#please bless this man with a touch grass life style

[jamieedlund]

Merry New Year! ✨🎇🎆

As you can tell this comic was meant for Christmas but I got sick and I couldn't finish the last few pages in time. I do think the sketchiness of the line makes the expressions more lively ;w; It's been 2 years since Callum and Aaravos were together on my blog for (as far as anyone who doesn't stalk my blog since it's dark ages can tell) no clear reason. I hope I can finally hand over the reason in 2024 on a silver platter for you all. In the mean time-

I am thankful and I swear I'll reply to the stack of dms i got piled up in my inbox with proper illustrations as soon as I finish my thesis 🙇‍♂️

[howdoyousleep3]

Self care story for the day:

It wasn't easy, keeping this whole thing a secret. It had to be timed perfectly, while on his trip, since there'd be absolutely no way to keep it from James if he was still seeing him every day.

Steve hated hiding things from his boyfriend, but he alleviated the guilt by justifying that it was a good surprise, and nothing to feel bad about. There had been a few close calls, when James had peeked over his shoulder at his phone during the appointment making, and almost overhearing a conversation that Steve's been having with a classmate about their experience.

But now Steve was halfway across the country for the next three weeks on a school trip, James was none the wiser, and the day was upon him.

The tattoo parlor was clean and warm, the artist was open and perfectly happy to work with Steve's design, answering all his questions and generally making him feel a lot better about the whole thing.

It knew it was kind of extreme, in a not-so-good way, to get a tattoo to show your love for someone, but honestly, he'd been wanting to get one for a really long time, and the design that he'd chosen was ambiguous enough that if--God forbid--he and James part ways, it won't be clocked as a relationship tattoo.

The whole process took only about an hour and a half, the artist quick and precise, and only a slight burn lingered as Steve eyed the finished piece in the mirror.

"It's absolutely perfect," he whispers, smiling wide enough that his face hurts.

It wasn't until the artist was cleaning and wrapping his ink, explaining how to care for the healing tattoo that the little red charms glinting in the window caught his eye.

"Those are blood jewels," she replied to his question about them. "We take a bit of your blood and seal it inside a tiny vial that you can wear, or give to someone you care about. It's delightfully macabre and romantic, isn't it?"

Steve agrees and leaves a little bit later with an aftercare checklist, a small bandage on his finger, and a little box in a little bag.

-

The remaining days of the trip are dedicated to schoolwork, tattoo care, and Steve stopping himself from spilling the beans every time James sighed heavily down the phone line, "I miss you so much, Steve. Can't wait to have you back with me, baby. It's so lonely without you here."

It feels like forever and no time at all that Steve is stepping out of the airport terminal and into the open arms of James Barnes, both of them heaving out shuddering breaths as their pieces finally stop shifting and slot back into place perfectly. They were finally home.

An errant stroke of James' hand has Steve flinching slightly, James immediately clocking the motion, and Steve has to push on tip-toes to stem the questions he knows are coming with a quick and dirty kiss.

"I'll tell you at home, okay?" he whispered against the older man's mouth. "Please take me home," he sags against the broad chest in front of him, suddenly very, very tired. "Wanna g'home."

James is clearly concerned, but he merely nods, tucks Steve against his side, and takes him home, just like his baby boy asked.

The drive is quiet, soft music from the radio cutting the silence, but neither man talk as James weaves them in and out of city traffic, one hand on the wheel and the other clasping Steve's tightly on the center console. Steve nods off a few times, but is awake and aware as they pull into the driveway.

Bags and suitcases get gathered up and hauled into the house, but as soon as the door clicks closed behind both of them, James is dumping his burdens and stalking towards Steve, looking seconds away from the warpath if Steve is actually hurt.

"Show me," he growls, eyes glued to the hidden thatch of skin that caused his boy to flinch away from his touch.

Steve shivered almost violently, but obeyed, feeling his pants tighten at the heat in his Daddy's gaze, crossing his arms at his waist to grasp the hem of his shirt and twisting to get it over his head, keeping his left arm raised to show off his secret.

James breathing is the only sound for a very, very long time, getting heavier and more ragged as he looks at the art on his baby's side. "Fucking hell," he finally chokes out, stepping in close to trace a gently trembling finger around the outside of the tattoo, not touching the ink but making Steve shudder and whine high in his throat.

It's not that big, maybe the size of James' spread hand, and it's done in the neo-traditional style; stark black lines standing stark with vibrant colors.

James recognized some of the blossoms--the red carnation, the little dandelion, the tiger lily, and even a cactus blossom--but most of them were beyond his ken, and the whole beautiful bouquet was bound in a flourish of grass and white heather. As he soaks in all the details and colors, Steve's hand joins his on his goose-pimpled skin, bringing James' large fingers to each flower and speaking in a quivering voice:

"Cactus, for endurance

Carnation, because I ache for you

Tiger Lily, for my proud and successful Daddy

Dandelion, for loyalty and happiness

Pink Hyacinth, for playfulness

Lily-of-the-Vally, for making my life complete

Mistletoe, for kisses

Petunia, because you bring me peace

Primrose, I can't live without you

Heather, for the protection you give me

And grass, for the submission I give to you."

-

James is not ashamed of the tears that are tracking down his cheeks as he pulls Steve into his arms, burying his face in the crook of the blond's neck. "I love you so much, Steve," he rasps. "This is so fucking beautiful, sugar. You are so fucking beautiful. What did I do to deserve you, huh? How did I get the best fucking baby boy in the whole damn world?"

