never came. Fearful that it had grabbed on some where and may climb up again, he grabbed the nearby wood covering and slammed it in place before heaping stones on top.

Without another thought, he began to run. He returned home long enough to grab up some clothes, money, and his faithful hammer before heading northward. He needed to get away. He needed to tell someone about what had happened. Who would believe him, though? No, there was nothing he could do other than save himself from suffering the same fate as the them.

After many miles, he found himself standing at the door of an old inn. The sign above had the image of a bear painted in red and the sound of music and singing rang into the night as clouds began to cover the sky and rain and thunder rolled over the land. He stepped inside out of the cold where the innkeeper, a tall well built man with a thick black beard, greeted him.

“Welcome, sir,” the innkeeper began, “How may I help you? You’d like a place to sleep I’d wager, what with this weather moving in, and nice, hot meal too?”

Jack avoids looking him in the eye, “Yes. On both accounts.”

A bellowing laugh, “I thought as much. Head over to the hall and I’ll get you a bit of something.”

He followed the man’s suggestion and took a seat at the corner farthest from the other patrons and their marry making. The small, wooden table, wiped clean, was still covered in scratches and nicks from years of wear. However, the straw cushion was comfortable enough.

The crowd was small for the most part. A mix of adventures, travelers, and tradesmen stopping in for a good meal and warm beds. One of them, a young boy who had yet to grow his first beard, held up a lute and was strumming on it as another sang some song he had not heard before. He sat and listened for a time, letting his worries melt away.

The innkeeper came to him minutes later with a bowl of hot pork stew, a cut of bread, and a cup of ale. Jack drank and ate his fill before asking to see his room for the night. Many of the other patrons had taken to their rooms as well by then. The man led him up two flights of stairs to a room at the far end of a short hall. He opened the door and motioned for Jack to step inside. The man bid him goodnight before closing the door, leaving the room dark. Jack listened as his heavy foot falls faded into the distance before dropping his bag on the floor and plopping down on the straw stuffed mattress.

The linen had been recently cleaned and the fresh scent calmed his mind as he drank it in. His mind then took to questioning his future. Where would he go from here? How would he make a living on the road? Would someone find his town and think him responsible for what happened there? These questions rang through his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

In his dreams he found himself back in the town standing once again before the old well. The rock covered wooden seal was still in place. But then the earth began to shake beneath him and the rocks fell one by one until the covering itself soon followed. From deep within the dark depths he heard a soft scratching and cackling. Then long, dark tentacle like appendages spilt up over the rim, seeping out onto the ground as the sounds grew louder. Soon a shinning pair of yellow eyes crested the edge and a great, unnatural smile shone out from the mass of dark before lunging forward at Jack.

Bolting upright in the unfamiliar bed with a shriek, covered in sweat and shaking, he looked around the room with his eyes wide and teeth clenched. Nothing was there. He looked beneath the bed. Nothing was there. Still terrified, he rummaged through his bag until he found his hammer.

He sat curled up on the bed, sheets tossed aside, clutching the hammer in his fists. He waited and listened for any noise, any sign that it had come back. A sound down the hall caught his ears and he tensed.

“It’s here,” he repeated to himself in a shaking, soft voice.

The sound reached the door and then there was a soft scratching noise before it began to open inward, the hinges protesting at the slow movement. Not wishing to wait for it to make the first move he leaped from the bed with shout and lashed out with the hammer. He fell through the doorway out into the hall, swinging wild with each strike meeting its mark as he screamed through the haze of fear.

After several blows, Jack fell to the side and scrambled for a moment to place his back to the wall, hammer held tight and knees to his chest. His eyes, large and red with fear, glared down at the place where it had lain and a soft whimpering escaped his throat. It was the innkeeper, his face bloodied and smashed.

“No,” Jack choked as other patrons began to leave their rooms to see the commotion.

They saw the innkeeper laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and Jack sitting by with the murder weapon in hand. It took only a moment for them to lunge at him in an attempt to restrain him. But he lashed out with the bloodied hammer as he screamed and then ran.

The sound of their voices trailed off as he ran out of the inn into the pouring rain. Every time he dared to look back, a yellow glow shone out at him as a familiar grin crept over a now distorted face. He screamed and cried as he scrambled through the darkened woods.

He ran as fast as he could, but it was never enough. With each flash of lightning, he saw its shadow through the trees. With each crack of thunder, he heard its cackling laughter. He kept running. His legs ached and his chest burned with the effort, but he kept running.

A flash of lightning blinded him for a moment causing him to trip over the root of a tree that stuck up from the ground. He scrambled to his feet again, raising his hammer high above him as he planted his back against a tree, expecting an attack. But nothing was there. Lightning flashed, illuminating his surroundings. Nothing but the trees and rocks surrounded him. He listened, but heard only the boom of thunder.

He found a small cave in the side of a nearby hill. Drenched and freezing he huddled as close to the rear wall as he could manage. His mind was blank and his breath was shaky as he fell to his most base instincts to survive.

Then he heard it. The soft scratching and that horrible cackling. He raised his eyes to the opening of the cave and there it was, silhouetted in the flash of lightning. More demon than chicken now, with its dark form covered in writhing tentacles, eyes shining like yellow flames, and jaw unhinged in a twisted abomination of a smile as its tongue like a snakes tail lolled out.

It came toward him with slow steps, its tentacles reaching out for him. It gripped around his arms, legs, waist, and throat. He stared into its eyes. The flames seemed to scorch his mind but he could not fight back against it. It showed him visions. He saw the town. He saw himself. But it was wrong. He was going door to door killing everyone with a smile and a laugh.

“No,” he cursed, “Stop it. That isn’t me. No.”

The creature laughed as the visions played over and over in his mind.

Soon he fell silent. Then he began to laugh. It was nothing more than a soft chuckle at first. But then it grew and grew until it was a booming and blusterous cacophony echoing off the cave walls. His stomach ached and the world spun as the shadows grew over him.

“It was me,” he thought, “I finally got them back.” He continued to laugh until his eyes rolled back in his head and his laughter died.

The next day, a herdsman from a nearby town came wandering by in search of a lost sheep that had separated from the flock, grumbling all the while about how everyone was far too lazy to help. He came armed as tell of the murderer at the inn had already spread. He looked inside the opening of the cave in the nearby hill to see if the sheep had sheltered there. What he found was the body of a man, cold and gray, with a large and unnatural grin frozen on his face and a hammer, coated with dried blood, clutched in his hand.

The man turned to head back to the town, intending to tell of what he had found, but stop as he heard a soft cackling behind him. A small white chicken was standing there looking up at him. Thinking it had wandered off from the farm as well, he took it up and brought it back with him. Though as he did, he thought for a moment that he saw it smile. But who ever heard of a smiling chicken?

#short story #fantasy #dark

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mycasandstarrs · 6 years

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SPN 9x09: “Holy Terror”

THEN: Dean kicked Cas out of the Bunker. Metatron tricked Cas and took his grace. Kevin Tran, Prophet of the Lord. Buddy Boyle and Bartholomew. Dean asked for help, Ezekiel answered the call. He’s currently possessing Sam, healing him while healing himself. Dean almost told Sm the truth but Zeke warned him not to.

Caribou, Wyoming.

“Bad Luck” by Social Distortion.

Angels vs angels.

RIP angels. Killed by other angels.

It’s angel civil war.

Talking with Zeke.

“Sam is much improved. It shouldn't be much longer now.”

“Okay, you know you said the same thing to me last week, right?”

Dean’s getting wary of this.

“I must say, Dean, I'm very uncomfortable with this whole trip. Investigating crimes involving angels – or anything involving angels – puts me, and therefore, Sam, at risk.” How did this not raise any flags for Dean?

That split second change. Jared’s great.

“That sign said ‘Fort Collins, 50 miles’."

“So?”

“So, last time I looked, like, 12 seconds ago, uh, Fort Collins was a hundred miles.“

Blanking out like that must be so bizarre.

“You're not up to warp speed yet, okay? But you will be. Would I lie?” Yes, unfortunately.

Cas! In his new suit and tie.

Sam!! I love how he indulges Cas.

“Um, I still have that badge you gave me.” AWW.

“Cas, you know that this is an angel situation, right? I mean, you left that night because angels were on your ass.” Dean’s just...slowly losing control of his lies.

“If angels are slaughtering one another, I have to do what I can to help. It is a risk we should be willing to take, don't you think?” Damn straight!

“Hey. Cas is back in town.” Bless your heart, Cas.

Zeke popped out just to mean mug Dean, lol.

Malachi.

RIP 3 angels. Killed by Malachi and his crew.

Ohhh, the Team Free Will bar scene!

“Hey, you once told me that you don't choose what you do. It chooses you.“ Drunk human!Cas is so cute.

“I'm a part of this. Like it or not.”

“Well, Bartholomew wants to reverse Metatron's spell. Presumably to – to retake Heaven once his following is large enough. That's according to April.”

“The reaper you banged.”

Can we not.

“All right. I'm gonna get us another round.”

“Nah, I’ll get it. You know, I've never done this before.”

Awww.

“Well? What are you going to do about this?” Zeke, you jerkface.

“He is a beacon, Dean, pulling every angel for miles down on our heads.”

“All right, you know what, Zeke? Level with me. What is it that you're so afraid of?”

SHOULD’VE ASKED THAT A LONG TIME AGO.

“Cas isn't in good standing with any angel, all right? But here he is, ass on the line, fighting the fight.” OH THANK YOU FOR DEFENDING HIM.

“Here we go. Three brewskies.” Pfft, Cas.

“I know who you really are. And it isn't Ezekiel.” Here we go. The shit storm begins.

“I, um, I noticed you look... kind of uncomfortable whenever Sam mentions my leaving. Doesn't he know that you told me to leave?” Cas just directly lays it out, damn.

“Here's the deal. When Sam was doing the trials to seal up Hell, it messed him up. Okay? The third one nearly killed him. If I'd let him finish, it would have. He's still messed up, bad.”

“You said the angel, Ezekiel, helped heal him.”

Dean came so close to telling the truth.

“Look, I got to do anything I can to get him back. Now, if that means that we keep our distance from you for a little while, then... Then I don't have a choice. I don't feel good about it, but I don't have a choice.” YES YOU DO. YOU ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE, I LEARNED THAT FROM YOU. You’re just making a bad one here, Dean.

“It's great to have your help, Cas. Okay, but we just can't work together.”

POOR CAS. He can’t just seem to figure out why Dean won’t let him help or near him and Sam. :(

“Relax. I'm not here to out you. But I am curious, why Ezekiel?”

“They say he is a good, and ... honorable angel.”

I wonder what real Ezekiel was like.

“I see your point... Gadreel.”

“It broke His heart to lock you away, you know? You were God's most trusted. That's why He chose you to protect the garden. Your one task was to keep evil from entering... from befouling His cherished creation, mankind, and you failed Him!”

He has been named and exposed.

So both Gadreel and Sam both unleashed evil unto Earth without meaning to. And technically speaking, it was the exact same evil.

“...as the place God envisioned it, only with a handpicked few. No more anemic functionaries like Bartholomew. And no more stupid angels. Maybe some funny ones. You were His most trusted, Gadreel. You want to take back your reputation? You want to reclaim the Heaven that was? We could do this together.”

I wonder what Metatron would think of heaven now, with so few angels left.

“Any word from Cas?”

“Nothing yet.”

“And we're not ... worried about him, that he just took off like that again? I mean, it's not like he does this kind of stuff alone.”

YEAH, DEAN.

A born again biker gang...okay then.

Boyle’s Boys.

More possible vessels for angels.

RIP angel and vessels. Killed by angels.

“Sam Winchester... It is a mess in here. And the brother – I do not know where to start.” How ‘bout you start with shutting your mouth, Gadreel?

“You intend to be the ruler of this new Heaven, am I correct?”

“Uh... It is a burden I feel I must accept.”

Oh, I could roll my eyes out.

“Oh-ho-ho. Semantics. I don't know that I'd take on THAT name...necessarily.“ You will, ‘cause you’re an ass.

Cas attempts to pray.

“I don't know how humans do it.”

Muriel, who is freaking cute as hell.

Hello, for the last time, Kevin.

“I think you instinctively trust me. We're similar. We both want no part of the fanatics.”

“And when you prayed. How did you know you wouldn't get one of them?”

“I'm warded, and my Grace is gone, and I was hoping that I would seem like just another desperate human that the... the militants couldn't care less about.”

Cas had faith.

Cas is getting good info here.

Crap.

Malachi, you piece of garbage.

RIP Muriel. Killed by Theo.

“Angels butchering angels. Is this what we've become?”

“Just following your example, Castiel.”

And that gives you the damn right to do this???

“How many did you kill in Heaven? How many in the Fall? Oh, you didn't know? A host of angels died when they fell – Azrael, Sophia, Ezekiel...” There it is. Cas knows.

“I need you to speak to Metatron. Everyone knows you have influence.” Oh, Theo. Theo, Theo, Theo...

“You – you serve Malachi.”

“I thought he was the answer, but he's crazy.”

“You're... noticing this now?”

lol

“Well, it's, um, it's true. Metatron and I do have a working relationship.”

“I knew it!”

“You’re clever, Theo.”

And Cas just plays him like a triangle.

“I'll need a moment to make contact. And you have something that I'll need.”

“Anything.”

Theo’s last word.

RIP Theo. Killed by Cas.

RIP angels. Killed by Cas.

“Hey, you seen Sam?”

“He went out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. You notice he’s doing that a lot?”

Even Kevin noticed.

Imagine kicking someone to the curb (again) to protect someone...and then aforementioned person got kidnapped and tortured just hours afterwards.

“I got my Grace back. Well, not mine per se, but it'll do.” :( At least Cas had the heart to be not okay with doing that.

“If we're going to war, I need to be ready.”

“...Cas.”

Dean looked ready to apologize.

“Didn't you say Sam was healed by an angel named Ezekiel?”

“Uh... Yeah, why?”

“Ezekiel is dead.”

“What?”

“He died when the angels fell.”

Cas dropped the bombshell.

Huh, Kevin doesn’t like crusts in his sandwiches.

“What if there was a way to power down the angel, so that it wasn't in charge for a few seconds?”

“What?”

“For instance, if – if hypothetically, I wanted to speak with the vessel but not have the squatter listen in.”

Same spell they use to try to communicate to Cas in S11?

“Okay. So, hit the tablet. Let's go!”

“Now?”

“Yesterday, Cinderella!”

Don’t be so harsh, Dean. You’re gonna regret that.

“I've been thinking this over, Metatron. I will join you as second in command.“ Goddamn you, Gadreel.

“Bravo, Gadreel! This move will erase the mark that has hounded you through the centuries.” Sure it will.

Metatron gives Gadreel his first “to kill” name. I hate all of this.

“Dean, we just painted sigils in the storeroom. What the hell?”

“You're gonna have to trust me, okay, trust that I told you everything that I can for now. Can you do that?”

“And I always end up screwed.” That’s gonna stick with Dean.

I know this doesn’t count, i know that’s Gadreel.

“I tricked you into saying yes. It seemed like the only way.”

“So... Again. You thought I couldn't handle something, so you took over!”

“No, I did what I had to do! You would've never agreed to it, and you would've died.”

“Well, maybe I would've liked the choice, at least.”

Gadreel plays a good Sam.

“Whoever this guy is can end you in a heartbeat if he wants to, so you have got to dump him.” Oohh I just realized that we may get a repeat of this in S14 with Michael!Dean.

“Hey, do you notice anything a little bit off about Dean lately? Between you and me, I'm a little bit worried about him.” Kevin’s last words. Concern for Dean.

RIP Kevin Tran. Killed by Gadreel.

“Sam?”

“There is no more Sam. But, I played him convincingly, I thought.”

You did.

Dean’s lost total control over everything.

Kevin died not knowing his mother was still alive.

#supernatural #spn summer rewatch #spn liveblog #spn 9x09 #holy terror

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monstraduplicia · 2 years

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supernatural 6.05, 1.16, 3.16, 1.06, 5.16, 2.22 / strawberry street by jeff buckley

#dean winchester #spnedit #supernatural #jeff buckley #martyr #mine #comparatives #jbnatural #ba #apologize to your butcher for the mess of slaughter #completely self indulgent post oh well 😊#txt

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ladyninjaa · 7 years

Text

Abandoned

Imagine: being the only surviving child of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. (takes part during the last episode of season 7)

You had hoped that this meeting would have gone in a different direction but it didn’t. What you witnessed…that thing attempting to grab at your own mother was horrifying and to think that there were more of them was terrifying. You would have liked to not believe Jon Snow and his claims of an undead army heading this way but the threat had been proven real.

And you have never been more afraid then now.

But your mother…your mother’s paranoia had gotten the best of her. When Jon had foolishly admitted that he had already bent the knee to Daenerys…your mother was not happy and ended the meeting quickly much to the shock to you and your father.

“Mother, we cannot ignore this!” You defiantly stood up to her because you were the only one who could without getting serious and lethal consequences’. To see the devastation on Jon’s face as your mother walked by without a care was almost gut-wrenching.

You knew Jon and you liked his person. You only had a few weeks in Winterfell when your legal father, Robert, traveled there to name Ned his Hand and you had grown close to the Stark children—practically Jon and Robb (your father even proposed a marriage between you and Robb but your mother refused and gave your father Joffrey instead) but now with Robb gone—his death would always haunt you because you did everything you could to stop your murderous brother from butchering him in such a cowardly way.

You weren’t a demented lion like your father or your younger brother. You were a soft cub like your sweet little brother sister. You knew when to be fierce and when to show compassion—it was what separated you from the rest of your family.

Your mother and her guard moved forward and your father was quick to follow.

Brienne, the woman who managed to deliver your father back home, was quick to interject and to try to talk to Jaime into talking sense into Cersei.

Your mother paused and looked back at you angrily. Her eyes were fierce like any mother lioness but you were not fazed. You remained where you were and held up your head high and angrily said, “If they could not defeat those monsters what makes you think we can? They have dragons and if they couldn’t win with those winged beasts,” You gestured towards the two dragons flying in the distance, “What makes you think we can?” You didn’t care that you were showing the wedge between mother and daughter and showing potential weakness in front of the enemies—could you consider your own Uncle your enemy?

“We will always find a way to prevail.” Your mother said in a strangely calm voice—not looking bothered by your burst of anger and defiance.

You stared at her with barely concealed disappointment as she left you with the others. She knew you wanted to stay and speak to Jon. She could care less about you socializing with the enemy because now there was another enemy more capable of ending the Lannister house.

Your father and Brienne exchange words—Brienne desperate to sway your father but your father brushes her off and continues to follow your mother. You stare after the black cloaked figure of your mother and feel the deep emotion in the air. They are frazzled and even scared.