Steve's laugh is a little soggy sounding, but he gives James' damp cheek a kiss before pulling back, "I got you something else, too."

"Another gift? Stevie, it's my job to spoil you, not the other way 'round."

Steve rolls his eyes and sniffles softly as he squats to dig through his backpack, "Shut up, James. I can get you gifts if I want. Daddy's need spoiling too, y'know." He straightened with a little black box, cupped in one outstretched palm. "Here."

James gently takes the box and lifts off the lid.

Nestled in a tuft of black tissue paper is a small red pendant in the shape of a teardrop. James plucks it up and holds it to the light, realizing that the red is actually liquid. "It's beautiful, sugar," he says, turning it this way and that.

"It's...um...i-it's actually my...my blood in there," Steve stutters, hands twisting nervously, blush spilling down his still bare chest. "I saw them at the parlor I got inked at and...well, I...I wanted you t-to always have a piece of me w-with you. To know that I'm always there."

James stared at the little red gem with fresh eyes, and slowly, reverently, slid the cord over his head, cupping his palm protectively over where it settled on his chest. "You are...," he started, but had to swallow back more tears.

He decided to give up on words and simply scoop Steve up in his arms, making the younger man yelp, then giggle, and carrying him to the bedroom.

His actions would speak louder than any words he could say.

And his actions would swear his love so deeply that it would mark Steve even more permanently than his new tattoo.

On his chest, a drop of red glittered brightly.

My dearest Shadow, I adore you and your mind and your skill and your attention to detail. This one really got me! Steve would no doubt sneak a tattoo for his Daddy and James would no doubt be emotional as fuck over it. The blood jewel?? 😭 Oh my goodness. Wow. We are truly blessed on this Self Care Sunday. 💕

[goddamnitdazai]

Doldrums | Dazai {AU}

The Tea House is the only clean place in all of the three outlying territories; the capital and castle are overflowing with gold. There's boredom in both places and freedom in neither. Dazai finds the only way to amuse himself and you're just curious enough to agree. {fic under the cut} [ao3 link] x [patreon]

The long reign of the king ended unexpectedly. Within the first few months of the king’s death, the prodigal heir to the throne was crowned the one-hundred-and-fifteen King of Tartalya. Despite what the royal family toted to the public the new king only resembled his father in strategical demeanor. The prince’s (now king) features were prominent and sharp whereas the previous king had cheeks still plump with baby fat and a wide smile. Prince Osamu never smiled; that was the rumor anyway.