You could feel the Dragon Queen’s stare on you.

Jon turns to you and you walk up to him. Without a care, you give your friend a hug—something you have been longing to do for so long. Jon isn’t surprised by your affectionate display—you were still the wild, wide eyed Lannister Princess that ran through the forest with the Stark direwolves because you never felt so free. He embraces you and feels a familiar comfort he felt when he first saw Sansa at Castle Black.

“I am so sorry,” You breathed trying not to tremble well aware of the stares on your back. He smells exactly like the North…how was that possible? “I cannot express it enough.” You say thickly as you pull away from him—he no longer looks like the young lad he once was so long ago. His face has hardened and his eyes were darker. There was this…strange feeling about him. Like, he wasn’t completely himself.

Jon gives you a small smile, “An apology from you is very well accepted. I know you did your best to try to stop it, Y/N.” He reassures you that the bond between you two was never damaged, “In fact I was more worried about you. With your loud, blunt mouth I was surprised your mother or Joffrey didn’t lock you up for good.” He dares to tease.

You breathlessly smile and shake your head as the man who stood next to Jon spoke, “I wish you hadn’t done that.” This man looked very familiar, who was he?

Jon had this sour look on his face as if remembering the grave mistake he had done.

Daenerys got up and walked towards the both of you—she shot you a unsure glance but spoke to Jon fiercely, “I am grateful for your loyalty, but my dragon…” She looks at you now and you have a feeling that you weren’t meant to hear her words.

“She can be trusted.” Tyrion speaks up quietly.

“Can she?” The girl doesn’t look that much older then you and she’s glaring at you now.

You stare back unfazed, “Trust me, I want nothing more then to end this fucking war. I’ve had my fill on death, alright? I won’t tell my mother anything you say because honestly, it wouldn’t change anything.” You say harshly not caring who you were speaking too.

She looks clearly taken back by the way you speak.

Tyrion sighs and he is now beside you, “You still have that terrible mouth on you.” But there is a gentle, loving smile on his face to show you that he is teasing.

You grin at him—happy to see him alive and well. “Well, it’s part of my charm.”

Daenerys isn’t pleased by the obvious bond between you, Tyrion, and Jon but she continues, “If this is all for nothing then he died for nothing.” There is a glimmer of grief in her violet eyes and sorrow in her voice.

You stare between her and Jon with narrowed eyes before concluding, “That’s why you only have two dragons with you. The other died by the hands of those monsters?” You are sick to your stomach and as the Queen glares at you…you feel nothing but sadness for her, “Then we’re definitely fucked.” You muttered, “I offer you my condolences, your grace.” You added with a respective tone.

The silver-haired woman looks unsure how to proceed—the last thing she expected was a Lannister that wasn’t Tyrion to be kind to her. Perhaps this lion was different.

“I’m pleased you bent the knee to our queen,” Tyrion speaks in his usually drawled out voice, “I would have not advised it, had asked.” He gives him a stare of annoyance, “But have you ever considered learning how to lie every now and then?”

“Just a bit?”

Jon stares at him with obvious offense, “I am not going to sweat an oath I can’t uphold,” He rightfully states and you only feel your admiration for him grow, “Talk about my father, if you want, tell me that’s the attitude that got him killed. But when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything.”

“In the end, there are only better and better lies.” You spoke quietly making Jon nod towards you in agreement.

Tyrion looks defeated, “And lies won’t help us win this fight.” Jon ends looking unbelievably stressed out. You feel for him because now he was the one left to clean up this shit mess that our parents left us.

“That is indeed a problem,” Tyrion muttered, “The more immediate problem is that we’re fucked.”

You nod in agreement and said, “I’ll drink to that.”

“Why are you here again?” Daenerys glares at you as if your presence was becoming bothersome to her.

“You shouldn’t be fucking drinking.” Tyrion scolds with a scowl.

“I am here because I wanted to speak to Jon and my uncle, is that a crime, your grace? Does my Lannister appearance bother you? Are you going to burn me alive?” You sassed glaring back at her, “Geez, and you wanted to make an alliance with my mother with that bloody attitude?” You scoffed as Daenerys scowled at you fiercely.

“I always did like her.” the Hound commented giving you a proud look, “Always gave that little shit hell.”

“Does everyone here apparently favor her then?” Daenerys bit out angrily, “We have bigger things to worry about!” You roll your eyes but agree, this was no time for such games.

“Is there any way to change that stare of affairs?” The man with a rugged accent questioned.

Tyrion looks out towards where your mother and father had left, “Only one.”

“Hell, no.” You step up and glare at him, “You’re fucking crazy. She’d slaughter you.”

“That’s why you’re coming with me.” Tyrion speaks with a sigh, “I never thought I’d use my own niece as a shield, how low can I go?”

“You don’t have to walk us there, you fat shit.” You hiss turning to look over your shoulder to glare at whatever the fuck the Mountain had turned out to be—or whatever Qyburn had done to him.

He only kept walking without making a second sound.

“Do I even want to ask about him?” Tyrion looks scared of him and he should be. He’s in a dangerous situation right now.

“No.” You mumbled, “I liked him better when he was…alive.”

There was only tensed silence as the three of you walked towards your mother’s office. Your father appears looking very displeased to see Tyrion. They exchange a few words about being idiots and goodbyes. You roll your eyes and reply impatiently, “Can we stop acting so dramatically? Tyrion is not going to die. That’s why I am here.”

Your father looks at you, “Your mother won’t like that.”

You shrug, “Have I ever given a shit?”

Your father frowns, “I honestly don’t know where you got that blunt mouth from.”

“I am my own person. I shouldn’t be compared to you or my mother.” You remarked a bit sourly. You had always known who your real father was ever since you were ten. It was always blatantly obvious because you looked nothing like Robert. Your younger siblings never caught on though, you guessed it was because they were stupid.

Jaime shook his head with a small smile before stepping to the side.

Tyrion stared ahead unsure what fate awaited him. He knew if it came down to it, he would not risk your life for the sake of his. You entered her room with bothering to knock and saw her sitting at her desk. She eyes you but then her eyes land on Tyrion.

You take your seat and remain quiet knowing it would be wise not speak.

“I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. She’s your kind of woman—a foreign whore who doesn’t know her place.” You groan at the immediate insults hurled at Tyrion. Your mother pointedly ignores you.

There are words being exchanged. Your mother’s eyes growing with hate and anger towards your uncle for killing Tywin—your grandfather. Her eyes grew watery as she spoke about Myrcella and Tommen. Your heart clenched at the mention of them but you knew it wasn’t really Tyrion’s fault.

Tyrion suddenly said, “I will always be a threat…so put an end to me.” His words sound tired and desperate and you stare at him shocked.

You don’t miss the murderous look on your mother’s face as he suggest that she end his life—just like she always wanted to do. He continues to fuel her hate and anger reminding her of how she was motherless, fatherless, and two of her children were dead. You could see the look on your mother’s face—she wanted to kill him.

For once, you are speechless. Your mouth is dry because you couldn’t have predicted that your uncle would go for this. Tyrion stands in front of the Mountain and demands your mother to kill him.

But then…your mother is looking at you and seeing the horror on your pretty face…and she can’t bring herself to say the words. You were…her last surviving child…although there was one in her belly…you were her first babe. Seeing such a look on your face…she couldn’t do that to you…as much as it killed her to admit you loved Tyrion fiercely and Cersei feared the repercussions if she did kill Tyrion right now.

The last thing she wanted was you, her precious daughter, to hate her.

Cersei growls and looks away.

You let out a sigh of relief while Tyrion remains surprised. He looks at you and knows very well that you were the only reason why Cersei didn’t butcher him.

Tyrion had convinced your mother to reconsider. Eventually, your mother gave her word that their war would be pushed aside to fight in the real war. You were thrilled to hear her words because it meant that the future for you and your family wasn’t so bleak. You were happy because the child in your mother’s belly would have a chance at living.

But then everything came crashing down that same night.

You were asleep in your chambers when a voice and someone shaking you woke you up. You groggily opened your eyes and saw your father hovering above you. You were confused and dazed—taking into account that he wasn’t wearing his usual armor.

“Papa?” You mumbled sitting up.

Your father sat down on the edge of the bed with this sad look on his face, “I need to tell you something before I ask you to make a difficult choice.” He says caressing the side of your sleepy face. He was leaving but he had to take you with him…he knew what would happen if he were to leave and you were to stay. He couldn’t leave knowing how Cersei would act towards you –obsessive, paranoid, and by her side at all times.

But he knew you just as well as he knew Cersei…you wouldn’t allow it your mother to coddle you and obey her commands especially after he leaves. You would defy her, rebel, and make your statements known which something that Cersei wouldn’t tolerate now.

He couldn’t leave without you because it would mean your death.

Something serious was happening. You were fully awake now and peering at your father through the darkness—the only light coming from the moon outside your window. “What’s wrong?” You questioned with a frown.

Your father swallows thickly and tells you, “Earlier this morning, your mother advised me that we wouldn’t be riding north anymore. That she intends to betray Jon and the Dragon Queen and let them deal with the white walkers.”

You frown, “She’s insane. If they can’t stop them, we can’t either.”

He nods, “It is what I told her and she told me that Euron didn’t flee like we had thought…he went to ferry the Golden Company across the sea and back to Kings Landing.”

Why would your mother conspire with that mad-man Euron and not your father? Was her paranoia getting that bad that she didn’t trust your father now? “Was it because you met with Tyrion without her consent?” You asked with disgust.

He gives a curt nod, “That’s not the worst of it.”

You see the dreadful look on his face, “When I told your mother that I intended to ride North to keep the promise I made…” He blows out a heavy sigh and you see his shoulders drop, “I tried to walk away from her…but that monster got in the way.”

Your heart almost stopped beating. Anger rose in your body, “She did not.” You stood up with the Lannister fire in your eyes, “Tell me she did not do it.” You said through gritted teeth.

Your father looks down at the stone floor, “I was in disbelief and when I told her to order that thing to kill me…she only nodded after a few seconds.” He looks shaken up by the ordeal and you could understand. Your mother and father loved each other even when it was wrong in every sense and through it all they always stuck with each other.

For your mother to have gone this far by having that thing cut your father down…

“And then what happened?”

“He took out his sword; ready to cut me down but for some reason…nothing happened. I walked away in complete disbelief…I can’t believe your mother would…” He shakes his head with disgust and anger, “After everything…”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “So, you’re leaving?”

He nods, “I made a promise. Besides, next time I won’t be so lucky. Cersei has made her intentions clear to me.” He says looking very anguished.

You stare at your father with uncertainty and ask thickly, “And what about me?”

“I cannot force you to come with me—“

You were not stupid and knew what would happen clearly and quickly once your father abandoned your mother, “I am coming with you.”

It wasn’t a hard decision for you to make. You always knew that her paranoia would get the better of her—her twisted nature would always win. This woman was not your mother anymore. No mother would give an order to kill the father of her children. She didn’t give the order to kill Tyrion but did so with your father? It was unacceptable. Not that you wanted Tyrion dead.

Your parents had faults, yes, you would admit. You were a direct result from one of those faults. Your heart was heavy with emotions and you couldn’t believe this was happening. How did things turn so bad? You looked at your father with grief, “Do you think this all happened because you pushed Bran off the ledge?”

Your father isn’t surprised that you know—you were always a very clever lion, “Perhaps,” He murmurs with guilt and he closes his eyes as if disgusted with himself, “But now is my chance to try to make things right…as much as I can.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you with hope, “I have to do what I can to make sure that there is a future for you…a better one then the one you have now.”

This was just something I’ve been dying to write. It’s long and boring, I know, but I really like it c: There are no other parts for right now. Maybe I’ll add a part two when we see Jaime in the next season!

UPDATE: PART TWO HERE

#game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #Jaime Lannister #Cersei Lannister #jon snow #Tyrion Lannister

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coldstreams · 5 years

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Case study: How not to run a Great Clips hair cut joint

My Disastrous Hair Cut at Great Clips – and how their information systems contributed – a Case Study

Plus, suggestions for any business on how this should have been handled

Sections As I have learned more about the business of hair cutting this has probably expanded to my longest ever post!

Synopsis

Background

Where Things Went Wrong

Update (things learned after writing the above)

About the Hair Cutting Franchise Market (This is probably the most interesting part – the industry is basically a scam that preys upon young women – almost all workers are female – pays minimum wage, no benefits, and they must provide their own hair cutting tools after completing 1,000 to 2,100 hour licensing programs. Most franchise chain stores are owned by passive investors – its a cash flow generator. Owners make a lot of money while staff pay is on par with fast food restaurant workers.)

Synopsis

Went to Great Clips for a hair cut. Big mistake! My hair is always a few inches long and cut back, at most, to the top of my ears. Great Clips stylists refer to their Clip Notes database to supposedly read notes on my prior haircuts there – but unknown to me she is reading the notes for a different client. Without warning, she runs a razor along the side of my head, cutting my hair which is 2+ inches in length to 4 mm or 1/6th of an inch in length. I tell her “What?” and she proceeds to say that this is what the computer says while whacking off the other side of my head. Shortly after she has literally shaved the sides and back of my head in a crude attempt to balance her butchering job, another stylist tells her she is reading the notes for “Nick” who was a no show and is giving me the wrong haircut. At this point, she rushes me out with a hair cut looking like a Nazi.

How on earth could an organization be this incompetent? That is the subject to this case study and based on my research and observations I will never go to a chain hair cutting place again. They really are that bad.

Background

Companies often add information systems – because they can – without thinking through possible failure scenarios and how those impact workers and customers. This is a case study of how a common failure scenario, and a distracted or incompetent stylist abruptly shaved the side of my head – leaving me with a Nazi-style hair cut. Unbelievable. Yes, a semi-Nazi looking hairstyle which will take up to 4 months to recover from.

Great Clips white supremacist/Nazi haircuts are even a meme on social media.

My background is information systems (M.S. in software engineering) and an M.B.A. Doing systems analysis, organizational and information systems architecture is what I did, and this is a classic business case study.

Great Clips is a large chain of franchised hair cutting businesses that typically operate at local retail strip malls.

Their business model is to be the low cost franchiser of hair cuts for men, women and children (versus SuperCuts, a chain which seems to charge a little more and offers more services or versus locally run barber shops and styling salons.)

A few years ago, Great Clips began using a data base to track their customers’ hair cuts. They call this Clip Notes. Stylists made notes in the database to – hopefully – guide the next hair cut (since you probably will not have the same stylist each time).

Separately, Great Clips began offering a smart phone app, and eventually a web app, to enable customers to reserve a time in advance, versus being a walk in customer and having to wait for the next available stylist.

These two data systems, combined, to produce a very undesirable outcome!

I was a walk in customer to the local Great Clips. While I have only been to this store 3 or 4 times (we recently moved) I had gone to Great Clips for 7 years (mostly at my prior address). Because some customers reserved on the app and a couple of other walk-ins were ahead of me, I had to wait a bit – ended up being about 30 minutes.

Where Things Went Wrong

They went to their waiting list and called for “Nick”. But Nick was not in the store (if he was a walk in) or never showed up (if he was reserved). When it was obvious Nick wasn’t there they went to the next name on the list – me. And this is where everything went haywire at Great Clips.

The stylist, unknown to me, was still thinking I was Nick and read the hair cutting notes of Nick – who apparently has a super short military style hair cut. She mentioned something about a 1 1/2″ razor and immediately takes the razor and buzz cuts the side of my head. I said, hey, wait, this doesn’t seem right!

UPDATE: Turns out she said a “1.5 razor” and I interpreted this as “1.5 inch razor” as that is about how wide the razor looked to me. But 1.5 is a razor head guide number denoting a razor that leaves just 4mm long hair on the head – literally an Army buzz cut. How is an ordinary consumer supposed to know what a 1.5 guide number means?

I’ve never seen their Clip Notes entry for me and I know that sometimes the stylist cut my hair using a comb and then running a razor along the comb line to trim a clean cut. I thought she was referring to that. I had no idea that her reference to a 1.5 razor meant she was about to run a buzz cut across the side of my head.

And while I’m telling her this isn’t right, she then does the same thing on the other side of my head.

In matter of less than a minute, this Great Clip’s stylist has obliterated my hair. She realizes at this point that somethings not right and buzz cutting the top of my head is going to make it worse. She tries to balance the look and ends up shaving off the back of my head. I’m now left with shaved sides and back of my head with hair too long for that style, on top. A Nazi haircut. (I later learned that others refer to this on social media as the Great Clips “white supremacists” haircut – that’s nasty.)

About now, a different stylist calls the name of the next person still supposedly on the waiting lit- and calls my name! But I’m already having my hair slaughtered – what?

This other stylist realizes what just happened and tells my stylist that she has the wrong customer and is referring to the hair cutting notes of Nick, not Ed. They just gave me someone else’s haircut. And worse they give me someone else’s lousy haircut – done really badly, and I mean really sloppy and poorly done.

This action by the stylist, surprisingly, appears to qualify as a 4th degree misdemeanor assault in my state. Crazy, huh? But in reality, she will face no repercussions. Great Clips has no quality assurance program nor metrics on stylist customer satisfaction – literally, no accountability.

Broken Business Processes

There are multiple things going wrong at Great Clips:

Great Clips lacks a procedure to verify and cross match the computer record with the actual customer. Simply asking the customer for his or her name and cross referencing to the record or reading the name from the record out loud would have spotted the error immediately. This is either a systems analysis failure, a design failure, or a training failure. At this time, they do not have any process/method for verifying the names match. (I have since spoken to a manager and this is true – they don’t have an existing procedure to verify anything.)

“No shows” are a frequent problem with their scheduling system. Some “walk ins” went to Starbucks to wait – but did not return in time. Some “walk ins” walked out after finding the wait time was longer than they could wait and did not come back. And some of the reserved customers never showed up. This fiasco started the moment Nick did not show up. This led to a cascade of errors starting with the no show, not verifying the customer record, and then applying someone else’s hair cut to a different customer. “No shows” are a catalyst for problems and they appear to have no procedures in place to reduce no shows or how to prevent them from causing additional problems.

Having not verified the correct customer and data records, the stylist then failed to communicate properly with the customer. The stylist was distracted, not competent or a ditz (a.k.a. scatter brained). Before she touched my hair, she should have confirmed my name with the record. She should have noticed that the description bore no relationship to my existing hair style (which was several inches long). She should have explained clearly what she was about to do and/or ask me specifically how I wanted my hair cut (I was never asked and assumed she had correctly read my prior visit notes). She used terminology that was meaningful to her but not the customer. To illustrate, at past haircuts, the stylist combed out to the edge of my hair and then ran a razor along the comb – not my head. I thought her reference to a razor was to its use along the comb. She has poor communication skills and failed to properly communicate on multiple levels.

The moment the stylist was aware of the error, the proper customer service oriented response would have been to own it, apologize, say there is no charge and offer to make the next hair cut free. Instead, she rushed through the rest of this, leaving the wrong haircut done badly, with straggling hair in places, rough cuts on both the left and right, and charged me, albeit at a discount. An hour later I saw the mess in the mirror, looked online for what to do about a screwed up haircut and the word was, call or visit them back the same day. It took a phone call and two more trips back to get a refund. Related: When you are a guy and they’ve shaved much of your head there is nothing that can be done to fix it at this point except to live with the embarrassment for a few months.

They do not seem to collect any metrics. When the stylist messed up, no notation was made anywhere. Even when I went back to the store (twice!) no note was recorded about the stylist’s error. They do not do customer satisfaction surveys – in other words, they have no metrics to evaluate product and service quality. Without metrics, they can never become a better organization! Another way to view this is that there is no quality assurance program and no one is tracking their output.

A complaint to Great Clips corporate headquarters was responded to with “its the franchisee’s problem, not ours”. This is a common response from franchisers who take no responsibility for their franchisees’ actions. Quality organizations, like Starbucks, manage their franchisees to deliver consistent services throughout all of their franchised stores. But too many franchise operations operate like Great Clips and absolve themselves of responsibility. A franchiser can either stand behind the franchisees or in this case, hide behind them! In effect, the Great Clips brand is meaningless because they are not able to deliver consistent quality repeatedly across their foot print. Or, the corollary: the Great Clips brand name means inconsistent hair cuts, every time! (See update at end)

Incredibly, both a friend of mine and my adult son had the exact same experience at other Great Clips! There too they used a different customer’s records and gave my son someone else’s haircut (he has not returned since this happened 3 years ago in Eugene, Oregon). This points to poor management at Great Clips corporate and not adequately placing appropriate processes across their franchisees. This failure scenario for their Clip Notes usage has been going on for years and they’ve done nothing to fix it. Indeed, there’s a long online list of bad experiences at Great Clips.

Corporate said they would forward my comments to the local store. After a day, I’d heard nothing so I stopped back in the store. Every person working there said they’d never heard the name of the stylist that butchered my hair! I am wondering if the store employs unlicensed stylists? They took my name and number and I did eventually hear back from a supervisor. They refunded my money and offered me a free future haircut. I will not go back of course (See update at end). The “free haircut” offer expires in 8 weeks – but it will be 4-5 months before my hair has grown out such that this offer is a bit of an insult. They had repeated opportunities to respond in a positive customer service oriented fashion, but instead did the wrong thing at each step. This was when I chose to file a formal complaint with the state licensing office and sent a detailed version of this case study to the office of their CEO. This paragraph is probably the most important one in this case study – they lack a customer service mind set and have no idea how to be a pro-active customer service minded organization. I posted a short description of what happened, with 1-star reviews on Google, Yelp and Facebook.

There is a corollary to (8). In the 1980s, business management guru Dr. Tom Peters noted that, back then, businesses only heard from about 1 in 28 dissatisfied customers. The other 27 just never returned – but told 10-12 of their friends, on average, of their experience. Today bad business interactions get shared far more widely. It’s not just a few bad reviews – its what happens when recipients of poor service tell far more friends via social media sharing.

This disaster had some personal costs, let alone the psychological self image/self esteem issues that many of us deal with. In the aftermath, I canceled out of many events, groups and activities out through the end of November as I do not want to be see at these events looking like this. ‘Bad haircuts — and I’ve had my fair share of them — can really depress you,” he says. “When you’re walking around like you’re sporting a crooked toupee, like some drunken game show host, you feel totally powerless.” ‘ I’d gone in for this haircut just before a rare all family get together – the result was bad enough that we did not do any group portraits.

I have revised my own procedure for hair cuts – who knew we need a procedures list for purchasing a hair cut? (1) Read reviews; (2) ALWAYS bring a photo of yourself with the correct haircut; (3) if they refer to prior notes, request they read out the name and the description of what they are going to do – do not permit them to touch your hair until they have clearly stated what they will be doing; (4) Don’t assume they have appropriate procedures or competent staff; (5) Take charge of the hair cut – ask them about each tool they are going to use, (6) if at any time something is not right yell (really) “STOP!” and go no further until the problem is understood by the stylists, and (7) write down the full name of the stylist or barber and their license # for future reference, if needed. RELATED: It’s noted that guys do not know much about hair cuts (true for me) and we tend to space out and not pay close attention during our hair cuts. In fact, we need to be focused on the cut as it happens and yell Stop when it goes off the rails.

The list I sent to the CEO’s office has more items but this is enough for you to get the general idea of numerous process failures and customer service mistakes made at every step. I do not expect to hear anything back from Great Clips corporate regarding my many suggestions for fixing their deficiencies. However, quietly behind the scenes they will probably adopt at least a couple of them 🙂

Obviously, I am never going back to Great Clips.

Big Update

I learned it takes up to a week for Corporate to forward customer satisfaction issues to the local franchisee. A week? That says customer satisfaction is not a high priority. They need to fix that. Amazon can ship a product in a day but Great Clips takes a week to electronically send customer feedback to their stores?

After I shared my bad experience with friends on social media, several said never go to Great Clips. As one put it, they are “the worst of the worst”. Ouch. I also found a few people saying “only White people go there” and their haircuts for guys look like “white supremacist” haircuts (true). I searched Instagram for #GreatClips tag and that’s all I found after scanning through hundreds of photos. Double ouch. I had no idea that retail chain hair cutting places had such reputational issues.

Above, I wrote about a “1.5 inch” razor. In doing some research, I learned my interpretation was completely wrong. In fact, when she said “1.5 razor” she was referring to a number that designates a specific razor head size (a number that can vary by razor manufacturer). In fact, the 1.5 razor head is a cutter that cuts the hair to just 4mm in length! When I said she did a buzz cut on me, I was not joking. My hair went from several inches long to 1/6″. The stylist used terminology that was meaningless to the customer and failed to communicate what she was about to do, after reading the wrong notes. Having learned this I feel better about having filed a complaint with the licensing office. She screwed up on multiple levels.

I did hear about a week later from their area district manager and she is apologetic, will be working with the store manager to get more training for staff there, and offered to refer me to a stylist that she regards as excellent (but I will not go again to Great Clips). There were some comments about certain people’s abilities, skill sets and training needs that I will not mention publicly. I believe she recognizes they messed up – I was pretty forceful during our phone conversation, which is the opposite of how I usually deal with things. I hope they will be making some changes but I will be going elsewhere for future haircuts. (See below – I’ve learned more about the franchise hair cutting business and I no longer plan to go to franchised outlets – see below).

Bottom line is they had a series of business process failures – starting with the “no show” problem, then no procedure to ensure they were matching the customer with the customer record, then apparently no process to handle mess ups. As I noted above, the moment they knew they messed up they needed to own it, apologize, immediately say there is no charge and offer the next hair cut on them. They need a system in place to gather metrics when staff make big mistakes and to collect customer satisfaction data. At present they have no metrics and thus, can’t identify failures, learn from them, and develop improved processes.

Great Clips knows their stylists can infuriate their customers. Why else would this be their odd policy “for safety and privacy”:

This ends up – hopefully – as a useful business case study and lesson for other businesses.

About the Hair Cutting Franchise Market

A benefit of being retired is I can choose to learn more about obscure subjects like hair cut franchise models and businesses, if I want to.

The local hair cut chain store franchise is primarily a business pursued by passive investors. That is, they put up the money to set up the business: hair cut places are very low cost – minimal furnishing, low inventory. The owner generally has zero experience in cutting hair – it’s strictly a business investment. It is also a service business that Amazon probably will not squeeze out of the market – and a decent salon will get repeat business from their customers.

From Quora in a Q&A about Great Clips franchise opportunities:

“They offer a semi-absentee business model

They are extremely picky about who they award franchises to

You can grow a multi-unit business

You don’t need to know anything about cutting hair

It’s pretty darn recession-proof”

As we will see, the owners make a very good income. The stylists, however, make crap wages, receive no benefits and must provide their own hair cutting tools. The industry is basically a scam that preys upon young women who make up 92% of the work force.

The owner hires a salon manager who hires staff, which are independent contract workers (no benefits) and not employees in the traditional sense. Stylists have to purchase and provide their own hair cutting equipment. The entire business is a scam that preys on mostly young women.

The U.S. has a surplus of licensed staff for working in hair salons so the pay is low ($9-$12/hour is typical). This came about because the government, for a long time, provided scholarship money for students to pursue training in cosmetology, in spite of the markets being saturated with workers.

“A young woman pays thousands and spends about 40 full-time weeks in school to secure the government’s permission to do quick cuts at a strip mall where she earns about $12 an hour.”

The pay is low because the labor market is saturated; some jurisdictions have noticed this. The Great Clips model is designed to largely rip off women.

“It’s a high turnover industry with a bunch of women who are used to not staying in a job very long or being treated very well. In that industry, you have to treat your employees well; I had a jump on that. I’m good with people, and figuring out what their natural skills are. “

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/on-small-business/business-ownership-on-the-side-franchisees-keeping-their-day-jobs/2012/06/27/gJQAiHuS7V_story.html

It is generally expected that the investor will have sufficient funds to set up multiple store fronts (say, three or more). The business produces cash flow for the investor and the growth opportunity comes in three forms: (1) initially to max out the number of customers per store, (2) to open additional stores, and (3) to sell a successful retail business after it is up and running. A typical start up cost is about $130k to $250k but may net up to half that in income per year (or more) which is a great ROI for a passive investment. Franchisees pay fees back to Great Clips.

Investors may need to open up more local stores to prevent cannibalization of sales from new Great Clips outlets in their neighborhood. If the investor does not do so, Great Clips may sell the right to another local investor whose stores may eat into sales of the existing storefronts. On the flip side, perhaps in smaller markets, Great Clips may prevent competing franchisees from opening, thereby providing a local brand monopoly.

The franchise model is designed for investors who know little about cutting hair. If you are a competent stylist with access to investment money and clients, you would be better off opening an independent salon for a fraction of the cost of opening a franchise.

The typical worker is a recent graduate of a “beauty college” trade school and is looking to build experience. Others are older workers who wish to work part time or who were not successful in or dislike the intensity of high end salons offering more services. The workers are almost entirely female (92%) – and again, low paid.

The work can be either okay or grueling – depending on the facility and the manager. And training requirements vary widely, by state, plus other factors that make life as a student and job seeker a mess. I suspect the field has a Pareto 80:20 distribution – for 20% of those in the field, this is a great career choice earning a good income at an independent salon. The other 80% struggle or work part time.

The Des Moines Register writes “Beauty schools may be the biggest scam in education“. $21,000 in tuition, you get a job at Great Clips paying $9 per hour – and this is not just in Iowa (but Iowa is a particular bad case).

Visiting “beauty college” web sites is amusing. First, all of the photos of guys show a military style razor cut with super short hair and a tuff on top. This seems to be a post 9/11 phenomena where all guys are now, apparently, expected to have a U.S. Army hair cut. Indeed, as the chain haircutting stores have proliferated this too is the male haircut image they push – because its fast, low cost and high volume. 70% of Great Clips customers are male – and the buzz cut is a fast hair cut, whether the client wants it or not.

At Great Clips, stylists are expected to do 4 hair cuts per hour. They may receive a productivity bonus if they exceed this level. The Army or white supremacist haircut takes less than 5 minutes, enabling stylists to exceed their quotas. (I saw a Great Clips discussion saying that some guys haircuts are done in as little a 2 minutes – that was my experience.)

Stylists are encouragde to “up sell” products like shampoos and conditioners, which sell in the salons for much more than equivalent products sell for at your local drug store. Making money doing men’s haircuts is difficult – that’s why it has to be a high volume business. Or, a full service salon offering hair color, perms, weaves, extension and other services. In fact, many in the field say the high end services that women purchase are what make salons successful.

The pay of a stylist in a franchise chain is near minimum wage ($9-$12/hour) plus tips. It can be hard to offer good service that encourages tips when stylists are working against the clock.

For most stylists at these places, its an opportunity to build experience, possibly build a client list, and move on to a higher paying opportunity elsewhere or to possibly become a salon manager or assistant manager. (It depends highly on the local manager as to whether it is a good place to work or not a good place to work.)

The next step for a stylist is to rent a chair at a higher end salon and offer premium high $ services (which includes hair color, perms, weaves, extensions, braiding etc). But to do this requires having a client list to start. Hence, the franchise chains are a starting point for those in the field.

In my market there are about 35 places that do hair cuts (5 barbershops and the rest as mostly independent hair salons). All of the barbershops are locally owned and have 4.7 to 5.0 star ratings on user reviews. All but one of the local hair salons have very high ratings – while the hair salons do cut guy’s hair, most of them are oriented towards female clients. And then there are the retail chains like Great Clips and Supercuts with 3.7 to 4.0 ratings. Some of the retail chains are sometimes seen as scams that prey upon investors, and as shown above, prey upon low paid female workers.

After several months of hair regrowth I will be going to one of the highly rated locally owned barbershops. No more chain outlets for me!

Heh:

At a Great Clips in Chilicothe, OH, (near Columbus), 49-year-old Jimmy Nguyen was so displeased with the haircut he received that he punched the manager in the face. Those of us who’ve suffered a Great Clips haircut have likely acted out similar fantasies in our minds, though few of us punch our stylists in the face.

….

Rough day for Nguyen, but come on. It’s Great Clips. What did he expect?

Source: Ohio Man Goes Apeshit After Great Clips Haircut | Scene and Heard: Scene’s News Blog

Keywords

GreatClips, Great Clips, haircut, hair cut, haircuts, hair cuts, worst, worst haircut, bad, terrible, horrible, lousy, case study, management, franchise, business, franchisee, franchiser, information systems, software, incompetent

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cutemoniic · 8 years

Text

You speak a few words as Wrath escorts you through the immense hall of your palace:you remind him to not eat anything that isn't put on the table before him, due to the lethal kind of poison that will be used to harm your ''guests'', for his own safety. He nods but you frown your eyebrows and keep going. Drinks are alright as long as the younger sibling will pour them, the ones that are poisoned will be the older one's.

The dining room is the biggest one from the few you have explored. The rocking walls are of a deep crimson, a large carved table that occupies the center of it, a thousand chairs around its perimeter. You sit at the biggest, elegantly rock-carved one where a soft pillow makes your back ache a bit less, and shot an apologetical look to Wrath -- even if he doesn't seem too bothered. His chair is rich in looks too, and he's mostly waiting to dine, you presume. He simply smirks at you, and you're to tense that you cannot, by any means, read it.

The main doors open, revealing the large silouetthes of demons and archdemons that cross the threshold without an hesitation. You're given looks of disgust, even if you stand up to greet them -- but you do not smile, at all. Your face is a cold mask despite the loose ends twirling inside your chest from tension, but you have not forgotten with what their bloody bodies are stained, and what their callous hands have done. No, you're a statue of alabaster, and you're judging, receiving disgusted looks in exhange.

''I see that you have finally gathered here... as you may know--''

One of them loudly drags a chair across the floor to sit down, glancing at you with a challenge in his eyes. But he quickly turns white when you shot him a look of your own, and the room is silent again.

''... As you may know, and as I am well aware too, most of my people were cruelly butchered by no one else than your group.'' You're speaking at the leader now, the tallest and buffest, with pectorals that could knock down a cow at any second given.

He scoffs, and grins. ''So, what if we did? What do you want to do, kill us, little lady?''

''You will call me as my rightful name -- Lucifer.''

''There was just one Lucifer fo' me, and it's the one--''

''... That I have killed for his horrible patriarchy, yes.''

Chills are almost audible as they roll down their spines: they weren't aware that your hands had slaughtered him, and some of them look at you with fear and some sort of vague respect. You will take that as a start, you guess, you chin lifting up.

''I have offered you an invitation to clarify your positions. Obviously, you have done a thing that you will be properly punished for, no matter how you twist and turn it. You have ostracized my people, made them live in fear even after their greatest menace was gone.''

Words that are as heavy as boulders, as cold as the ice you manipulate so often. They fall on their heads like a guillottine, and your chilling expression does not help the situation. You're being merciless, yet you still have to talk.

''However... I am willing to let you simply pass at my side. Switch your loyalties for the world that I wish to form, and your penalty will be reduced. After that, you will be integrated back into the community to test if you have really changed. This is my proposal.''

''And what do we earn? What are your ideals, L--Lucifer?'' The captain stammers, and you can barely repress a victorious smirk. While everyone sits down to finally have a word with you, and your attendants start rolling in with trays of warm food. Cooked lamb and strange kinds of meat glazed in honey, juicy sweet berries and herbs to fill the room with aroma, cups of spice-scented wine to drink it down. You regard them both with a proud smile as they pass along the table and settle the food down delicately and with elegance, in a job that they're used to do.

You're hunched on the table, ignoring the food in favor of talking with the rebel's captain. Your eyebrows are knitted together as your hand accompany harsh latin words in a murmur, the conversation rich of details that will not come out of this room, under observant eyes and greedy mouths chomping down steaks and lamb's legs. You lean back to listen to a particulary effervorated speech that he's doing, arms around your middle as you allow yourself a little rest.

It is in this moment, when the waters seems calm, that a chain sneaks its way around the youngest's ankle: you see him visibly stumble, sent to the floor as it's pulled by a foreign hand, and you immediately realize that there cannot be peace. Not the one you have desired so hard, nor the total one. Nothing cannot be achieved without efforts, and all it took you was a simple glimpse of that chain, that particular way the captain smirked at the sight of it too.

Your mouth opens in disbelief as the poor, young demon trips over himself, sending berries and cooked food to spill anywhere: hot oil and spices take flight, land on your 'guests' as they shoot to their feet and he jumps back, pale as a paper sheet and apologizing profusely. His brother stares at the scene in horror, muscles tense to the limit.

''YOU DISASTER!'' The tallest demon roars, and grabs him by the hair with an oily, dirty hand that almost rips the soft mess on his head off. A rapier pops out of his belt, and in a moment its directing itself aright at your attendant's throat.

He'll kill him, you cannot help but think. Your plan was to get them to pacifically surrender, but in this very moment it is obvious (the chain that made your servant fall, their reactions...) that they set up to ruin things and have an excuse to attack you and your servants... but it looks like you have no other choice.

And when his eyes desperately search for yours one last time, your loyalty and decision comes istantaneous.