Per Tartalya tradition the new king was married within the first month of his new position. His wife, the dutchess of a rich port territory, fawned over him endlessly. A polished depiction of what Tartalya’s queen should be. Sweet, humble, and above all else, proper. Tartalya’s prior king required indisputable perfection within his court and their partners. Any imperfections were snuffed out quicker than a strong wind extinguishes a candle. The ruthless king’s only heir was no exception to these strict expectations; a rumor from the high court states the prince’s wife was picked when they were both ten years old due to her bloodline, manners, and demeanor. Rumors from the high courts were often stretched and dissected until they resembled fables, but there was truth to some extent. That is what you were taught to believe anyway. Take the words of a man with as you would an ill-cooked gift; chew with conviction then spit it out when their back is turned. You were taught this of all rumors and of all men. Of the region claimed by Tarayla’s century-old monarch, only three territories have been allowed to rule without direct sanctions from the high court or prince. They are considered the dark outliers in both qualities of life and the quality of inhabitants. These three territories provide shelter for merchants coming to port looking to gamble and drink, criminals from other territories seeking asylum, and those who are not able to afford a single room within the cheapest region of Tartayla’s kingdom. Like many of the other inhabitants born in Valnnin, your mother chose to leave you at the Tea House under the care of the Ozaki clan the day after you’d turned five. She was paid a handsome fee and signed a contract never to return to the Tea House. Supposedly, many women bear children simply to drop them at the Tea House for the reward. That rumor was not hard to believe given the state of Valnnin. Decent money offered the means to escape Valnnin to the closest region in Tartayla, Soinet, where large farms sit on rolling green hills lush with purple fruit that grows plentiful on tall trees. Anyone who made it out of Valnnin stayed out; by starvation or success. A part of you hoped your mother starved. There are worse fates in Valnnin than the Ozaki’s Tea House, though. Bred with a sharp wit and long cherry-red hair the Ozaki clan were well known all over Tartayla for their refined charisma and elegant beauty. Some of these traits were able to be passed on to the right young men and women making the courtesans of the Tea House the highest priced commodity in all of the three territories. Top earners are allowed to live in the lavish rooms on the top floor of the Tea House.  The Ozaki house, a four-tier traditional home lit with gold paper lanterns and endless vines wrapped over a cobblestone bridge, sits across the Tea House. The watchful guardian for the inhabitants of the Tea House. Other than becoming part of a legacy family in Valnnin, like the Ozaki, the best living was at the top of the Tea House. Residing in the middle, for now, was comfortable enough. “___, dear you’re staring.’ Kouyou tuts, whacking your knee with her lace fan. When her fan is fully spread the gold filigree becomes a long winding dragon sifting through the clouds. A well-known symbol of the Ozaki clan. The dragon is imprinted throughout the Tea House and stamped on the inside of each girl’s wrist in gold ink. Ownership and protection, that is what they preached while poking your skin with a hot needle. “Is that potted ivy really that intriguing? It must be with how rude you’re being during our conversation.” Her long manicured nail brushes over your nose to draw your attention. Her touch instantaneously forces your shoulders to go rigid as your eyes drop to your lap. Kouyou’s sharp nails bite at your jawline. “Don’t be rude to our company tonight. Understood?” You nod, wincing a bit at her grip. Kouyou-san only showed this type of intensity with newer girls in order to hammer in the traditions of the Tea House. You, however, had been here for fifteen long years and knew every twist and turn. Your familiarity had risen to the point that you and the other girls made wages on some of the staff’s mood based on an eyebrow quirk or tense knuckle. For the most part, you won each round. Kouyou-san did insist your looks and keen eye made for a high commodity, however, the blessings around your features were not as god-like as some of the girls. You were sure they came from a line of Queens and Goddesses long before humanity stomped over the grasslands. “Kouyou-san, I don’t understand why you won’t inform me who I am waiting for.” You shift uncomfortably in your silk robe. The pillow beneath your knees had become a hardened lump of clay that was sure to leave bruises. “Using the gold room is above my station.” “It is.” Kouyou agrees without an ounce of hesitation. If you were allowed to show your true emotions a dark frown laden with knitted brows would be reflecting back at Kouyou. Tea house manners forbade any type of backtalk, verbal or otherwise, toward the ladies of the house. It had been a long time since your feet had been whipped into a bloody mess due to your expressions. “You should be thankful a man of high caliber is interested in your company.” You exhale through your nose and adjust the pillow subtly just for something to grab and ease the tension rising up your spine. The golden room was incredibly expensive and reserved for foreign clientele or a man rich enough to buy the country twice over. What you could gather from the maids who set the room was scarcely what you could consider good information but their gossiping mouths let out that the changes were due to the man’s incredibly specific taste. Instead of immaculate gaudy golden candles, simple paper lanterns were hung in shades of red that bounced off the polished wood walls. The marble table had been replaced with a smaller traditional one stacked high with poker chips and two crystal glasses. A bottle of imported whisky more expensive than the entirety of Valnnin had been staring back at you for the better part of an hour. Jewels from all over the country were heaped into woven baskets spilling out their glittering gemstones of blues, pinks, reds, and purples. One stone looked as big as your palm. Within the baskets, bracelets, and necklaces sparkle and hang over the rim like a used handkerchief tossed in the garbage. Money can’t buy taste, you think to yourself, though you wouldn’t mind pocketing some of those jewels to sell later. Abruptly the double doors open and the lanterns are snuffed out. Above your head dangles an imported odd-shaped light with arms extending outwards holding each white candle as if it were trying to scorch the walls.  Kouyou stands to greet the unknown guest. Gliding across the wooden floor as a swan crosses a lake. You remain perfectly poised. Long red dress stretching out your arms to pool against your thighs. The Tea House provided silk garments for expensive clients that showed skin without being over-zealous. A strong dip in the back revealing your spine for wandering fingers. Bare shoulders for teeth to graze and tease. Your lips had been painted deep red to accentuate a pout worthy of a diamond necklace. Beyond Kouyou’s tall stance you barely make out the rough edges of a man much taller than Kouyou. “Enjoy your time, sir. Please, let me know if I can do anything to be more accommodating.” Kouyou’s bow is deep and longer than usual. The man doesn’t bow back.  The guards that had accompanied him to the golden room remain on the other side of the screen door once it’s closed, another uncommon occurrence. You get to your feet and walk towards the man in the same manner Kouyou did. You’d done this a hundred times. A thousand. Something high up, but there was an odd sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. Circling the pit of your belly like a serpent through the grass. “Good evening. Who do I have the pleasure of spending time with? I’m afraid my tongue has gone numb in excitement.” The man chuckles and takes a step forward; you take in his form with a simple blink. His hair is an unruly slue of dark browns overlapping each other held back by a deep ruby pin, an odd style but the capital tended to couple foreign fashion with traditional garments. The stranger is incredibly tall, thin, wearing traditional Tartayla clothing though the crest on his lapel doesn’t ring a bell. It did not mirror the crests members of the court wore nor the men stationed beneath them. Scribes, military, footmen, all members of the palace wore crests revealing their status to the world. A palace aid, even, would be able to afford the golden room for a night. “That’s a lie.” He takes another few steps towards you. Swift. His long legs easily bring him close enough for you to smell his cologne. Expensive and foreign. “I specifically told Ozaki not to speak my name. A clever way to ask without asking.” You blink rapidly but hold your ground, folding your hands politely in front of your thighs. His stare is honey lined with liquid gold. “As expected of a woman raised in the Tea House.” “I did not want to seem ill-prepared.” You finally answer, “It is uncommon to not know the name of my companion prior to meeting.” Nicknames--you roll through the most requested, but none of them fit. He bends a bit, you expect a hand on your cheek or your chin; he grips your throat. Contracting your airways with an eerily gentle touch. “You can address me as Dazai, nothing else.” His gaze remains ice cold. Something about the name bubbles up and up until your mouth unintentionally drops open just enough to let out a silent gasp. Prince Dazai. If he would let go of your chin you could bow to him but he anchors himself to the ground. “Ah, there