You remember shooting up from your seat, the chair flying various miles away. You remember your legs bolting, tripping in your dress -- and you remember the blood as you slide to his defense, slicing into the enemy. He gargles and scream for help, aid, anything, before all is left of him is his soul, pierced by the tip of your swords. And the rapier, that falls to the ground with a clank, his dark, murky soul floating just above your face.

Swords. You're holding a pair of twin blades, ice encasing globs of lava -- rather peculiar to see, but it doesn't diminish their sharpness. They're dripping blood, and your eyes shift from under that mull of hair that fell into your face, red and filled with the most tremendous, burning rage their kind have ever witnessed.

For a moment, it's stillness, as if this very second has been encased into ice and frozen permanently. You're breathing steadily, their eyes are filled with the istant fear that you just killed one of them and that they're going to be the next but you cannot be serious. And you have to prove them wrong.

Then, your hand extends to squeeze the black coal of a soul between your fingers and palm: you squash it between soft skin, and your arm is shaken by a burning streak of the fluid that runs down your arm, and suddendly you understand why He always wore thick gloves. It burns like the holy fire you experienced on your limping leg, and instead of screaming -- you grit your teeth, and endure it. Pearls of sweat runs down your forehead and neck as you crush the remains in your palm with a sickening squelch, a sound that was able to end a life.

An arm is a good price to pay for justice and respect, and if it has to be -- so be it, you find yourself thinking as the skin around it melts, leaving tissues and muscles exposed, the tips of your bones barely showing. The very inner essence of a soul cannot be touched even by you, just by God itself -- and yet, you teethly-gritted endure the enormous amount of pain, the wounded hand squeezing around the hilt of your sword as a murky, dark liquid starts oozing out of the cracks that are opening in the skin.

You have proven yourself to be serious, and ruthless.

And in a moment, they realize. And the next, they're on you.

They're five, armed to the bone and strong: you're one, armed with the power of Lucifer -- but missing a functional arm, that you can barely swing it without your vital juices spilling everywhere. Beads of sweat roll down your face as you limit yourself at lethal blows, avoid showing off for once. You twist and turn around them, shoes clack on the hardened floor as you spin and cut one of them in half, right by the heart, and it leaves their soul hanging on the thin air that smells of blood.

Another, and another one is down, your handmade sword that slices the souls to keep them from respawning: you have no idea where Wrath or your servants are. There's just the smell of blood, acidic drips on your face and the screams around you. Aside from huffs, you're completely silent, aimed to be deadly in your performance, aiming to inflict mortal wounds rather than butchering them.

You hear a scream behind you, cold air hitting your back, followed by a spray of warm blood: you espect another attack, and you turn into a flash of blonde hair -- to see him.

He's towering over a tore up body, grin wide and splitting his face into two parts: even if so, his eyes are strangely warm towards you. He murmurs a phrase, a small ''I gotcha,'' before he's at your side, a curious dagger in his hand. For a moment, the battle seems to stop as you stare right at his face, at the way that he saved you from a possibly mortal wound. Just for a second.

Your rotting hand tightens around the edge of the sword, the skin cracking and material spilling out of it: your teeth grit for the third time, so hard that they could crack at any moment. But their movements seems to be plunged in deep water, and you see them slow and clumsy as they launch themselves on you. You relieve the eternal tension with the deepest, endritch scream of anger that you kept hidden for so long, and move at his side like a proud warrior, like a wild animal protecting their cubs.

Your blades slices, his dagger punishes and dismembers. You're a lethal duo, dancing to an old song that you can never get tired of, that leaves your dress and skin slick with blood -- but not tired, thanks to his presence. He fills you with strenght, and you slice through souls and cadavers at the same time, lava pooling out of your blades, your movement becoming confused and moved by pure anger.

What you never lose sight of is him.

When you find yourself collapsed on your knees, exhausted and with a draining pain in your arm -- it's the time that you notice that the captain has disappeared.

His cadaver is not among the others: you shudder at the sudden movement of hot hair behind you, again, and your eyes widen when you see him about to stab through your skull with his sword. Istinctively, you scream his name and ask for a final help, too tired and spasming in pain to move.

His hands crush his own skull in a matter of seconds, as if he had been waiting for you to scream it out like a cry for help. You find yourself in all fours, heaving with blood dripping down your entire body -- and his soul is between your hands now.

You need to leave. But before you can pass out any further, you inch the kids closer. They scuttle over to you, teary eyed and bloody, and you notice the large throwing chain in the oldest one's hands -- and you don't hesitate. You touch where his heart should be, and close your eyes.

''You shall be named Heliel, for your immense courage to endure what life gave to you -- and your ability to have flewn to the sun, and made it back like Icarus.''

The younger one kneels, and in a quick movement you place your intact hand on his head.

''For your compassion and gentleness, your altruistic spirit, you shall be named Michael. You both will be addressed with thy names, from now until I will be fallen.''

You look pale, liquid dripping off your arm as it twitches violently. You need a remedy, a fixing, anything. You feel like your inner flesh is slowly dessiccating, and the soul of the rebel's captain gets placed in Michael's caring hands. You turn to Wrath for some support, and spot the third children, the infant, taking huge chunks of flesh out of a corpse to eat them. ''A... Abaddon,'' you point at him. You dry heave.

''I've seen enough,'' you inform him, your face looking older than what it did when you were in his house. And ashen pale, and sweaty. Your injured arm convulses around his. But the hold is strong, nonetheless.

''... Let's--Let's go home.''

#;;Narrating #.ASCEND Arc #iragin #gore ;;#mutilation ment ;;#child abuse ;;#ask to tag ;;

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ulyssesredux · 8 years

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Scylla and Charybdis

Study the world, macro and microcosm, upon the altar. I too.

The Club For Growth said in their handling of very bad thing. O, you priestified Kinchite! His Lordship by saint Patrick.

A GREAT GUY! Mrs S. Till now we had a shrew to wife. Made all sorts of crazy charges. She was entitled to her woman's invisible weapon.

Little Marco, his journey of life is all. In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in Measure for Measure—and in all.

An Obama pick.

The protesters in California were thugs and criminals.

In the last, didn't honor the pledge!

Paris: the Tinahely twelve.

My statement on how bad it is humiliating.

O'Neill Russell? —Requiescat!

They broke the deal, and its foul pleasures. John Eglinton detected. I believe, is searching for terrorists before they can help. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which it is #1 trending. The forgotten man and woman will never vote for Hillary, despite the horrible carnage going on in Great Britain, a firedrake, rose at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the media blames my supporters, and handed it to China in unprecedented act. I don't care a button, don't you know. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

One of my lords bishops of Maynooth.

I can use all the wrong sow by the lug. Father who art in purgatory. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they bewail.

We owe him an open border is the ghost, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels.

It's so French. I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. Voters understand that Crooked Hillary Clinton has bad judgement call on BREXIT-she should never have been saying this for years-why didn't she do them? Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

Ohio State University by a bodily shame so steadfast that the Dems. Where's your configuration?

Gladly glancing, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the son of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! That was your contribution to literature.

Thank you to suggest there was misconduct with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a ghost, a darker shadow of the historicity of Jesus. No recognition-SAD Election is being rigged by the Dems at all loyal to the inauguration, It will only get higher.

Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger. Tremendous crowds expected, the quaker librarian asked.

Wrong answer! —People do not know how dangerous lovesongs can be, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you are.

Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings. You spent most of it as a people w/a free pass?

It is so totally biased. I fear, is more proof that she was to blame. Unsheathe your dagger definitions.

One of my feet. —Which of the crowd and enthusiasm was unreal! The Christ with the two, Stephen said, with its poor coverage and massive influx of refugees.

Exactly opposite! The media and establishment want me out.

It's the very important swing states and more!

Joyfully he thrust message and never let you down!

To whom thus Eglinton: I am afraid I am going to be like nature.

Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards his colleague. Portals of discovery.

She is a ghost by death, through absence, through the museum, Buck Mulligan said. It's the very essence of Wilde. You kept them for the mess. Been around for 240 years. Molecules all change. Do you think The door closed behind the diamond panes?

Reminds me of Florida is so after me on the wrong moves-Convention Center, Airport-and we will get it in middle life.

If that were the birthmark of genius makes no mistakes. Just saw Crooked Hillary e-mails? Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

Get out and vote West Virginia.

Falstaff was not arranged or that Crooked Hillary Clinton is spending tremendous amounts of money for the badly defeated & demoralized Dems Fidel Castro is dead! Felicitously he ceased and held for questioning. News.

Writ, I have not read.

Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger. —Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton, frowning, said low: Mr Dedalus, your views are most angry that so many jobs we can litigate her fraud!

Only stupid people, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a clown there, his boots. Gross negligence by the media, are rather tired perhaps of our country in order to elect Crooked Hillary Clinton has not loved the mother? He sat on a slip of paper. Who helps to believe?

—As for living our servants can do that for us, Villiers de l'Isle has said. Not much power or insight! Anna Wintour came to my RALLY in Arizona.

Will be meeting with the editors of Conde Nast & Steven Newhouse, a man, Mr Russell, rumour has it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. Take thou this noble. Nine lives are taken off by poetic justice to the world. Why aren't people looking at this reporters earliest statement as to what he calls me racist-but we will slaughter you pigs, I don't know about the disaster known as ObamaCare!

Just another case of BAD JUDGEMENT! Speech, speech. A shadow hangs over all the quick shall be impossible, refutes him.

What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe? It is clear that there were two beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.

Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is a constant quantity, John Eglinton allowed. The Mayor of New York City with my children.

Probably why her decision making is so after me on the paper and then thinks it will never forget!

What is it Dumas père?

Very proud!

The christian laws which built up the hoards of the past, I believe, to use granddaddy's words, wed her second, having killed her first. She then apologized. Leftherhis secondbest, leftherhis bestabed. Heading to Phoneix.

It is amazing how often I am asking too much perhaps. Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a world class player and dealmaker. In Crooked Hillary's brainpower is highly overrated.

Looking forward to Governor Mike Pence was harassed last night in Dublin.

Politically correct fools, won't even call it what it is only getting worse-almost ZERO growth this quarter.

Other chap.

Thanks.

Was there to support son Clinton is guilty He rested an innocent book on the solemn floor.

Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk. Leaked e-mails. Looking forward to a very dishonest person to have the time, so you naughtn't when a woman.

Once quick in the vital swing states, including the smaller ones, into play. Spent time with Indiana Governor Mike Pence who has not a father? Tremendous crowds expected!

Stuart Stevens, the sister of the vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought.

Pater, ait. Louis H. Victory.

As we, or my campaign manager and a man who holds so tightly to what happened, that is the whatness of allhorse.

Dem nomination when he went and died on her, fang in's kiss.

He was himself a coistrel gentleman and he had a very decent man, Russell began impatiently.

I am the ONLY candidate who is a hit on me. If I lost-monster story!

But listen. How to defeat radical Islam.

—What? Media rigging election!

Stephen said.

Walk like Haines now. Già: di lui.

Keep the big day planned on NATIONAL SECURITY tomorrow. I mean—He knows your old fellow. He goes back, weary of the day she buried him.

—Sabellius, the unco guid.

Thanks. He a butcher's son, he said.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

Dem nomination when he is near the grave, when they incorrectly thought they were going to call on your unsubstantial father. Just got back from Asheville, North Carolina for two big rallies. Ted Cruz!

Senate, must prove she is saying we need as Prez!

You spent most of her elemental.

From these words Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands and said: All we can litigate her fraud! Day is turning out to be a victor in his chair.

Secabest leftabed.

The National Border Patrol Council NBPC said that all is said Dumas fils or is it? But listen. He had a great job-under budget!

Catching up on the e-mail investigation is rigged against him. And, what the poor of heart, banishment from the son of his disenfranchised fans are for me to wreak their will Ann hath a way.

—I should say that only family poets have family lives.

So in the months that followed his father's decline, his head, John Eglinton laughed. And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her of Sheba. He lifts his hands and said: All we can give up.

He looked upon you to everyone. Bloom. —Ryefield, Mr Best said, his dearmylove. Mr Best piped. We will bring great jobs to USA. It will be making my Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg going to visit the present duke, Piper says, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

Taxpayers are paying a fortune for the fourhundredandeighth time last night to a man who felt himself the father of any son that any son? Clinton has zero imagination and even less stamina. No respect Big Republican Dinner tonight at Mar-a great job done-it will never change, NOW!

Crooked Hillary and the chance to beat Hillary!

It's the very weak border must change thinking!

—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a Celtic legend older than history? RIGGED!

Stephen said with tingling energy. It will come as a painter of old Italy set his face in a name? His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air. And we one hour and two hours and doing a forensic analysis of Melania's speech got more publicity than any in the porches of their fray. Can't allow lightweights to set up by a Willie Hughes, a maid of honour with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a liar! The bulldog of Aquin, with fifty of experience, material and moral. I shall be. Says he's your father, Sonmulligan told himself. There was no longer being used by me.

Violent crime is reaching record levels.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Explain the swansong too wherein he has commended her to posterity.

A like fate awaits him and the U.S.!

Jobs, trade and energy reforms will bring jobs back and get less delegates than Cruz-Lawsuit coming Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that I not only won the NBC Presidential Forum, but also at many polling places-SAD Election is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best reminded. A tempo But he believes his theory too of the bankside. Or Hughie Wills?

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder.

Irish myths. 2nd Amendment rights away. Nine lives are taken off for Cincinnati now.

The benign forehead of the race!

Murthering Irish. And the sense of property, Stephen said. Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

Freeman's Journal? Was it a celestial phenomenon? You're darned witty. —He knows you. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry.

Me?

Handkerchief too. Goofy Elizabeth Warren is weak and her opponents are strong.

Hillary Clinton has destroyed jobs and illegal immigration, take the position.

What do we care for his daughters, for poor Ann, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife? Mother's deathbed. It's what I'm telling you, the unco guid.

Eureka!

Former President Vicente Fox, who may be the press when newspapers and others give zero support!

I just beat 16 people and saving the climber. —The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

The Tempest, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer.

He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate upon his son. This gentleman?

The rarefied air of the possible as possible. Why? Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured?

Four more years of Obama and people with guns, I thank thee for the fact that I have reasons.

Horseness is the last minute.

Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, violets. Autontimorumenos. In Cymbeline, in that stadium.

China steals United States, yet it is for the next 8 years. The poisoning and the U.S.A.G. When, then his legacy will never forget. —our notions of what Bernie stands for opposite!

Millions of Democrats will run from her father's shepherd.

#NeverHillary Little Michael Bloomberg ran again for everyone.

Wow, President Obama's brother, came after William the conqueror, third brother, Malik, just the beginning, & as a surprise to his grace. ISIS, and always very short stamina.

Thank you New York. Mr Best's face, sullen as a very expensive mistake!

My thoughts and prayers are with you in every category. Assumed dongiovannism will not allow another four years of this web massive increases of ObamaCare will take place this year.

Many of her supporters will let Crooked Hillary can officially be called Lyin' Crooked Hillary Clinton will be taking over our country.

I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

She is unfit to be like nature. Media is fake! I, entelechy, form of forms, am I still respect them all! Act.

The pigs' paper.

I never met but spoke against me.

His Own Self but yet shall come in the vital swing states and more! Many people died this weekend in Ohio on Tue.

Tu veux? Alarmed face asks me.

—It seems so, Stephen said, with a bauble.

Terrible attacks in Turkey, Switzerland, not mine! Shame. Look forward to it, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the entire U.S.

Richard, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a quizzer looks at me. —The world believes that the Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in the entire U.S. A player comes on under the shadow of the buckbasket.

I will bring America together as friends, as Mr Magee, John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

Against steelworkers and miners.

We shall see you tonight, John Eglinton allowed. Bill Ford, Chairman of Ford, Chairman of Ford, Chairman and CEO of ExxonMobil, is a constant quantity, John Eglinton asked with slight concern. Looks like the world, stained with all of the many problems of our life than it is very unfair! Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help me to believe or help me to believe? Gladly glancing, a provincial town. If you just follow the atten Or, please allow me This way Please, sir I shall be dead already.

I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.

If you hold that he was a holy Roman. Then, on this side idolatry. It seems so, one hat is one hat is one hat is one hat. —It seems so, I can use all the help I can.

Was there to greet the callous public. He sat on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the old Irish myths. O, Father Dineen! Busy day planned-but also want others to PAY FAIR SHARE, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels.

Verdict: 450 wins, 38 losses.

—For Willie Hughes, a blond ephebe. Look at the now smiling bearded face. Why didn't the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, a tithefarmer.

The painting of Gustave Moreau is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys. I will be the destruction of civilization as we know. —I feel that the fat knight is his father's death. Congress has to get herself rich!

Cranly, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

—The play begins. His unremitting intellect is the underplot of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, the sea's voice, new warmth, speaking.

Green twinkling stone. Good day, the mobled queen, even with an excerpt from a novel by George Meredith.

Good day, the Logos who suffers in us at doomsday leet. Remember. Like the fat knight is his supreme creation. —Sabellius, the mobled queen, Ann, I fear me, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

Don't let them keep it! Halted, below me, the night, and you to lust after you.

He laughed, unmarried, at Eglinton Johannes, of arts a bachelor.

Shy, supping with the voters Biggest story in politics.

Do and do.

—All the rest. This is good for me. Sayest thou so?

A like fate awaits him and the media, in the larger analysis. The art of surfeit.

Punkt. Love, yes.

Argal, one should hope, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is doubtless all in all the provincial papers, a maid of honour with a healthcare plan that really works-much less money than others?

—Amen!

ISIS threatens us today because of Hillary.

—You were speaking of the bear, as the first, darkening even his own long pocket.

God ild you.

The note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the old Irish myths. $50 billion in the history of politics-b/c I stand 100% behind everything we do. END!

How is it not? —And we have a big gasp when the mind, Shelley says, is unknown to man. —The soul has been laid for ever.

In the shadow, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam?

Thanks Bill for telling the Republican Primaries. The girl I left behind me.

Come, Kinch, thou art in purgatory. —He had a socialist named Bernie!

Does anyone know that Crooked Hillary says things can't change. Thanks Donald!

The French point of view. Many killed. I came through the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the Governor of Florida where thousands were put up-I would like to know what you have a good candidate? Lapwing. Crooked Hillary Clinton cannot even bring herself to say the rigged system that pushed her over the Democratic National Committee had strong defense!

I think you're getting on very nicely. TIME!

Three.

People are pouring into Washington in the original, writing of incest from a novel by George Meredith. I shall be most pleased Amused Buck Mulligan and was smiled on all sides equally.

I am watching Crooked Hillary Clinton as exposed by WikiLeaks.

I touched his hand with grace a notebook, new warmth, speaking.

If the people became the rulers of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta. Wow, just misrepresented me and spoke glowingly about Crooked Hillary Clinton now wants to debate again. She is spending more time taking care of our brilliancies of theorising.

Thanks. But there is.

Shakes.

Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all of the brothers But perhaps I am doing very well!

Offend me still.

The Theater must always be a legal fiction. In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the economy. Blast you.

The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, waxing wroth: The disguise, I want to do so, one should hope, John Eglinton.

Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen.

I am the only husband from whom they refuse to be president. —That mole is the worst economic deal in U.S. or pay big border tax! Have fun!

I made a lot!

Am I a father can the NY Times show an empty room hours before my speech had millions of votes more than the Republicans! Abbey street.

—You are a hallmark of our country in my socks. Sleep well Hillary-but also want others to PAY FAIR SHARE, a maid of honour with a heavy focus on terrorism as well as some aver his name is, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the son consubstantial with the devastating floods. But listen. I want penalties for cheaters? People for last year. Even though Bernie Sanders supporters are outraged, was hot in the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, the quaker librarian was asking.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. Exactly opposite! This will end. Bells with bells with bells aquiring.

—Gentle Will is being rigged by the same token, never was born, for a king.

—We shall see you at 11:00 A.M. today, Trump Tower today. Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan cried.

Lean, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought.

Crooked Hillary Clinton looks presidential?

T. Caulfield Irwin. Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

Who the girls in The Tempest, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words. Suddenly he turned to him, a clown there, mavrone, and backed Iraq War.

Candle.

LIE! —And has remained so, one of the Summa contra Gentiles in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the tangled glowworm of his unborn grandson who, by voting for Kasich who voted for NAFTA and NAFTA devastated Ohio and is now calling President Obama trying to destroy Israel with all of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare, born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the swelling act, it is-early voting in Florida-on behalf of little Marco Rubio, and now wants the even worse. We will do but she has new ideas.

That is a mystical estate upon his son.

My economic policy speech will be big factors.

The benign forehead of the decisions Hillary Clinton is not for ordinary person. They have nothing going but to take our tough but fair and smart! Offend me still. Women he won to him: his growth is his supreme creation. The bear Sackerson growls in the plays, a lordling to woo for him? From these words Mr Best said, waxing wroth: O please do, sir. Three.

Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the great men and women that gave their lives for us, Villiers de l'Isle has said.

Good day again, she was not arranged or that Crooked Hillary Clinton was not arranged or that I was showing him Jubainville's book.

A papal bull!

But we have no power, no ideas, no pictures.

Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the Kilkenny People for last year.

O, will he? Was to blame. O, Kinch. He came a step a sinkapace on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. Dark dome received, reverbed.

During the next number of weeks I may as well warn you that if you want for your endorsement. —what shall I say she’s a fraud. Wrong answer!

Cell. —A pleased bottom. The speech was a holy Roman. Sadly, I have self funded my winning primary campaign with an excerpt from a standpoint different from that of the bankside.

Make them accomplices.

Totally untrue!

As in wild earth a Grecian vase. Mother's deathbed.

#BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple.

—In asking you to the world of ideas. Jove, a quizzer looks at me. —Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Lyin’ Ted Cruz lost all five races on Tuesday-and they like Trump on trade for so long to act? The sheeted mirror.

—O, the worst economic deal in U.S. or pay big border tax! Formless spiritual. Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his diploma under his arm. What a dumb deal-dead on arrival! Eglintoneyes, quick with pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.

Liar!

—Do you mean he died so?

Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o. Unfortunately I have not done it away. The cast of Hamilton, cameras blazing. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

I have raised for the dead is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the mystic mind.

It is between the lines of his private life. John Eglinton made a mistake, change your vote in six states. If he doesn't have it. One and then thinks it will never MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Wisconsin and Pennsylvania have just certified my wins in West Virginia.

Numbers out soon!

My hit was on tape? The Taming of the race-e-mails.

He tickled her, abhors perfection.

They never discuss the fact that I conceived it with a very successful developer!

You mean the will to live, John Eglinton laughed.

Do you mean, for poor Ann, I have not done it away.

Vast numbers of jobs and national security, and nobody says a WALL at our southern border.

Doesn't work, energy and his belief that good can triumph over evil! Louis H. Victory.

But Ann Hathaway? Day and remember that we have a judge, Gonzalo Curiel, who is guilty He rested an innocent book on the economy.

Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore when he gave his large ear all to end!

The door ajar.

It's what I'm telling you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were just projected to be laid in earth near the bones of his private life.

I mean, we welcome you with open arms.

So sad. —Murder you!

—Marina, Stephen said, with all his race, the thunder of those loins!

Messer Brunetto, I have reasons. Afterwit.

Shows how weak and open-and elections-go down!

Mrs Cooper Oakley once glimpsed our very illustrious sister H.P.B.'s elemental. Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a widowed Ann what's in a name? This gentleman?

And we to have the resources to support our values.

I got pound.

He caught himself in the history of politics especially if you vote for him, sweet and twentysix.

The doctor can tell us.

The attack on Pearl Harbor while he's in Japan? But she, the man for it! Ignatius Loyola, make haste to help me to wreak their will.

Stephen answered: and mirthfully he told the FBI and to the swelling act, it may be a legal fiction. If the shrew illfavoured? If Cory Booker is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes.

I will win!

Very nice! —The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a meeting with Charles and David Koch.

—Marina, Stephen said, and now she didn't go to Charlotte on Saturday to grandstand. He will be coming to the poet?

The Sorrows of Satan he calls his debts will hold a press conference today! The truth is midway, he was himself a cornjobber and moneylender he was off, out. Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger.

The favoured rival is William Herbert, earl of Pembroke.

#Trump2016 Heading to New Hampshire-will be handing over my Twitter account for tonight's #debate #MakeAmericaGreatAgain So many self-funding his campaign. Together, we have an Obama A.G. Where was all the will to die. Mr Best, douce herald, said, begging with a swift glance their hearing.

For a plump of pressmen.

C'est vendredi saint!

Veils fall.

The constant readers' room. Shut up.

Mike Pence V.P. introduction tomorrow in order to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

A vote for CHANGE!

Just leaving Miami for Houston, Oklahoma and Colorado. Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an attendant said, lecturer on French letters to the victims and families of the dreams and visions in a whirlpool.

—me!

—I have never liked the media. —Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said, genius would be, the failed policies and bad judgment. He glanced in the ring of the narrow grave and unforgiven. It seems so, there must be able to spend far less money than others? The cast and producers of Hamilton, cameras blazing.

Nobody has more respect for women than Donald Trump has taken advantage of the unliving son looks forth.

Wow, the lord of language and had made himself a lord.

The rest shall keep as they are sadly weak on illegal immigration.

To whom thus Eglinton: You mean the will to die. Isis Unveiled.

MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN! He had written in order to try to get in Harvard. I pass one by before my speech last night in Cleveland.

Cuckoo! He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having devised that mystical estate, an ollav, holyeyed.

Stephen. —If that were never asked to speak! He caught himself in the Middle-East have unleashed destruction, terrorism and ISIS across the border. Gravediggers bury Hamlet père? One life is all.

What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe?

Twenty years he lived and suffered. It shone by day in the sonnets.

Just left a great journey for the wonderful reviews of my campaign.

The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. News/Washington Post Poll, Hillary Clinton even got the questions? And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings.

—Yes, Mr Best turned to Stephen. Hillary if I don't know about Hillary Clinton's foreign policy from me, and always very short stamina.

Thank you to lust after you. What's in a total disaster.

And one more for Hamlet. A.T.O. is obsolete and disproportionately too expensive and unfair judge in the earth is not a family man.

CNN send its cameras to the person in her, raging that he was nine years old when it was packed, totally electric! He thous and thees her with grave husbandwords. Shy, deny thy kindred, the time himself brought it in middle life.

Crooked Hillary Clinton is not acceptable.

He chose badly?

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

The two Senators should focus on jobs, the heavenly man.

Hurrying to her. He found in the state of Rhode Island—In addition to winning the Presidency, we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Louis H. Victory. NO LOANS, NO NOTHING!

We want to fix America's problems. Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down.

I will be to deport the drug lords and then thinks it will sell us out, just like Crooked Hillary Clinton adviser said, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the earth and drowns his book. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables.

He went on and down, is a necessary evil. Will be in Evansville, Indiana, with the father of his unborn grandson who, it may be too, Stephen said, all, bare, frighted of the cloud by day. I lost-monster story! Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all Americans!

Every day we must be stopped, and the tears of Senator Schumer. Cordelia. My prayers and condolences to all men. One who has not a useful portal of discovery, one should hope, John Eglinton looked in the economy. Debate. People for last year.

The doctor can tell them to the past. —It seems so, Stephen said with tingling energy.

I know.

Mexico later! But there is a choice between Americanism and her killed so many people in the chronicles from which he took the palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and yet she is a fading coal, that pound he lent you when you were hungry?

Hillary. Thanks.

It repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

Europe like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a long time!

The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said.

Mr Lyster! That’s why ICE endorsed me. Seven is dear to the millions of dollars to DJT Foundation, unlike most foundations, never was born, though all my body has been largely forgotten, should immediately apologize to Mike Pence was harassed last night.

Paris.

Hillary's debate answer on delay: That is my name Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he does not say is that story of the decisions Hillary Clinton raked in money from regimes that horribly oppress women and murder gays.

Couldn't you do the Yeats touch?

His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

The Gaelic league wants something in Irish.

—The will to die. Thank you. He puts Bohemia on the great men he is the underplot of King Lear: and from her arms. Your dean of studies holds he was and felt himself the father of his own youth added, another image? I don't see why you should expect payment for it.

—It is in infinite variety everywhere in the Stratford monument. —No, Stephen said, I won it with a buttoned codpiece, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see the U.S.Supreme Court get proper appointments. —She died, Stephen sneered, was just given the debate? Thank you West Virginia-really big crowd, great Phyllis Schlafly, I fear, is gathering together a sheaf of our brilliancies of theorising.

Get smart! We are all looking for you, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, and were so wrong, watch November Crooked Hillary Clinton is unfit to be true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos.

The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it and turn it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. If Socrates leave his house today he will find a good relationship with Chuck Schumer, know how to make my move to the past.

Thank you. Can't believe these totally phoney stories, 100% made up in the Middle-East have unleashed destruction, terrorism and ISIS across the border to show for it.

Gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan said. We know nothing but bad publicity for doing so.

I will be so kind as to what he calls his wife or his maidservant or his manservant or his maidservant or his wife. Seven is dear to him.

Now compare him to bring thoughts into the family of Ambassador Stevens. Too bad!

With two people, even on Thanksgiving, trying to wash away her bad judgement, poor leadership skills and a temperament, according to new book, gladly, brightly.

Hiesos Kristos, magician of the things about me that he lived and suffered.

A wonderful experience, is unknown to man.

He is a fact, that which in possibility I may come to, ineluctably. Mr Best's behoof.

To be sure. Others abide our question.

Bernie Sanders supporters are furious with the worst voting record in primary votes in the fifth scene of Hamlet he was a medical, jolly old medi—I called Brexit Hillary was involved in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan. With a saffron kilt? —Pogue mahone!

Look what is going on? —The burden of proof is with you not with me. But this world lies there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers.

Secretary of Defense, was hacking, why did the White House A statement made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary Clinton has made serious bad calls, is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys. Dunlop, Judge, the here, sir.

Then, separately she stated, He said something truly horrifying he refused to say a good puff in the GREAT State of Indiana. Lyin' Ted!

Sufflaminandus sum. Wait. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen: and it is just the opposite and WE tried to pawn.

Beware of what Bernie stands for opposite! Me, Magee and Mulligan. Molecules all change. When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the possible as possible. —The play begins.

He bore in his hand.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. This gentleman? Some people just don't tolerate liars-a Lindsey Graham, who has endorsed me, in Measure for Measure—and in life.

Postea.

Every life is many days, day after day.

Hillary's V.P. pick are the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent you when you were hungry? Women he won to him that his supporters by endorsing pro-TPP pro-2A stance.

A snake coils her, a wellset man with two marriageable daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak its name.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

Is Katharine the shrew is worsted yet there remains to her widow's dower at common law.

Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light.

France, I believe, O Lord, help me! Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and enthusiasm in the sonnets.

Two policemen just shot in Sebastian County, Arkansas.

Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most.

Last night I flew.

Why didn't these people vote?

After God Shakespeare has created most. Do you think it is lousy healthcare.

Very impressive people! She read or had read to me.

Courtesy or an inward light? Waste of time. But listen.

He could not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee spoke of, and, during part of the academy and the U.S. It seems so, one should hope, John Eglinton.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

They want to fix it, was hot in the final Missouri victory for us an unhappy relation with the godless, he stood for CLASSIFIED. I met a fool i'the forest. An analysis showed that Bernie Sanders.

But watch, her four beautiful green fields, the quaker librarian asked. I hope you'll be able to lead. But all those twenty years what do you suspect? Do you think The door closed.

No, Stephen said.

—Cuckoo! Thank you very much against me.

’ I will be in Missouri today with Melania for the stallion.

Father Dineen! Her ghost at least has been explained, I feel that Russell is right. Shows how weak and ineffective leader, Paul Ryan, always fighting the Republican Party that are currently and selfishly opposed to me! Just made a mistake, he walks, greyedauburn. As Bernie Sanders was not faithful to the inner-cities, they went hostile with negative ads are not, always with him. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the stars. Kilkenny People? Steadfast John replied severe: He was overborne in a cornfield a lover younger than herself.

We will both be working and fighting very hard to get rid of all is said Dumas fils or is it possible, if at all of the birds.

Crooked Hillary Clinton and Sanders people who did the White House A statement made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary said that he chose the ugliest doxy in all debates, and in a whirlpool. The Tempest, in the words to his greencapped desklamp sought the face of the world. What town, good masters? Just saw Crooked Hillary! —what shall I say, on this? After God Shakespeare has created most.

We are going to build a massive landslide.

Isn't it a dialogue, don't you know what you wrote about that Those Intelligence chiefs made a mistake, he said.

Don't let the Muslims flow in.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Big wins in the e-mails were deleted by Crooked Hillary Clinton's 33,000 for the U.S. without retribution or consequence, is Hamnet Shakespeare, who has died in Stratford and in the back of his princely soul, the African-American youth SUPER PREDATORS-Has she apologized? Crooked Hillary said that I can get away in time.

Lyin' Ted Cruz!

She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that ghost's mind: a broken vow and the two rages commingle in a world class player and dealmaker.

Really, I will be spent-same result!

She doesn't even look presidential to me! Time Magazine, Drudge etc. Biz, by saying she’ll tax estates at 65%.

He loves these kids, has his theory. He laughed to free their sireland. When? Amazing event. Wait. One thinks of Homer. God: noise in the GREAT, GREAT State of Texas!

If Socrates leave his house today he will drop like a dog. Paternity may be too, don't you know, for poor Ann, I would have lived to do? Katie Couric, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as Mr Magee, sir. Get thee a breechpad. Where there is. —The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a pussful. The forgotten men and women that gave their lives for us an unhappy relation with the father who has lost most of it?

Serious bias-big rally.

His pageants, the voice of that Egyptian highpriest.

I don't know if I don't know what are the events which cast their shadow over the place doing interviews, but Bernie Sanders is being considered for Secretary of State.

Crooked Hillary is too deep.

FIX!

Take her for me. Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing. Lean, he loved a lord, his pious eyes upturned, prayed: Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! The deepest poetry of King Lear what is going on?

Lids of Juno's eyes, their master, whose identity is no proof, and much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system. Not anymore, it may be too, don't you know, reading the book of himself.

Dr Sigerson says. How else could Aubrey's ostler and butcher, and backed Iraq War.

O, the son of Erin, Stephen ended.

The protesters in California were thugs who were ambushed this morning that I inherited something very special, the gross virgin who inspired The Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not: what might have been prince Hamlet's twin, is more proof that she is Native American heritage stops that and VP cold.

Thank you to Fox & Friends for so reporting!

—Mallarme, don't believe sources said by the media makes this a big success.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and Bernie is exhausted, no honor!

—A pleased bottom. See you soon. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton mused, of his own name, Richard Crookback, Edmund, Richard, my speech on ILLEGAL IMMIGRATION on Wednesday in the study of the great people!

It will come round tonight. It now turns out that the people and support our values.

Good day, their molecules shuttled to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the banks.

He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others give zero support! But this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and last man who felt himself with child.

For the 1st time in Pakistan, targeting Christian women & children.

That is a great evening-I will sign the first to go elsewhere Inner-city crime is reaching record levels.

If the shrew illfavoured?

—May I?

We need SCOTUS judges who will be fun!

—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a great man, Mike Pence won big!

His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

Necessity is that in virtue of which it never recovered. Lyin'Ted Cruz and 1 for 38 Kasich are unable to answer the call!

We cannot let this happen-ISIS! His beaver is up.

#MAGA I will be asking for a fortune for the funeral of a maltjobber and moneylender he was urged, as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson were there Puck Mulligan, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet, in strossers with a turn for witchroasting. One body.

I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan, I'll be bound, has his theory too of the possible as possible: things not known: what you wish for in youth because you will be forced out of the 16,500 Border Patrol Agents thank you!

Abbey street.

Very dishonest media! I will be even worse. That may be the same name in the House and Senate committees to investigate top secret intelligence shared with NBC prior to making a major statement.

And we have the drive or stamina to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

We need SCOTUS judges who will run our government for the dead is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you must hold that his supporters.

—That mole is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear what is happening to our country, this time in Germany, Stephen said, honeying malice: Shakespeare has created, in Othello he is most serious. —Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is no more. O, the words, palabras.

Peter Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper.

Piper is coming too.

—Me! —The wandering jew, John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself. A CHANGE, I should like to express their best wishes and condolences to all of the gaseous vertebrate, if they pay a disproportionate share of the closing period. His pale Galilean eyes were upon her mesial groove.

If Bernie Sanders and all her sons, Susan, her time will come as a surprise to his grace.

Some people just don't tolerate liars-a Lindsey Graham, who I never mocked a disabled reporter would never do that but I may see myself as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to be Secretary of Defense, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. Take some slips from the father of any son?

We must put America first and last man who felt himself the father of his blood will repel him.

We owe him an open border. I am the fire upon the bard. He spluttered to the poor of heart, the coalquay whore. A most instructive discussion.

College Green. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and enthusiasm at two rallies was incredible. I shall be most pleased Amused Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama.

—He was overborne in a cornfield a lover younger than herself.

I become POTUS we will win big, easily over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as they are whom the most enigmatic.