it is. I can let go that you did not recognize me considering we let the territories exist as an extension. Not much royalty passing through here? What a scandal~”. He releases your jaw and walks over to the table in the center of the room. Out of instinct, you follow behind with your head bowed just slightly. What would the prince be doing here? You presumed when royal blood desired the flesh of someone else other than their betrothed they found it easily among the many women of the court. “Dazai, what is it you desire tonight?” Common phrases of your trade finally return once your tongue has melted off the shock. “Business.” He states, taking a seat on the plush pillows. “Come, and don’t speak unless I ask you a question.” Dazai pats his hand on his lap as he speaks. You follow his command and walk yourself to his lap. The scent of him is overwhelmingly pleasing in comparison to the other men that have requested this position. With your back against his chest, you can feel the ruffle of fabric on your bare skin from his vest, it’s an interesting sensation. You’d never felt this type of material before. “Now,” Dazai starts voice a rich smoky tenor, “you will come with me to the capital and sit just like this. You won’t speak, you won’t move, you won’t do a thing except look as you do now.” He drags his knuckles down your spine. “All you need to know is that. What lies in this room,” he lazily gestures to the jewels in the collapsing baskets, “will be your payment.” All you can do is nod dumbly. What the hell did he want you at the capital for? To be a lap ornament? What a strange request. You want to say no, to tell him you’re much more than a porcelain doll to play with. Your wit and charm has made you the favorite of so many men of his own court. Dazai presses his nose to the curve between your throat and shoulder. “You may ask one question but make it quick, I dislike having to ride home during the day.” Dazai gave you information without giving you detail. The bare-bones without an explanation or purpose, but he was the prince. You couldn’t pester him for more like your regulars who gave vague requests--of which you denied regardless of what it was. Taking a courtesan out of the Tea House was strictly forbidden. There was no amount that would interest the Ozaki women to allow their charges to leave the premises with a client. Every person had their price, though, it should have been obvious considering your line of work. “Am I to be a lap ornament for your entertainment or to prove a point to another person?” Dazai pauses his hand on your spine. For a moment your heart freezes--until he begins to laugh. Harmonious and cheerful, it almost sounds sweet but the tingle in your spine tells you otherwise. “Both,” Dazai places his hand on your thigh giving the soft flesh a tight squeeze, “but the latter. I don’t find very much of this world entertaining in the slightest.” Abruptly his teeth graze the shell of your ear as his hand wanders beneath your silk dress finding the edge of your hipbone. “This is just to waste time.”                                   __________________________ Jealousy was not something prince Dazai experienced. However, the man across from you seemed to be dripping green with it. You vaguely recognized him, a court-appointed general from the land across the sea. The name escaped you, anytime he appeared at the Tea House for your attention his words sank to the bottom of your consciousness. His conversation was as dull and his hands were fat with sausage-like fingers that didn’t know how to properly undo the knots that held your dress together at the side. He never had enough money other than to converse for twenty minutes and stare at your nude body. Prior to the meeting, Dazai had walked you through the main courtyard filled lined with enormous evergreen trees and rose bushes taller than your shoulders. Members of the royal court bowed and held their tongues as you passed. Your clothing served as a clear indicator of your position in the Tea House. Dazai had made it a point to dress you in the most elegant outfit the Tea House allowed. Draped in gold and black with hints of deep scarlet beneath the split up your thigh. The palace was, unsurprisingly,  massive in size and stature. Getting lost for hours within its corridors and monumental rooms seemed inevitable. Had Dazai let you wander from his side. “Do not speak or move without my permission.” His only warning punctuated with a sharp slap to your ass. While the meeting went on Dazai’s hands grew increasingly curious in tandem with his ever-rising boredom. Beneath the table, his fingers roamed between your legs never touching where you wanted. They drew teasing circles just outside your lower lips. Dug crescents into the meat of your inner thighs. The longer the meeting went on the higher his hands reached. Inside the deep cut of your dress to squeeze your breast while he spoke about the outcome of a fictional war the general had threatened, apparently. Something about trade prices rising. Anything happening beyond Dazai’s grip wasn’t sticking to your psyche. By the time the meeting was finished sweat was beading down the back of your neck. Your cheeks had grown hot to the touch and your clit was aching for touch. Dazai simply stood expecting you to catch yourself. “You will not be returning to the Tea House.” It was all he said before two guards escorted you down a long corridor lined with paintings of the royal bloodline.                       ___________________________________ The first time he fucked you the moon had appeared in splendor. Bright and bold against dark skies empty of stares and clouds. His wife had requested him to come to bed early. Her long dark hair falling in gentle curls illuminated by the candelabra she held in her fist. You watched from the corner of his study as Dazai used that talented tongue of his to herd her back to bed. Once the door was shut and locked with a metal key Dazai bent you over his desk and fucked you deep and slow. He left bite marks on your neck and laughed when you begged so pathetically to cum around his cock. At first, there was nothing inside him. No emotion to his touch and no passion beyond the carnal desire to fuck you when he needed release. His wife would often stare at you when you passed in the corridors trying to find some sort of entertainment. You had heard nothing of your position at the palace nor had anyone questioned your existence there. Dazai demanded you stay within his sights at all times and would punish you with hard slaps to your bare ass when you wandered too far. He was the softest after he left a red handprint on your behind. He’d cradle you in his arms and call you pretty things like a lover would. It only served to deepen your confusion in both your own feelings for him and what he wanted out of your existence in his life.                     _______________________________________ The queen’s illness came on rapidly and without a cause. She was pale with a fever and sickly looking. Her skin stretched over the bones of her face and her eyes looked glass. Nothing the doctors were doing had made a difference. She existed on her large bed surrounded by basins of water and broth, her ladies in waiting rotated washing her and feeding her the best they could. She couldn’t move on her own accord except to speak in a low muddled voice. Dazai did not visit her often. After a week she had been moved to her own room down two corridors and across from the King’s quarters. The bed was burned and the room scrubbed clean until it glistened. Dazai didn’t ask, he never did. When your room turned up empty you knew to find him in his quarters. His long legs propped up on the ottoman beside the window, fingers over his favorite book gifted by a friend long gone from this world. His touch had become gentle in the past few weeks. You presumed, at first, it was due to his grieving and perhaps guilt for the affair. Yet he did not change the frequency in which he kissed you, fucked you, held you against his chest for a few minutes before he eventually left the bed to finish whatever work he’d thrown across the floor when he grew too aggravated or bored. Nights he wanted to fall off the edge of the world he tied your hands to the bed and played with your body until sunrise. Dazai left his mark where he pleased. Nothing felt as good as his hands, his attention, his tongue. Rarely did he ever keep himself on top. No, he expected you to ride him. Make him cum while he watched you grow addicted to the feeling of his cock inside of you.                                  ______________________ Dazai had to produce an heir, he said, one morning while you’d been eating breakfast at his side. His wife could not fulfill that duty while sick. You pause for a moment and set your glass down. Looking at him as the sun rises behind his head. “You know I can’t have children.” Part of the process of becoming part of the Tea House; everyone went through the procedure. “What do you plan to do?” Dazai wipes his mouth with a napkin. “What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do?” He places his elbows on the table and folds his fingers beneath his chin. That same gaze from the day you met him in the golden room returning to douse you in something unsettling. You blink at him and lean back in your chair. “As long as the queen remains alive you are not able to marry another. You will be expected to wait to have a child with your wife when she is well again.” Dazai tilts his head. “I don’t want children.” He says nonchalantly. “Dazai..” What makes you believe I haven’t already finished what I planned to do? “Dazai.” His grin spreads wide, eyes darkening despite the light from the windows splashing halycon all over the room. “Eat up, _____. I’m growing bored.”

[uwua3]

starry eyed (dear universe).

❄️💤 mikage hisoka

summary: one thousand stars, that’s all he needed to make one wish

dedication: julia ♡ i love you, thank you for being my bff~ ☆★

warnings: angst, crying, gods, graphic descriptions of physical pain, blindness, memory loss, star tears, unrequited love

author’s note: based on the concept of “star tears”! similar to hanahaki, but the unrequited love instead causes the person to cry bright, twinkling stars. over time, the person could become blind or in extreme cases, lose their memory if the pain becomes unbearable :)

word count: 2,498

music: first love – bts (yoongi), 134340 – bts

All Hisoka needed was one thousand lucky stars to make one wish. One wish, one simple request for the galaxy to make come true—for you to love him back.

He had no reason to believe in the unexplainable, but Hisoka trusted the stars to grant him a new chance. Yet, every hopeful, silent plea to any passing shooting star was unheard. Why did the gods peer down on Earth, then? To glance in curiousity, to listen to mortal grievances and suffering, only to turn a blind eye towards the pitiful. Hisoka cursed the gods that one night, then he collected his first star out of many.

Perhaps, they were listening. Or, they knew all along, because Mikage Hisoka was fated to die by the hands of unrequited love. But, all he needed was one thousand lucky stars, that’s it. One thousand would change Hisoka’s life, give him an opportunity to save himself before the night took him into the darkness.

But maybe, just maybe, you were worth going blind for.

You were the moon, glowing and ever present in his life. A source of infinite comfort that was unwavering, gentle, and a figment of the most desperate parts of his imagination. It was odd how the universe worked in your favor, how the gods seemed to bend his will to fit yours. Giving him the curse of crying stars when you were a divine god, it was a punishment for falling in love with someone so out of his reach.

As Hisoka thought of you, you and the way the sun became jealous over your beaming smile, he closed his eyes to avoid the light. It was too bright, too blinding, too breathtaking despite the consequences he’d have to face later on. Regardless, Hisoka reached up and held the fragment within his shaking hand. It was ethereal, you would’ve liked it. Yet, he pocketed it for safe keeping, for later to continue his destiny.

You couldn’t know of his star tears, Hisoka thought with a quiet sigh. This was a secret between him and the gods of the night sky.

☆★☆★☆

Hisoka didn’t like to, but he remembered the moment he realized he was in love with you.

It was night, as expected. You were outside, dragging Hisoka with you despite his reluctuance. Hushed background noise faded into nothing when you two reached the edge of the forest. The college party left behind consisted of your friends who gathered for the spectacle tonight, but you wanted a front row seat in your childhood spot. You two were the loudest of them all. Your laughter disturbed the way of Mother Earth, but even she couldn’t be mad at an angel like you.