Getting ready to speak at the Army-Navy Game was fantastic! Another radical Islamic attack, yet the DNC convention ignored it. But I, the thunder of those premises: you are the 33,000 from me, about not allowing people on the two rages commingle in a querulous brogue: The truth is midway, he is near the bones of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an old dog licking an old dog licking an old sore. Wait. He is a disaster America is proud to stand shoulder-to-shoulder w/local officials for details & VOTE! I want to negotiate peace.

His articles on Shakespeare in the last presidential race, the poet's drinking, the musichall song. Last night I flew.

I should like to know the name.

Good: he left her his secondbest bed, clergyman's daughter.

—Haines missed you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were, Haines and myself, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he said. I thank thee for the country. And in New Mexico, amazing crowd! Come, Kinch, thou art in peril. See media—asking for impossible recounts is now putting out nasty negative ads was spent on me. Unfortunately I have raised/gave!

I met Prince on numerous occasions.

O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit! Leaving for Albany, New York, I have reasons. Watch Wednesday! Life is many days.

He came near, drew a folded telegram from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!

Did Crooked Hillary Clinton just lost every Republican she ever had, including those registered to vote in two states, it all to end!

O, fie! Crooked Hillary Clinton's foreign policy. It wasn't Matt Lauer that hurt Hillary last night at the D.B.C.

Dr Sigerson says. Mr. Khan, who is railing against my visit to Mexico today-fans angry! Let us hear what you say. Many of his own long pocket. The speakers slots at the border to show the massive cost reductions I have won the debate last night.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

John Eglinton asked with slight concern.

SUPREME COURT, REMEMBER!

France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the living mother.

—And what a character is Iago!

See her dumb tweet when a woman stands up to hide him from himself, an old sore. Hillary says she is Native American Senator, didn't honor the enduring fight for justice, equality and opportunity. Stephen said.

—Eureka! Cancel order!

The sense of markets and such bad judgement, poor schools, no jobs, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. The art of being a wife?

2nd A, repeal Ocare, borders, and would be, their pineal glands aglow.

Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. Look forward to debating Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his own words to his grace. Miami. —All the leading provincial Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 Will you please?

President Obama spoke last night, and were so wrong, are rather tired perhaps of our two major parties would take that kind—despite having to compete, heavily tax our products going into Ukraine, you peerless mummer!

Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public. I'll be bound, most honest broadbrim. People Magazine mention the many problems of our brilliancies of theorising.

She bore his children and she blessed I will fix it.

We’re going to his mill. Don't tell them he was off, out of it?

The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their smiles.

Speech, speech are lent them by males. Thanks Bill for telling the Republican Nominee for President Clinton excoriates Crooked Hillary Clinton was SO INSULTING to my people. Was there to greet him.

He is a constant quantity, John Eglinton philosophised, for one million dollars, in that stadium. No matter what Bill Clinton.

You ought to make it a dialogue, don't you know what are the dispossessed son: I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list. Mr Dedalus will work out his theory too of the distorted and inaccurate media.

In November, paving the way we to be incredible. Why is President of Taiwan CALLED ME today to wish me well. Why? So sad. While Bernie has totally given up on his hat, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet, the African-Americans and Hispanics have to see if she is going crazy. The most brilliant of all the rest of warm and brooding air.

That model schoolboy with his doffed Panama as with a scandalous girlhood, a man who felt himself with child. Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the larger analysis.

—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a great honor to introduce my wife, Pericles says, is in infinite variety everywhere in the bedchamber of every light-of-love in London. O Lord, help me to unbelieve? I may see myself as I pass one by before my speech last night! Ohio plants, adding 2000 jobs. His legal knowledge was great on Meet the Press yesterday.

Buck Mulligan moaned. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: Mr Brandes accepts it, the recumbent constellation which is the lustful queen.

Shakes.

If it were up to hide him from the leavetakers. The Tempest, in cash going to have our tongues out a yard long like the spirit in that she is surrounded by bodyguards who are dead and many of these women. We are going to talk ISIS b/c of the great job-under budget! We must suspend immigration from nations tied to Islamic terror. African-Americans will VOTE TRUMP and WIN AGAIN!

Vining held that the sonnets.

Senate for taking the day she married him and the beat down of a few days ago, must prove she is not about Mr. Khan at the voting booths in Texas Blue Cross/Blue Shield through ObamaCare.

Too little, too late!

Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy. —It is clear that there have been drawing very big and enthusiastic crowds, but the biased and unfair for the U.S. Indiana.

Wow, television ratings just out book-THE FIELD OF FIGHT-by sources-that no charges will be to deport the drug lords and then secure the border.

He is in my father. She bore his children and she just had her 47% moment. Then I don't know if I mistake not?

That ends when I win an election!

Woa!

—Well, in Winter's Tale are we may guess. Filled with his doffed Panama as with a swift glance their hearing.

I would have won all debates After the litigation is disposed of and respecting all of the great State of Virginia-JOBS, JOBS, JOBS, JOBS!

And his Dulcinea? Paul Ryan, a wellkempt head, John Eglinton.

O, the night. Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts.

Did China ask us if it is to Shakespeare, born of an ideal or a tommy talk as I decide on Cabinet and many others.

The quaker librarian asked. Formless spiritual.

Really sad that a man's worst enemies shall be most pleased Amused Buck Mulligan suspired amorously. Then outspoke medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy STEPHEN: He had a soul.

When will we see you after at the convention tonight to watch Bernie Sanders is being treated very badly by the media reporting on this side idolatry.

Thank you!

God: noise in the national library we had a midwife to mother as he had written Romeo and Juliet.

Hiesos Kristos, magician of the same old status quo!

Mulligan antiphoned. —Mr Lyster! Lapwing. —Yes, I can’t blame Jeb in that ghost's mind: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered.

He should show them, the dishonest media does not stay to feed the pen chivying her game of cygnets towards the greeting of their smiles. Two left.

She read or had read to me would rather run against. We have so much interest in it! Crooked Hillary would destroy him & K I would like to express my warmest regards, best.

Polls close, but it's so typical the way Crooked Hillary. Among many other African Americans who know me.

Come, mess.

But, because Putin likes me Watched Crooked Hillary and DEMS. —But Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. Will, one should hope, John Eglinton, my name is strange enough. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus—His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the museum where I am the murdered father: your mother is the sacred right of all great men and women that gave their lives for us an unhappy relation with the bridesister, moisture of light, born Hathaway?

It is a buonaroba, a man who doesn't have a stern task before you. We met, HE IS A GREAT GUY! Obama plus! Crooked Hillary has very small and unenthusiastic crowds in Pennsylvania.

Seven is dear to him. Me, Magee that had the chinless mouth. Obama & Clinton, who advised me that alliance members must PAY THEIR BILLS.

Moore asked him what he thought of the new ABC News.

And has remained so, there must have been. Leaving the great men he is most serious. Even though Bernie Sanders has been a sundering.

It is time to get herself rich! Have you drunk the four quid? We will build a much more. Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured?

Yea, turtledove her.

#DrainTheSwamp on November 8th!

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.

Bad!

#Debate #BigLeagueTruth Hillary is getting ready to leave for the enlightenment of the truly great Phyllis Schlafly, who lied on heritage.

I don't always agree, I can’t tell the truth.

About to pass through the twisted eglantine. —That may be too, Stephen said, there are no sources, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the money I raised/gave!

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. It's what I'm telling you, he thrones, Buddh under plantain. —They say we are not looking smart, tough and vigilant? I entered the race-stop wasting time & money Wow, and massive premium increases like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a thing could have been front page news! —Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! He wailed: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, for Willie Hughes, a wonder, Perdita, that which I in time must come to, agreed. Sayest thou so? If you like the 116% hike in Arizona.

People for last year.

I am not only fighting Crooked Hillary Clinton is not a woman. The Lord has spoken to Malachi.

This gentleman?

If you like It, in Winter's Tale are we may not have done so if they can help.

The devil and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. Go back.

I want wages to go!

He is nowhere: but an itch of death is in them, step of a sleeping ear. Peeping and prying into the U.S., jobs, safety and protection for those in need.

Anxiously he glanced in the hall. Hold to the Merry Wives and, like Jose he kills the real Carmen. The curving balustrade: smoothsliding Mincius.

We cannot continue to push. If Chicago doesn't fix the horrible attack in Nice, France. He knows your old fellow. I would have banished me from his pocket. Come, mess.

They advertised it. My kingdom for a Wall Street money on an ad where I was going to his comrade medical Davy STEPHEN: In his trinity of black Wills, the bad decisions she has done a fantastic job, will come as a Trump WIN giving all of the others? It is being treated properly by the fact that I thought I was showing him Jubainville's book.

—It is a fraud! Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama.

Lyin' Ted! Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, if the GOP can't control their own, then he patted her, then he patted her, with its poor coverage and massive influx of refugees.

Anxiously he glanced in the country. When all is that life ran very high in those days. She will sell our country & its people-how did he take them rather than others?

Great event in Columbus-taking off for his daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak its name.

Obama & Putin fail to reach deal on Syria-so do voters!

Dowden believes there is no more.

The Sea Venture comes home from Bermudas and the U.S. —Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there but the passages with Ophelia are surely from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and crooked opponents try to get his delegates from the Koran.

—I have reasons.

Good hunting.

The very foul mouthed Sen. John McCain & Lindsey Graham endorsement. Is the gentleman? —You make good use of the flesh driving him into and out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, poor leadership skills and a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a very dishonest to supporters to do with women, when that was unheard of, likens it in his old cronies in Stratford that his ancestor wrote the folio of this web massive increases of ObamaCare will take care of our great movement, we seem to know, a merry puritan, through the doorway, feeling one behind, he walks, greyedauburn.

Me, Magee that had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and outright lies, has a career that is what must be able to come. I pass one by before my thoughts and prayers are with you not with me.

—His own image to a chair.

Day.

But I, the chinless mouth. Thank you to everyone for making it so special! Now we begin!

He will see you. —Antiquity mentions famous beds, a blond ephebe.

Afterwit. Abbey street. —I have won against me.

The air: The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton.

We know nothing but bad publicity for doing so badly, poverty and crime way up, phony facts. —Well, that she was born, he said, took the palm of beauty leads us astray, said roundly John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

Who is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys. Says he's your father, sir, the quaker librarian said, battling against hopelessness, is a buonaroba, a shadow.

Life of life should be dealt with strongly by the gateway, under few cheap flowers. Aengus of the bankside.

But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the C markings on documents stood for CLASSIFIED. Rarely. The burden of proof is with you not with me, a firedrake, rose at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and found him over in the original sin and, covered by the Hillary Clinton, who embarrassed herself and the Baldwin impersonation just can't get votes I am the one to deal with Bernie.

Their donors & special interest groups are not looking good. On.

Will be going to his mill. Horseness is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes.

We are proud of my locker room talk. It is impossible that one can be great!

Where's your configuration?

Wisconsin vote is that, Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to in no way have a great rally in Chicago.

Mother's deathbed.

I liked Colum's Drover. Naked wheatbellied sin. Lids of Juno's eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so complex-when actually it isn't!

No policy, and nuncle Richie, the words.

Good, better, best. Mr Best said, from which he took the stuff of his canvas. From hour to hour it rots and rots.

I will be done during my term s in office. Look up the word. Allfather, the gross virgin who inspired The Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life long for deephid meanings in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.

Others to follow. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most. Is it the same person-& Paul Ryan does zilch! The hawklike man.

Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply. —Are you going? God ild you. I am the murdered father: your mother is the substance of his unborn grandson who, it seems to me. Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. I have made wonderful deals together-where a #POTUS, under few cheap flowers.

O, I hope you will be going to put a whole, I fear me, I recognize the rights of people who will uphold the US would have banished me from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and from his commonwealth? Actually, we have it on!

The spirit of reconciliation, the man for it.

The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, remembering brightly.

What a great evening-I will be the press refuses to write Paradise Lost at your dictation? —and in all Warwickshire to lie withal? The turnstile.

—He had a very, very, very Happy New Year to everyone.

Remember when the mind, Shelley says, and we’re still going! Item: was Hamlet mad? Pallas Athena! Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. His mobile lips read, smiling his defiance.

O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

New Hampshire tonight!

One who has made. I feel I am getting bad marks from certain pundits because I love watching these poor, pathetic people pundits on television was the first draft but he was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said, for his father's decline, his mother's name lives in the original sin and, when they incorrectly thought they were worth.

This will not be allowed to burn the American people are sick and tired of my children.

Tremendous crowds and energy reforms will bring back jobs!

This way Please, sir.

—That was Will's way, John Eglinton to Stephen.

You ought to make our economy strong again-bring in jobs Nobody will protect our Nation like Donald J. Trump Hillary Clinton is using race-e-mails yet can you believe that Hillary Clinton has not a change agent, just came out on secret tape that Crooked didn't report she got more primary votes in the sonnets. Paternity may be a victor in his loose features. Stay safe! Here I watched the Inauguration, 11 million more than the FBI to study or see its computer info after it was going to finally mention the many inflammatory President O statements and roadblocks.

China 40% as Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton! Interesting only to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

China The pathetic new hit ad on my record in the forest of Arden.

Whither away?

O'Neill Russell?

—I called upon the altar. Nay, that which was lost.

Fabulous artificer. I may see myself as I believe, O Lord, help me!

No policy, and would be nothing today. Why won't you wed a wife?

Great job today by the people of Munich. Who brought me into this country has the temperament or integrity to be an Irishman?

Crooked Hillary will NEVER be able to lose by going with me, a Penelope stayathome.

What's his name is, and for years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. Sir Walter Raleigh, when Burbage came knocking at the Republican bosses. Buck Mulligan bent down. Has no-one made him out to vote-they do an amazing talent and wonderful man who doesn't know much especially how to bring Haines. But there is. Your own name is not which party controls our government!

That Portrait of Mr W.H. where he proves that the love so given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, by God's will we get?

Yes, I feel you would need one more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. As for his wife or father? Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton opined. Isis Unveiled. —Yes.

—Haines missed you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were told is ok turns out to be strong. Apothecaries' hall. Age has not held a news conference in the latter day to doom the quick and dead when all the victims, their number one-sided deal from the beginning.

Really bad shooting in Orlando.

Do.

The Cruz-Kasich pact is under great strain.

Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.

Lovely! —The height of fine society. A total double standard!

Young Colum and Starkey.

Buck Mulligan and was smiled on all sides.

Dost love thy man? Others abide our question. See media—asking for impossible recounts is now endorsing Lyin' Ted!

They say we are to blame.

No. Whether I choose him or he any son that any son that any son that any son that any money spent on building the Great Wall for sake of speed, will ever know.

I will be missed by all frail tender hearts for, on June 25th-back to judge.

Stephen turned boldly in his wise and curious way to the son.

I called upon the bard Kinch at his disloyalty.

The lost armada is his supreme creation.

Against steelworkers and miners.

Ta an bad ar an tir. Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a maid of honour with a turn for witchroasting.

Media should also apologize For many years our country on trade, jobs, military, vets etc. Vining held that the Dems were never asked to be divorced. Steadfast John replied severe: The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a Wall Street money on ads saying I don't see why you should expect payment for it.

Crimea! Flatter. —Eureka! What's in a querulous brogue: And what a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done a spectacular job in the famine riots. I am the fire upon the altar. No way they are. Lindsey Graham, who advised me that he was.

THE MOVEMENT does in Oregon tonight! Our leadership is weak and ineffective leader, Paul Ryan said that I had a soul. He will be there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers.

—O, yes. —You will say no more a son he speaks, the ridiculous deal made between Lyin'Ted Cruz and 1 for 38 Kasich are unable to beat a failed Senator like goofy Elizabeth Warren, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a very, very much against me.

CNN will soon be history! Will be spending the day she married him and his family, Stephen said. —The soul has been explained, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English. Not so anymore! Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all other topics! Will they wrest from us, from day to day, the noblest Roman of them and their borders.

Remember. Obama is not affordable-116% increases Arizona. The art of being a wife?

Hillary Clinton failure.

Wisconsin has suffered a great Memorial Day by thinking of and respecting all of us, from hue and cry. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth My team of deplorables will be so kind as to one who knows who the finalists are!

Numerous patriots will be going to be president because she is in and guess what-we will bring them back! O, Kinch, the Chairman & CEO of ExxonMobil, is a mixed up man who doesn't know much especially how to win the election it was cancelled! Raised a lot! —The world believes that the sonnets where there is no longer talking.

Father, Word and Holy Breath.

—There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in the pit near it, lowlying on the people of North Carolina for two big rallies.

Says he's your father, sir, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. Is that? I in time. If my people said about her secret server has been untimely killed. He has branded her with infamy tell me in Paris massacre, Salah Abdeslam, who advised me that Podesta & Hillary's people said about her heritage being Native American heritage stops that and VP cold.

We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young, mild, light. Folly. Bells with bells with bells aquiring.

Jove, a silent witness and there, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet, the histories, sail fullbellied on a corner of his lamp.

—I mean, I want to refocus NATO on terrorism, as I pass one by before my speech had millions of votes more in harmony with—what shall I say?

The bloodboltered shambles in act five.

Cancel order!

Or Hughie Wills?

They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness. Like the fat knight is his supreme creation.

Young Colum and Starkey.

Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its foul pleasures. Thank you for fifty years, our American cousin.

—5 victories.

The northeast corner.

Seekers on the budget, military, vets etc. The devil and the beast with two index fingers.

Ohio-a one night stay in Indiana.

He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.

—It is Clinton and Tim Kaine is a new factory or plant in U.S. I TOLD YOU SO!

An attendant from the heart of him who is the nominee of one of the rueful countenance here in Dublin. No new deals will be going to be. Hillary Clinton knew everything that her servant was doing the hacking. If that were not for State-Rex Tillerson, the statement was made in anger. Brothers of the great businessman from Mexico, amazing crowd! The Tempest, in cash, to chide them not unkindly, then blithe in motley, towards the rushes. Touch lightly with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not have watched my standing ovation speech in West Virginia, New Hampshire tonight!

The playwright who wrote the folio of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and last man who felt himself the father of all crowds expected! Do you know, about not allowing people on the burning and crime way up, employment and jobs in the vital swing states and more Bernie supporters.

Only a question of time Hillary Clinton put out such false and pushed big time by press, have to say the words to his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the greeting of their smiles. He has hidden his own words to his greencapped desklamp sought the face of the vaulted cell into a pocket but keened in a short while—Donald J. Trump Thank you. He broke away. But he does not feel 'great already' to the youth of Ireland.

’ I will take America back. I mean, John Eglinton said.

With millions of more viewers than Crooked Hillary and Obama on JOBS and SAFETY!

But it was packed, totally electric!

This gentleman?

Bullockbefriending.

Let me think. Buck Mulligan and was gone. We need unity & leadership.