Settling onto a tree stump with both your names carved into the base from a long, long time ago, you grinned and it felt like the start of a new day. It wasn’t even past midnight yet, but being with you felt like a sunrise was near. Hisoka fell into routine easily and rested next to you despite the wet grass, intending to always be by your side as you excitedly rambled about the supernatural phenomenon tonight. Old habits die hard, and ever since Hisoka knew you, you were in love with the stars.

There was a meteor shower tonight, apparently the first of many decades, nearly a century since. It was a sight to behold, an occurrence that would never happen again in both your lifetimes. You two comfortably talked amongst yourself, though the conversation was inaudible in his memory. Hisoka always had a rather blurry take on his past, but that night was something he’d never forget.

When the first meteor passed, you went silent with awe and stared at the sky. Hisoka didn’t look, at least not for a while, as he took in the way you shined. You were the event of the century for him, someone that would never happen again for this lifetime at least. You were so happy, the stars in the sky, the reflection in your eyes.

“Hisoka, look! Make a wish!”

Hisoka saw a sembelance of a shooting star and you quickly made a wish under your breath. He couldn’t remember what yours was, but he recalled his without a doubt.

Dear universe, I wish they would love me.

(When Hisoka was left by his lonesome after you went to find your friends, he cried his first star. You loved the stars so much, that he had them in his tears now.)

☆★☆★☆

Hisoka often wondered what it would be like to be in the void. To see nothing but black, surrounded by the absence of nothing constantly. It crossed his mind whenever the twinkling of the stars weren’t enough to distract him, or when you were illuminated by the cascading moonlight in such a way that made his breath hitch. Either way, the threat was present. In the far future, but a concern nonetheless.

These days, you seemed fascinated by it all ever since you noticed Hisoka started needing glasses. The concept of blindness, being unable to visualize anything anymore. You called it rebirth, though that was an optimistic way of seeing it. Starting over again, like how before you entered the world. Hisoka didn’t exactly disagree, though he didn’t exactly remember what it was like before his first breath.

“Do you think you’ll go blind?” You intended to jokingly ask but it came out as a whisper, as if you were afraid to break the silence between you two. As you leaned back, Hisoka noticed the stars were reflected in your eyes again as you looked up. How cruel of the universe, to taunt him this way as he gulped, pretending to think it over. He already knew the answer.

“Maybe so.” For you, I would, was left unsaid. You slowly nodded concerned, as if finding truth in his statement after a bit of consideration. Pushing your knees up, you rested your chin upon them and hugged your legs close. You were so radiant despite the late hour, much more eye–catching than the constellations in his own. Sitting beside you, Hisoka watched you carefully with the quiet, suppressed love of a man who knew it would never be enough. Despite his internal dilemma, you turned your smile at him like nothing was wrong. As if Hisoka wasn’t going from blind from directly staring at the sun named you.

“Take care of your sight, okay? You have the galaxy in your eyes.”

When you placed your fingers against the bridge of his glasses to adjust them, it took all his prayers to the gods to not cry. Hisoka turned his attention back to the sky and out of the corner of his eye, caught a a gleam. Maybe it was shooting star, maybe not.

If only you knew who the stars in his eyes were for. Hisoka closed them and put his hands together, making a wish. He knew you were doing the same and wondered what you wanted so desperately in this world. Was it so naive of him to hope his name was in your thoughts? Nevertheless, Hisoka wished.

Dear universe, if I am reborn, please let me be the love of their life.

☆★☆★☆

Hisoka’s vision was getting worse and he knew, he was running out of time. For some unexplainable reason, his right eye seemed to be blurrier than the other. It was beginning to become a struggle to explain why his eyes were different shades, something you picked up on the day it became painfully obvious.

“Hisoka, your eyes! Who did this to you—?” You started, moving in closer to stare directly at his eyes. Hisoka flinched, stumbling back quickly just as your fingertips grazed his cheek. You were clearly shocked, not used to such a violent reaction. How could you not be? Everything you graced shined, glowed in a heavenly manner as if you had the touch of golden life. While Hisoka was made of glittering cosmos from your presence, he was slowly losing the light in his eyes at the same time.

“It’s okay. I won’t go blind.” Not until I collect one thousand stars, not until I make my wish, unspoken and ignored once again. Hisoka turned away, his hands in his pockets and hair long enough to cover his mismatched eye. It was a nice style, perhaps he’d keep it, curse or not. The silence between you two was foreign, contemplative, questionable, but charged with intense energy. You had something to say, and so did he, but neither had the blessing to share their thoughts aloud. Then, you sighed.

“Promise?” You held your pinky out after a while, to which Hisoka finally caught your gaze. You looked scared, as if you knew, but it was impossible. You couldn’t have... he’d never let you until the sky fell and the world ended. So Hisoka looped his pinky around yours with the guilt of a liar, forcing a thin smile to ease your conscious. It didn’t, but you appreciated the effort.

“Next time, I’ll make a wish for you to see normally.” You promised, letting go and glancing at the moon. You didn’t ask what was wrong or why he was everchanging, privacy a strong factor between you two. Yet, he knew curiousity was building inside of you as you snuck a peek at his green eyes again. Regardless, Hisoka nodded, the quiet comfortable this time around as he closed his eyes to make a wish even if there was nothing that would hear him.

Dear universe, I wish to have one thousand stars soon.

☆★☆★☆

Hisoka believed, if you cried when missing the sun, you also wept for the stars. Maybe you were his deadly sun during the day, and his mystical and dazzling moon at night. As always, Hisoka centered around you, the far away stars adorning the crescent of your lunar being. Even if you weren’t always with him, he’d be with you until the end as fragments of the galaxy.

Yet, being with you was painful. Stumbling home with harsh, raging pain splitting his eye, his hand over the right with multiple swears at the gods again only made it worse. Crashing into nearby tables with the inability to see, doing everything under the sun to lessen the torture of crying so prettily, eventually giving up to land on his floor and scream in frustration became a cycle.

Star tears came at a cost. It felt like asteroids were bursting through his sight, exploding violently and waking him up in the middle of night just to cry. Sometimes if it got too much, Hisoka would speak to the moon and hope someone, anyone, would have mercy on his mortal state and grant him relief from agony. But how many times did he have to accept that the gods didn’t listen? They didn’t care and never will, they’re present and fading all at once.

Unfortunately, tonight was one of those nights.

Hisoka gritted his teeth, gripping the ledge of his window as he repeatedly hit his head against the wall. Anything to distract him from the immense pain of such a severe disease. Hisoka was so exhausted; it was a particularly hard day, the lack of control was eating him alive. Hisoka pushed himself up, wobbling as he tried to gaze upon the full moon that night. The wretched strain upon his right eye making his vision blurry, but the glowing moon was as elegant as ever. Hisoka wondered if you two were sharing the same sky.

Another star from his eyes and then another. He was so close, just a hundred more, and he’d be set for one wish. So despite the torment, Hisoka thought about you more, thus setting off the meteor shower. At least it got him closer and closer to his goal, love was pain, after all.

When you unexpectedly called him that night, he barely heard his ringtone before hurriedly opening it to seek the comfort of your voice. His tears settled down once Hisoka used all his energy to focus on your tone, speech, and anything that indicated it was you. With the moon as his witness, Hisoka gathered the star pieces to his jar and tallied them with your voice besides him.

When Hisoka counted nine hundred ninety nine, he gripped the phone tighter. He didn’t remember if you mentioned the subtle twinkling in the background on his side, but Hisoka could pick up on one last chime as he prayed to anyone.

Dear universe, please let me cry one more star.

(When you ended the call, insisting on seeing the constellations tomorrow night, Hisoka cried. It was the most painful tear of them all, but he did it. He had one thousand lucky stars.)

(But, as he tried to make a wish, he ran out of time.)

☆★☆★☆

Hisoka woke up to a soft, barely audible twinkling sound right beneath his hands. Slowly lifting his head from his position on the floor, Hisoka opened his tight fist to see a sharp glowing fragment within his palm. What was that? Hisoka noticed the spilled jar near his window, the container broken and even more shining pieces spread out around him. Why were there so many?

Counting them, Hisoka noticed there were nearly a thousand scattered about. Yet, he had no memory of why he would want so much. Something inside him was hurt, pained, it was difficult to even bear the sight of the fragments. His soul was graviating towards them, as if his existence was meant to orbit around these very stars. How was this possible? Stars belonged in the sky, not at the floor of his own home.

But, there was no need to dwell on it further. He must’ve dreamed everything. A scene of a meteor shower, someone’s infectious laughter, and his name carved into a tree went as soon as it came, and Hisoka disregarded it. He moved to pick everything up, carefully placing it in a draw before shutting it tight. It was strange, how it felt like something was missing, how much he wanted to put them all together. How great of a star would it be? To build one star out of a thousand parts? Before he could act on his impulse, Hisoka noticed a slip of paper tucked in the corner of the previously cracked jar.

Bending down to pick it up, Hisoka recognized his own handwriting. But the words were unfamiliar, unheard of and something that made Hisoka feel like he was forgetting something.

Dear universe, I wish they would love me.

(Hisoka looked into the mirror and stared at his reflection curiously. One eye was lighter than the other... he never remembered having such bad vision before. He put on a pair of glasses, anyways.)

Maybe, a better wish for one thousand stars would be to wish back Hisoka’s lost memories. But, no one, not even the gods, were listening.

[harryspet]

A Wife’s Duty [1] h.s.

[Warning] this is inspired by the handmaid’s tale (i know thats f’d up but this is fiction deal with it), dubcon (borderline noncon), commander x wife, harry styles x named reader, sexy stuff

In which she is bound to harry for life and tasked with the honor of being the wife of a commander and bearing his children.

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

She didn’t see her husband’s face until the day of their wedding and, even then, it wasn’t a special ceremony of love and devotion. 

She was standing in a line of girls, twelve on either side of her, and they were all to be wed together. All of them were lucky. They were young, beautiful and fertile which meant they could be saved from the fate of becoming Handmaiden’s. However, they were still married off and expected to bear many children for their commander husbands. 

Loyal and subservient. Quiet and modest. At least, that's the way they interpreted God’s scripture. 

As her new husband lifted her veil, she felt as if she may vomit. She had heard stories, horrible stories, of commander’s abusing their wives. She even heard one girl was beaten to death after suffering from a miscarriage. The commander was reprimanded, of course, but the chance of her husband being a cruel man was frightening. 

He wasn’t what she expected. Her lips pressed into a small, nervous smile as she looked him over. His green eyes were piercing, maybe due to the blinding lights of the large stadium they were in, and his lips soft looking and pink. He was young, much older than her, but younger than she expected. 