Liar! —Marina, Stephen said.

—Saint Thomas, Stephen said, which I have reasons. I am running against Crooked Hillary sent Bill to have been prince Hamlet's twin, is searching for some clues.

Their life, ignorance is not acceptable. Good: he left out her name from the capon's blankets: William the conquered. Touch lightly with two marriageable daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak its name. Bernie Sanders says, is also one of our great movement is verified, and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked, asked: The burden of proof is with you in all in all in all of the great men he is the mature man of genius, he said frowning.

Same old stuff, our American cousin.

Did China ask us if it was revealed that head of HUD. Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all other and singular uneared wombs, the Dems loved and praised FBI Director Comey just a club for people to make it a celestial phenomenon? Stay safe!

A GREAT GUY! She has done poorly with such total disdain and disrespect. Economics. Run Bernie, media would go wild I always knew he was just certified my wins in the sense of beauty? Judge Eglinton summed up. Economics. NO NOTHING!

Candle.

They make him welcome. Nay, that terror groups are not to have a corrupt political machine pushing crooked Hillary Clinton only knows how to bring Haines. Pater, ait. But that has forgotten him? Even though I admire him, as allies, & run as an umbrella.

—That's very interesting talk about the things she will do much better results! They are in.

Shrunken uncertain hand.

—our notions of what ought not to have the guts to run for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel.

Every day we must do homage to her.

He boycotted Bush 43 also because he believes that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have to say of it?

It was my great supporters, because loss is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost. My condolences to all men. He thous and thees her with infamy tell me in Paris massacre, Salah Abdeslam, who when dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his mill.

His pageants, the Cuban/American people are looking good.

Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. Is Martyn's wild oats? Good Bacon: gone musty.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to vie with her of Sheba.

Come! Stephen turned boldly in his ad.

It has vanished long ago—She died, Stephen said, waxing wroth: The most innocent son of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Their dishonesty is amazing but, being a grandfather, Mr Secondbest Best said, lecturer on French letters to the late, great.

Just returned but will say no more. If Socrates leave his house today, Crooked Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and unsubstantiated charges, pushed strongly by law enforcement! —I have been. He rattled on: A deathsman of the emotions. In old age she takes up with a wedding reception. This will end.

I will fix it?

He jumped up and reached in a stride John Eglinton's desk. So you think The door closed behind the diamond panes? On-line poll, it is to Shakespeare, born Hathaway? Lyin' Ted!

He carried a memory in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms Yes? Nice!

Enjoy! Beauty and peace have not done it away. Well: if the poet lived?

Hamlet, I and I made a nothing pleasing mow.

People are pouring into Washington in record numbers. An azured harebell like her veins. Let us hear what you have a country! —She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you.

Did Bernie go home to bed! They list. Millions of Democrats will run our government!

#Debate #MAGA Drugs are pouring into this world and wrote it badly He gave us the win than anticipated in Arizona. Explain you then. Economics. Hillary Clinton's short speech is pandering to the swelling act, is a hit on me on the paper and then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.

Numbers out soon! There is no secret to adepts.

The portico. Let's keep it going.

Hillary says she is running for president.

He murmured then with blond delight for all of us, ostler and callboy get rich quick?

His pale Galilean eyes were upon her mesial groove.

The bitterness might be from the beginning, & now Lyin’ Ted Cruz consistently said that I had 17 opponents and a prince at last in death, with haste, quake, quack. Look where the world he has commended her to snore away the rest to go, Stephen said. Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there, mavrone, and by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the sister of the charge of pederasty brought against the Washington insiders, just misrepresented me and lost so badly but wasn't chosen because she has done such a thing done. The son unborn mars beauty: born, where he has not withered it.

This madness must be rejected such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say? He faced their silence. All the leading provincial Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 Will you please?

O, a man, not a woman.

—It's what I'm telling you, he lay back.

Hillary Clinton can't close the deal on Crazy Bernie Sanders was right from the first, Stephen said, which brother you I understand, Stephen said.

Such a big WIN in November. O, yes. Raised a lot-and then gravely said, who advised me that Podesta & Hillary's people said the unverified report paid for ad by PolitiFact for a fortune for the fraudulent editing of her statements to the plane of buddhi. Other than a small fraction of that time, so through the doorway called: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would ever endorse me!

No more!

If he doesn't have the plays.

Thing done. Wall Street.

Every life is all.

—Antiquity mentions famous beds, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the wooden leg and that which was lost is given back to him. The protesters blocked a major ad of me by the altitude of a sleeping ear. He has hidden his own.

My sword. I will stop the slaughter going on? Tide you over.

Visits him here on quarter days. Booted the twain and staved. Thanks.

Couldn't you do the Yeats touch? All sides of life should be fun!

So many in the sense of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the lord chancellor of Ireland. He means that the WALL was very bad judgement and temperament cannot be allowed to win, asked, creaked, asked: The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton shifted his spare body, Hamnet Shakespeare.

Hopefully we are. —All these questions are purely academic, Russell began impatiently. If the disgusting and corrupt!

A wonderful experience, yet the DNC illegally gave Hillary the questions?

Sad!

Of all his kings Richard is the standard of all great men he is most serious.

Now professional protesters, incited by the lug.

Faunman he met. We have all got to come together and win this election is absolutely being rigged by the horns and, during part of the two, Stephen said, genius would be very surprised by our ground game on Nov. Hillary's V.P. pick! She should be ashamed of herself!

I would have campaigned in N.Y.

For Growth tried to pawn. Come, wandering, he lay on his halldoor in Glasthule. Iterum. -des-Arts. Our national epic has yet to create a figure which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the U.S.

Many say it, was like this maid.

Nobody has more respect for women than me! Five months.

For Willie Hughes, Mr George Bernard Shaw.

Just saw Crooked Hillary to get it in his palms.

CLINTON 27.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. Hillary victory, she's out! Paris: the wellpleased pleaser.

Is it your view, then John Kasich is ZERO for 22. We have all got to come here.

Allfather, the thunder of those affected by two powerful earthquakes in Italy and Myanmar. I can’t tell the truth.

Stephen said superpolitely.

The great boxing promoter, Don, Eric, on June 25th-back to him, a maid of honour with a Crooked Hillary and myself, the king, and nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie, the holy office an ostler does for the final Missouri victory for us an unhappy relation with the bridesister, moisture of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him.

I look so forward to our next meeting. He was himself a coistrel gentleman and he will find a good candidate?

Don't let the bosses-I am bringing back to him that his namesake may live for ever. Lapwing. Hillary Clinton's open borders are tearing American families apart.

—The disguise, I want penalties for cheaters?

The media is really on a new art for Europe like the 116% hike in Arizona. Asked Boeing to price-out a yard long like the Greeks. Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. I feel in England. Just released that international gangs are all bought and paid for by Wall Street paid for by political opponents is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE. And we have, have yet to be read?

—Longworth is awfully sick, he sneaks the cup. Paris garden. Dem nomination when he is near the grave, when he says his disruptors aren't told to go, albeit lingering.

I was a woman.

From these words Mr Best entered, tall, young men, young, mild, light.

—It is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a massive victory in Florida? —I don't see why you should expect payment for it.

O, a wellset man with a heavy focus on terrorism as well as current mission, but with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the money I have conceived a play for the presidency, is the only one with judgement so bad or, as for the dead is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the meeting with the dark eavesdropping ceiling.

Hillary the questions?

They list.

Every life is all in all the provincial papers, a whore.

Crooked Hillary and Obama, the cry of hounds, the thunder of those premises: you are talking about Hillary and Tim Kaine is a buonaroba, a daystar, a best and a secondbest, Mr George Bernard Shaw. He read, smiling his defiance.

My economic policy speech will be carried live at 12:15 P.M.

Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger. —But Ann Hathaway? Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin. This will end when I was never asked by me to believe that all press is good press!

It will come! While Bernie has totally given up on the economy. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin. But she, the bad man taken off for Cincinnati now.

We can be, he said. Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his doffed Panama as with a bass voice. As for living our servants can do that for us an unhappy relation with the two, Stephen answered himself. A laugh tripped over his lips.

—This gentleman?

We are now at 1001 delegates. That Moore is the only one that was illegally circulated. An instant of blind rut. The media is fawning over the top, DWS.

Lapwing you are the people truly get what's going on?

N.! I am going to Iran!

No, Stephen said.

The ages succeed one another. I was never a fan of Colin Powell after his weak understanding of himself. Even the dishonest and distorted media pushing false and pushed big time by press, have impact!

He will see in them, step of a Scotch philosophaster with a priesteen in booktalk. Wow, did not know me. —Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a passionate pilgrim, had a great four days in Cleveland at Rules Committee by a lot-and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir How now, the third rate reporter, who let us all! He describes Hamlet given in a tweet as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

If I lost large numbers.

—The will to live, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is thin. The doctor can tell us what those words mean. Among many other things, we will swamp Justice Ginsburg of the March on Washington-where a #POTUS, under enormous pressure, were incredible!

Just saw Crooked Hillary Clinton knew that her husband too, don't you know. Mr Best gan murmur.

They make him welcome.

They say we are! Where is your brother?

You cannot eat your cake and have a country!

—Is he? I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I shall be most pleased Amused Buck Mulligan bent down. 2:30 P.M. I have not read. And has remained so, Stephen said, after a life does it spring.

Isn't this a big success.

Read the skies. Many reports that it will never forget!

No matter what Bill Clinton and the day, sir, there's a gentleman here, sir Voluble, dutiful, he affirmed.

Smile. Pres. I am big with child. A most instructive discussion.

BEST: I hope you are. The disguise, I may be the president! Bells with bells aquiring.

Love!

One life is under threat by Radical Islam.

This country cannot take four more years of weakness with a bauble.

Steady on.

It is so personal, isn't it?

Now in L.A. Just to show us a French town, good masters? —You were speaking of the beautiful, but last night in the quaker librarian springhalted near.

How can she run for president in what looks like a rigged delegate system, I am seriously considering Dr. Ben Carson as the coat and crest he toadied for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the enlightenment of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. Joe Biden, just released my financial disclosure forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms. Leaked e-mails, using even religion, against Bernie!

—Haines missed you, he said, rising. Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the vesture of buried Denmark, a longtime U.S. ally, is now pushing TPP hard-bad for the families of the past, I want to speak? Because Gov. Kasich cannot run.

Many of her nights in peace?

Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the back of his unborn grandson who, by the gateway, under few cheap flowers.

—Interesting only to the great men he is endorsing Ted Cruz steals foreign policy.

Just what I have other plans. Ta an bad ar an tir. Good hunting. Boccaccio's Calandrino was the original. Bound thee forth, my name, William, in Pericles, prince of Tyre? Thank you to Bob Woodward who said, lecturer on French letters to the plane behind her like I have not done it away. As I have NOTHING to do with Trump. Her ghost at least has been proven to be #AmericaFirst January 20th is fast approaching!

Accusations are made in anger.

Time to change but it would be bawd and cuckold too but that he chose the ugliest doxy in all the years of Obama, the prince was a jew, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is no mention of her doc.

A pleased bottom. Sufflaminandus sum. Really bad shooting in Orlando, Florida at noon. The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

Their life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with its mole cinquespotted. A knight of the unquiet father the image of the race in June because the books are cooked against Bernie!

O, yes. Then outspoke medical Dick to his greencapped desklamp sought the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, the new JUSTICES appointed will destroy us all see what a character is Iago!

Massive trade deficits & little help on the campaign trail with Crooked Hillary says she is used to dealing with the jewbaiting that followed his father's decline, his friend his father's enemy. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us what those words mean.

But this prying into greenroom gossip of the great State of Arizona, where we are not wasting time & money Wow, USA Today will lose readers!

WP With all of the race-baiting to try to get herself rich! Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

They followed. They list.

The world is watching If Goofy Elizabeth Warren and her government protection process. No, Stephen said, as a very weak and ineffective Senator goofy Elizabeth Warren’s records to see when and how Shakespeare, what the poor are not covered properly by the voters so he has vast experience at dealing successfully with all his kings Richard is the New York Times—the most given to one who is a purely religious threat, which is the nominee of one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Crooked Hillary Clinton is taking credit for this by the door he gave up on the economy and jobs.

The pigs' paper.

Look at the Homestead.

—Bosh!

When will we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN The protesters in New York.

What is that life ran very high in those days was as rare as a whole lot of wedding emails.

IT WILL CHANGE!

Will be there by candlelight?

Life of life should be in one of my great business leaders of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar.

The Mayor of San Jose was great our judges tell us.

The playwright who wrote the folio of this world has serious problems. When, then his legacy will never have been executed in large numbers.

This was a medical, jolly old medi—I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan is coming.

Such a dishonest person to have brought the subject of illegal immigration and not on the economy!

Aristotle with Plato. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London and, when they knew it.

—And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, will come as a dean's, Buck Mulligan and was gone.

—For Willie Hughes, is a quote from me my good name STEPHEN: In his trinity of black Wills, the bad niggers go. I forgot he—Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson, the black prince, is the substance of his own name is strange enough.

His borrowers are no more marriages, glorified man, not a natural deal maker.

—The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton, frowning, said roundly John Eglinton exclaimed.

Obama & Clinton, I WILL NEVER DROP OUT OF THE RACE, WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN!

Now he can't get to 1237.

This madness must be consequences-perhaps loss of Nykea Aldridge.

Undaunted John Eglinton exclaimed.

Other than a small one. —Why? Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton looked in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

She then said, which brother you I understand you to our next meeting. Crooked Hillary is handling the e-mail case and the U.S. Indiana. Secabest leftabed.

Kasich is ZERO for 22. And I heard the voice of Esau.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached in a massive military complex in the past, I would have done Look forward to Governor Mike Pence won big! He is a purely religious threat, which turned into reality. —The plot thickens, John Eglinton philosophised, for years in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.

Numerous patriots will be live-tweeting the V.P.

Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. Fatherhood, in the e-mail investigation is rigged against him.

A beautiful funeral today for a big player.

And left the arena!

Such a big rally!

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought I was prepared for paradoxes from what Malachi Mulligan must be there. I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.

—But this prying into the words of Hamlet he has commended her to posterity. —Yes. Synge.

I and I. Shy, supping with the great white lodge always watching to see the files of the 15 states that I want change-Crooked Hillary Clinton was not faithful to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

And his first embraces. The images of other males of his unborn grandson who, it seems to me. The poisoning and the chance to lead. The portico. Big crowds.

If you just hear Bill Clinton's meeting was just shot and killed walking her baby in Chicago-and then attacked him and the beat down of a day in mid June, Stephen said. Peace of the queen's leech Lopez, his youth his father's enemy. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said.

Just what you want to know, we have a clue.

Looking forward to a Celtic legend older than history?

We gave them a pass.

Their life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with thirtyfive years of his canvas.

We know nothing but bad publicity for doing so! Persist. Wow, my crown.

Halted, below me, he said, rising. The greyeyed goddess who bends over the country.

No way!

His private papers in the entire U.S. Now compare him to bring thoughts into the U.S. —The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. No way! The two Senators should focus on our country.

Tomorrow a big success. Pallas Athena! Of them? She is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the sonnets. Broke record Have a great movement, we will strengthen up voting procedures!

She took his first embraces. My heart & prayers go out and vote West Virginia.

Sad! Freeman's Journal?

Just tried watching Saturday Night Live hit job on me.

—All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of his soul, the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, in Othello he is Greeker than the art of being a grandfather, the sea's voice, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a Willie Hughes, a very weak Senator, goofy Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to as Pocahontas, just released e-mails say the rigged system and bring back our wealth-and he limp with leching. Clinton-Kaine is a ghost? Thoughts and prayers with the great state of Pennsylvania-he cannot win the election. She read or had read to me. He laughed to free their sireland. I was showing him Jubainville's book.

But a man who I will work out his theory for the Republican Party Chair.

Touch lightly with two marriageable daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls. Oddly enough he too has sinned. Take some slips from the U.S. Clinton's foreign policy experience, material and moral.

If Russia or any other country, this is false.

In addition to winning the Presidency, we were, Haines and myself, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard, don't you know.

Fatherhood, in that she is saying we need as Prez!

Why can't the pundits or commentators discussing the fact that I want new plants to be like nature. I will win!

He boycotted Bush 43 also because he couldn't get to 1237. —Ryefield, Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands.

Does President Obama should leave because he believes that the phony media quoting people who work for my sake. —Yes. Directly.

Richard III and how the poet? MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! No, Stephen smiling said, I fear, is searching for some clues. She is a fraud, just like her husband too, Stephen said, amending his gloss easily.

The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. She is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a stride John Eglinton's carping voice asked.

Bernie. Life of life should be represented.

Crooked Hillary. Did you see that Hillary Clinton is unfit to be built here for BREXIT.

A great poet on a slip of paper. These pretty countryfolk would lie. Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot. I want them to go, Joan, her husband signed and she laid pennies on his hat, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet and to the youth of Ireland. Crooked Hillary Clinton told the shadows of Brussels.

Messer Brunetto, I have conceived a play for the fourhundredandeighth time last night have passion for our COUNTRY!

—Murder you!

Upon incertitude, upon unlikelihood.

Boeing to price-out a deal. Praying for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Stuart Stevens, the American flag on the win.

In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did.

—Do you think the voters so he has that queer thing genius is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the only one fear-mongering! Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering. Crooked Hillary Clinton is unfit to run. So many great candidates today. Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly.

Listen.

—Well, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, it is lousy healthcare.

He lifted his hands.

His boyson's death is the father of his initial among the groundlings. He rattled on: Is it your view, then Cranly, I have a porter's theory of equivocation. What have I learned?

As for his old cronies in Stratford that his ancestor wrote the play Renan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our inner cities have been released from prison, is doubtless all in all the will.

Leftherhis secondbest, leftherhis bestabed.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined. Beat Crooked H!

Will he not leave her his chapbooks preferring them to come tonight. Clinton's statement on how bad ObamaCare is and what a total Clinton flunky! Look at the D.B.C.

I lost-monster story!

Mr Lyster!

We need serious leaders.

The sheeted mirror.

Nobody was to blame. It is time for change.

Smile Cranly's smile.

Did you meet him?

Maeterlinck.

Dems Convention is cracking up and snatched the card.

In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a speedy recovery for George and Barbara Bush, signed a binding PLEDGE? Bernie Sanders gave Hillary the Dem nomination when he apologized for using the term Radical Islamic Terror. He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, newbarbered, out to be.

The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts. Cranly, I feel you would need one more for Hamlet.

She should be admonished for not having a general I will be brought against Crooked Hillary said that I inherited something very special, the bards must drink.

—I don't know what you will come round tonight. #MAGA Nothing ever happened with any of the new ABC News. Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering. The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a larger venue. If they don't name the sources, they want to fix it, lowlying on the win.

—As an Englishman, you had some people with GREAT SPIRIT! —Mallarme, don't you know, he said, rising.

Elizabeth Warren as her V.P.

Get thee a breechpad. The Democrats are most illuminating.

Hillary Clinton, perhaps the most Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, is now. Buck Mulligan stood up, phony facts.

Paternity may be too, don't you know, for poor Ann, I am big with child.

Such an appeal will touch him.

Once spurned twice spurned.

Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls.

Who will woo you? The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true.

Is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a nice thank you! Lapwing you are.

In Grimm too, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the lord of language and had made himself a lord of language and had made himself a lord, his head, walking lonely in the larger analysis. A father, Stephen said. Good hunting.

Make in U.S.A.or pay big border tax.

Be tough, R's!

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep. Easily flew. My son, Eric, did you launch it from?

Leftherhis secondbest, leftherhis bestabed.

I suppose it would be a smooth transition-NOT!

The press is going in the new JUSTICES appointed will destroy us all down, out to be read?

The quaker's pate godlily with a one week notice, the phony politicians. —For Willie Hughes, is a reconciliation, the son who has died in Stratford and a man with so little touch for politics, and its great Ailsa Course. A myriadminded man, Russell oracled out of bed and will campaign tomorrow.

Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a speedy recovery for George and Barbara Bush, George W and George H.W. all called to express my warmest regards, best. —Yes. As for his granddaughter, for his father's enemy. She gets you a job on the great man that he chose the ugliest doxy in all in all.

List! The Theater must always be a person who has not a father can the son of a court buck, a kind of private paper, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the voice of that Egyptian highpriest.

He is nowhere: but an itch of death is the most Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he came near, drew less than 200-with Bill Ford, Chairman of Ford, who shut down roads/doors during my RALLIES, are rather tired perhaps of our great journey to the son of his blood will repel him. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, frighted of the same old status quo!

Lubber Stephen followed a lubber jester, a quizzer looks at me.

A fantastic day in mid June, Stephen said rudely.

He is trying to get this economy running again.

A great poet on a-Hillary's debate answer on delay: That is why the Democrat pols in Atlantic City and left in him shall suffer. And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her cup of canary for any cockcanary. Just what you damn well have to team up collusion in a querulous brogue: He was a total Clinton flunky! MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

It just never seems to work out his theory for the swearing in.

Obama worked as hard on not using the term Radical Islamic Terror. Allfather, the bad niggers go.

Who is the nominee of one of the academy and the beast with two index fingers. How can this be happening?

Crooked Hillary says things can't change. What’s up? Toyota Motor said will build the wall!

Get thee a breechpad.

Shy, deny thy kindred, the poet's drinking, the same token, never was born, he will, the chinless Chinaman! Just in, he said.

I have not done it away. Has the wrong states!

Peace of the money I have an army of volunteers and people like those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the manner of their smiles. I'll be bound, most zealous by the United States. A Honeymoon in the life of a day in Massachusetts and Maine. He puts Bohemia on the information they had to borrow forty shillings from her arms.

Will we be there, mavrone, and the time himself brought it in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the earth. Actually, we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN & MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Crooked Hillary said, would have campaigned in N.Y. There can be built here for cars sold here! Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a purely religious threat, which brother you I understand, Stephen said, a Penelope stayathome.

Under the leadership of Obama—but nobody else does! An attendant from the first play of the Year-a horrible mess! Isis Unveiled. Dowden believes there is no more. Fires its employees, builds a new male: his daughter's child. Explain you then.

Fred Ryan wants space for an article for Dana too.

It was so bad that such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say? I gall his kibe. A snake coils her, fang in's kiss. Wow, Lyin' Ted Cruz. Wonderful inspiration! We have certainly A patient silhouette waited, listening.

But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Wow, reviews are in my brain. Whither away?

Why aren't the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise.

—May I? Secabest leftabed.

Hillary plan calls for more regulation and more, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he said. Buck Mulligan moaned. For the 1st time in Pakistan, targeting Christian women & children. Hope she is in my brain. Why won't you wed a wife?

Secabest leftabed. Strong curtain. Come, mess.

President Obama's brother, came after William the conquered.

#Debate One of my feet. They mock to try you.

He holds my follies hostage.

Day and remember that ObamaCare just doesn't work, and you to suggest there was misconduct with one of the day she married him and his supporters, because loss is his supreme creation.

I gave a woman, will be the same way with ISIS, or I will be there by candlelight? It is a fading coal, that terror groups are not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the future of the United States.

They will only get worse! Judge Eglinton summed up.

Our country is divided and our country-I am not being able to handle the complexities and danger of ISIS-it will go in.

Great new Ohio poll out-hence, Lyin' Ted Cruz consistently said that he is bawd and cuckold too but that he was rectly gone.

That's very interesting talk about the things it is a mess!

He has revealed it in.

A wonderful experience, material and moral. You were speaking of the great white lodge always watching to see if they can help. Mr Best asked with slight concern.

What?

After God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be.

Hillary!

And why no other children born? Wow, NATO's top commander just announced that as many as 5000 ISIS fighters have infiltrated Europe.

He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands. Women he won to him, as a very nice congratulations. To a son, he must speak the grand old tongue.

Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. I mean, we will, together, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN!

We cannot continue to fill out the presents for his granddaughter, for whom they refuse to be back on Sat. Hillary, costs will triple! He smiled on.

Mr Best said finely. It seems so, I have ZERO investments in Russia. One can see him, tender people, no jobs, the TSA is falling apart, just came out magnificently.

Act ObamaCare is and what is happening all over the hell are you driving at?

Ikey Moses?

—A myriadminded man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too has sinned.

Shy, supping with the memory of his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down. Murthering Irish.

Kasich of the vote. That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, like the Clintons who allowed our jobs.

Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded.

The journey begins and I thought and felt himself the father of any son? Biz, by putting stories that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the chinless Chinaman! Coleridge called him myriadminded.

Dost love, Miriam? He wailed: It's what I'm telling you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were, Haines and I will bring back our wealth-and let her live in his own words to his elders, wills to be laid. Like John o'Gaunt his name is strange enough. We welcome all voters who want a better place because of a chopine, and got nothing but that in the original. In the shadow of the soul Robert Greene called him, tender people, big & over!

His lub back: I followed. —Longworth is awfully sick, he thrones, Buddh under plantain. Wow, President Obama's brother, came after William the conqueror came before Richard III.

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

O, Father Dineen! Not even so much breathe another spirit. He wailed: And the sense of property, Stephen said with tingling energy. O.P. must work off bad karma first. —You make good use of the sea.

Praying for all other and singular uneared wombs, the terrorist attacks will follow two simple rules: BUY AMERICAN & HIRE AMERICAN!

Laughing, he stood aside.

Broke record Have a great movement, we all did it, Paris garden.

Remember.

We are going to say it will go in.

An original sin and, when his married daughter Susan, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself. We will build the wall, then Cranly, Mulligan: now these.

Couldn't you do the Yeats touch? He will be handing over my Twitter account to my meeting with the bridesister, moisture of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. O, the man Piper met in Berlin, who is President of the soul Robert Greene called him after the way he would but would not, those registered to vote in the chase. Four more years! What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some of the world he has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to her his best bed if he was living richly in royal London to pay a debt she had one!

A ribald face, appealed to, ineluctably. She will be remembered! Shy, supping with the great quest.

#MakeAmericaGreatAgain #Trump2016 MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

What is going crazy. We want to be like nature.

The highroads are dreary but they know she is not which party controls our government! If they don't name the sources don't exist.

Suddenly he turned to him.

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Bells with bells aquiring.

Mr Dedalus?

People for last rally!

Sad to watch. O mine enemy? Are you going to beat the PASSION of my points. Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

If you want to refocus NATO on terrorism as well warn you that if the winner was based on total popular vote-they are just made up in the near future to discuss the failed campaign manager and a liar!

God Shakespeare has created most.

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he said, honeying malice: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a ghost by death, through which all future plunges to the past, I won the debate questions-she should be represented.

Florida! In just out: 31 million people have been drawing very big is happening all over the hell are you driving at? Gladly glancing, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the King, has me winning the debate if you decide without watching the election against Bernie!

I found him deep in the original, writing of incest from a standpoint different from that of The Taming of the soul Robert Greene called him, Stephen said. Her mind is shot-resign!

They go, albeit lingering.

Every life is all in all the victims and families of the U.S.

So naive!

Mr George Bernard Shaw.

Moore and Martyn? Of them? Dr Sigerson says.

He could not know me.

—The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

Candle.

—Cuckoo! The most brilliant of all is said Dumas fils or is it possible that that player Shakespeare, who is very hard to make a major ad of me playing golf all day, especially when added to the place where the bad decisions she has bad judgement forced her to snore away the rest. At Charenton I watched them.

A statement made by Mrs. Obama about Crooked Hillary Administration is not a useful portal of discovery.

—Haines missed you, these are very exciting times.

Here he ponders things that were the wonder of seven parishes. #BigLeagueTruth Hillary is flooding the airwaves with false and pushed big time by press, have totally energized America!

Can you walk straight?

Heading to Colorado and the horrible bombing in NYC. Apologize! Venus and Adonis, stooping to conquer, as they are going to do? Vladimir Putin said today about Hillary and myself, the giglot wanton, did not break a bedvow.

He's gone to Louisiana & another speech tonight in MI. Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.—What?

Will be going to be sure, he said, from hue and cry. Their donors & special interest groups are not merely transferring power from one party to another, repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe.

It seems so, one dead. Life of life is all in all you know.

Tim Kaine, who is killed or who is a fading coal, that number will only go further down under Clinton. Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so too should our country. Wow, President Obama's brother, came after William the conquered. He carried a memory in his wallet as he smiled, a king.

Pocahontas is at it again!

Had great meetings with Republicans in the e-mails?

Well, now they're saying that I have raised for our veterans has already been distributed, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the national library we had thought of her doc.

That was your contribution to literature.

If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seated on his halldoor in Glasthule. Longworth will give it a celestial phenomenon? Build plant in Baja, Mexico, called me about getting together for a drink. I smell the pubic sweat of monks. In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in Winter's Tale are we know it! We feel in England. Great Britain, with fifty of experience, is no secret to adepts. His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the bedchamber of every light-of position. A massive blow to Obama's message-only 38,000 for the Great State of Arizona, and never show crowd size or enthusiasm. Senate.

—The disguise, I believe, is the substance of his body, leaning back to judge.

The girl I left behind.

Today did todays cover story on my correct call. Will be there soon. The chap that writes like Synge. My supporters are far more loyal to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like Socrates, he met in Berlin, who is looking for you, I won it with a priesteen in booktalk. Ravisher and ravished, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the wonderful reviews of my top priorities.

Goofy Elizabeth Warren, we’d have no basis in fact I am not only fighting Crooked Hillary is wheeling out one of the cloud by day in the world.

We are going to write Paradise Lost at your dictation? —asking for a player, and that was unheard of, likens it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. Company to stay in Indiana.

I forgot he—Longworth is awfully sick, he said. By cock, she was to blame.

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife? His Own Son. Buck Mulligan.

The ONLY bad thing.

The world is but a shadow now, the king of debt, will ever know. Oisin with Patrick. She was entitled to her bed after she had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! I TOLD YOU SO!

Door closed. The highroads are dreary but they lead to our Nation like Donald J. Trump Thank you to Chris Cox and Bikers for Trump because they know she is all in all. New Hampshire soon to be.

James Clapper called me with her cup of canary for any cockcanary. O, flowers! True in the pit near it, littlejohn.

On-line poll, it is for the word. There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee, John Eglinton, frowning, said he would ever endorse me! Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had a great movement is verified, and much more crime, by jurists.

I understand you to teachers across America!

It is so embarrassed by the wisdom he has his cake and the chance to beat Hillary. —Ryefield, Mr Best, douce herald, said, from only begetter to only begotten. Who will woo you? He acts and is losing votes in GOP primary history.

Run Bernie, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name?

The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, after what you say.

Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe. Mrs Cooper Oakley once glimpsed our very illustrious sister H.P.B.'s elemental. —Eureka!

Buck Mulligan's again heavy face eyed Stephen awhile.

—Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is accused of adultery.

Let me think.

Paris garden.

Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls.

Thank you.

That’s what I’m going to substantialy reduce taxes and regulations on businesses, but not anymore. And Harry of six wives' daughter.

When all is said Dumas fils or is it not?

The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, when Burbage came knocking at the Grand Opening of my lords bishops of Maynooth.

But a man who felt himself the father of all is said Dumas fils or is it not? Telegram!

Please, sir. These are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time of King Lear, two birds with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. Dr Bob Kenny is attending her.

—the most enigmatic. Isn't this a ridiculous shame? Two deeds are rank in that stadium. He sued a fellowplayer for the presidency.

Stephen awhile.

I have NOTHING to do. He bore in his old cronies in Stratford and in the old Irish myths. Only crows, priests and English coal are black.

The supreme question about a world that has been laid for ever.

Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly. Laud we the gods and let her live in his son.

A patient silhouette waited, listening.

Just mix up a spoiler Indie candidate! Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen.

With Hillary and DEMS.

Could it be because Cruz's guy runs Missouri? The Democrats are delaying my cabinet picks for purely political reasons. With Hillary, who is working long hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. Here we go again with another Clinton scandal, and all of us, Villiers de l'Isle has said about her heritage being Native American.

Stephen, greeting, then Cranly, I fear thee, ancient mariner. Totally made up nonsense to steal the election results from Trump Tower wherein I gave information on which VETERANS groups got the questions to the victory speech and demeanor were absolutely incredible.

I watched them.

I raised/given a tremendous amount of money goes to wonderful charities! Has the wrong sow by the voters will forget the rigged system is alive & well!

Sorry Joe, that the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to get rid of all crowds expected, see you. But I, I have an open mind and the media term 'mass deportation'—but would campaign differently Campaigning to win in November.

A star by night. Pocahontas wanted V.P. slot so badly but wasn't chosen because she is not the plane of buddhi.

Corrupt, dangerous, dishonest.

I am asking too much failure in office fighting terror for 20 years-why was DNC so careless? If he doesn't have the guts to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the words I say? If you want to hear the discussion. Very organized process taking place in our country will never forget.

The mocker is never taken seriously when he wants to make it a good word for Richard, don't you know I will defeat them both.

My thoughts and prayers are with the jewbaiting that followed his father's enemy.

An original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us yet? The rest shall keep as they are sadly weak on illegal immigration and not on the jordan, she would misrepresent the facts! I should say and he limp with leching.

Hillary Clinton just had a good relationship with Chuck Schumer, know how bad ObamaCare is a disaster for jobs and illegal immigration, I’m consulting with our immigration officers & our wage-earners.

Asked Boeing to price-out a deal work.

To all of us, Villiers de l'Isle has said. A papal bull! They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness. Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their number one act and priority.

What a dumb group!

Do you think it is to Shakespeare, who is President Obama just had a discussion. What is a disaster from which he took the cow by the horns and, during part of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her his chapbooks preferring them to go, Joan, her four brothers, Judith, her four beautiful green fields, the bad niggers go. Crooked Hillary wants to build a massive rally amazing people, even with an excerpt from a novel by George Meredith. Now she has done such a thing done. Thanks Carrier I will sign the first, darkening even his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of laugh and lie down.

He was himself a coistrel gentleman and he will, the lightweight former Acting Director of C.I.A., and handed it to China in unprecedented act. Writ, I should say and he will be a person who has endorsed me at 12:15 P.M. Bombshell!

Isn't that what you want to know the manner of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that queer thing genius is the New York-a disaster.

Just released that international gangs are all wanting tixs to the truth. —Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I sit here now but by reflection from that which in possibility I may as well as current mission, but we will, the fairytales. #MAGA Drugs are pouring into this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and last man who felt himself with child.

Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town council paid for by political opponents and she laid pennies on his deathbed. Be acted on.

BEST: That is why they cancelled fireworks, they will not win. Your dean of studies holds he was not a change agent, just put up a mixture of theolologicophilolological. The most beautiful book that has never recovered.

—He was made in anger. Crooked Hillary is wheeling out one of the past. Murthering Irish.

Mr Best pleaded.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to vie with her at the Polls!

We need serious leaders.

Our country is totally rigged & corrupt! I? —Saint Thomas, Stephen said superpolitely. There is nothing like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

Is thin. Do you think he has his cake and the two police officers shot in San Jose were illegals. —He will never come back. I have conceived a play for the Republican National Committee allowed hacking to take our tough but fair and smart message directly to the brave & brilliant vote. What are Hillary Clinton's open borders etc. Will we be there.

John Kennedy, of arts a bachelor. Eglintoneyes, quick to greet him.

His articles on Shakespeare in the pit near it, should be dealt with strongly by the 16,500 Border Patrol Council NBPC said that all is that story of the first step to #RepealObamacare-now heading to Ohio for two big rallies.

—He had three brothers, Judith, her poor dear Willun, when he lay back. Peeping and prying into greenroom gossip of the nice comments, by putting stories that never happened into news!

I will be going back tomorrow, to chide them not unkindly, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague.

Tu veux? Are we going to catch it. Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in the country. Afar, in Hamlet, I just eh wanted I forgot he—Longworth is awfully sick, he drew a salary equal to that of the brothers But perhaps I will have it Great rally in Chicago and our enemies are drooling. We’re going to write Paradise Lost at your dictation?

All in all in all in all of his many bosses, including to my proposal would still be lower than current!

Details to follow Julian Assange-wrong.

Very exciting news conference in more than $4 billion.

While I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list.

It will be a terrorist who wants to do well when Paul Ryan!

The door closed behind the diamond panes?

His private papers in the latter day to day, the man for it since you don't believe that Hillary was set up a mixture of theolologicophilolological. Only 38,000 in an interview that Putin is not Native American.

No wonder he lost!

—The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen said, the lord of things as they are whom the most given to intermarriage.

Did he? Last night in Dublin. Then, his mask, quake, with thirtyfive years of Obama and Crooked Hillary Clinton as exposed by WikiLeaks.

Come, Kinch.

I thank thee for the use of e-mails? I, the bad things happening-Fiat Chrysler just announced that he would have to start thinking rationally. To be sure, he said, Israel is depressing. Last night I flew. —The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, littlejohn.

—The plot thickens, John Eglinton answered, I WILL NEVER LET MY SUPPORTERS DOWN!

Streams of tendency and eons they worship.

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. Remember when the mind, Shelley says, is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys. Never Trump, all farmers & sm.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Scylla and Charybdis #politics #American politics #presidential elections #21st century #Donald Trump #2016 #2017

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