She looked down quickly, feeling his gaze pierce into her. He dressed in a black, like the rest of the commanders, but it seemed he had a lot of awards and honors decorating his chest. It seemed he was accomplished, to say the least, but, as her eyes roamed a bit lower, she noticed the tattoos on his hands. 

She had always been taught that marking your body in that way was sinful yet here he stood, small tattoos decorating his hands, and yet he was a high ranking commander. 

The priest went on and it was only then that she realized she had tuned out the readings. “God created man in his image; in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them, saying: "Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it. Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth." She only looked up again when her husband reached out to slide a ring onto her finger. It was relatively simple but the diamond perched in the middle screamed wealthy.

She thought for a moment that she was lucky but that faded quickly. 

His hands were rough and calloused and he coughed awkwardly when his hands lingered a little too long on hers. 

“For commanders and wives ., who begin their married life together this day. May they experience the love of God, the support of family and friends, and the blessings of children. We pray to the Lord.”

“Amen,” All the couples said in unison and it was first she heard his first. It was deep and certain. Like he knew this was inevitable just like she had. Like he had no choice but accepting things made it easier than fighting. And then it was done and her life was in his hands. The extent of her freedom would start and end with him.

They interlaced their arms, clapping roared through the stadium, and then she was being escorted away. A lot of the girls waved to their families, tears of joy dripping from their eyes. Their lives finally had a purpose. Her real family was gone, she was ripped away from them because they were poor and couldn’t afford to fight the government. 

He was her family. And she didn’t even know his name. 

+

He sat across from her in the black car they rode in. His hands sat awkwardly in his lap, as if he normally didn’t like being chauffeured around, and wished he was in control of the car. She nervously played with the folds of her white dress as she waited for him to say something - anything. 

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a ringing phone. He eyed her carefully as he reached into his black jacket to take the call. A phone? To have one he must be very important. 

“Commander Styles,” He answered, his voice gruff, “I’ll be in Redwick-” he checked his watch, “in an hour. But I won’t be able to meet with you tonight.”

Tonight. She swallowed. He probably wanted to consummate their marriage. Of course, he did. That was the whole point of this and she’d be stupid to think otherwise. 

“I can meet with you sometime tomorrow. I’m eager to discuss those plans as well. I wasn’t expecting so much disagreement on the issue. If you give Thomas a call, he can fit you into my schedule….Yes, of course . . . May the lord be with you. Goodnight,” He sighed deeply as he hung up and then caught me staring. 

“Commander Styles?” She asked timidly. At the sound of her voice, his lips seemed to push into a thin line of frustration. She worried for a moment that she had already broken a rule. 

“Harry, my name is Harry, Ember.”

She stared, blinking, “Y-You know my name?”

“I dislike surprises,” He answered simply, only leaving it to my imagination to decide what exactly he meant by that. He leaned back, letting one of his hands rest behind the headrest of the other seat, as he stared out the window. 

Redwick was a decently far from the capital, that much she knew, and part of her was worried. She had never left the capital before and was warned that there were large lands of waste between cities, where captured rebels were forced into labor camps. She got the courage to look out the window about thirty minutes into the drive and, although she saw no rebels, she saw wasteland. It was like a red desert where the grass no longer grew and the rusting building seemed to fall into the dust. 

Something about it felt peaceful and she felt a bit sick for thinking that way. She looked back down at her lap for the rest of the drive. 

When they finally entered the city of Redwick, she was itching to get out of the suffocating car. Harry seemed to suck up all of the air with his commanding presence. It was a suburban town, a contrast to the Capital, and each of the houses they passed had at least a hundred acres to their own. Harry’s home was no different, the road leading to his estate was a three minute drive on it’s own. It was a spectacular home but she was surprised how quaint it was. It was ivory and foliage crawled up all sides of it which she thought gave it an interesting character. 

She stared as he opened the door for her and offered her a hand so she crawled out without tripping over her dress. His focus wasn’t on her long before he met the driver on the other side of the car, and she assumed he handed him his payment. 

“Shall we?” He finally asked, holding a hand out for me to step forward. 

She looked around one more time at the rolling grass hills, “There’s so much . . . space,” She commented, stepping towards the front door, “It’s beautiful here, Commander Styles.”

He opened the black door, “A family heirloom,” He said curtly.

A small gasp left her lips as she admired the giant chandelier that hung in the foyer, “It’s lovely, Harry.”

“You haven’t even seen the rest of the house, Ember,” He spoke, closing the door and wrapping his hands behind his back. He began showing her around, letting her ooh and awe at everything she thought was cool. She really hasn’t gotten out much, he thought, watching her hold an elephant figurine sitting on the fireplace. 

“You grew up here?” She asked and he only nodded. He didn’t seem to want to discuss it further. 

Okay, she thought, it didn’t seem like he was one for small talk.

Then another call interrupted them. He quickly told her to go into the kitchen so Imogene could make her some dinner.

+

After eating dinner, she didn’t think she’d see Commander Styles for the rest of the night. It was already approaching midnight, Imogene had shown her to a room and gave her clothes to sleep in. She was laying in bed, a white long sleeved nightgown covering her body, not able to sleep. 

She listened to the sound of cicadas outside of her window and closed her eyes every few minutes, trying to find sleep. 

Her door slowly opened and she perked up, sitting up on her elbows. Harry appeared, not meeting her eyes immediately, “Were you sleeping?” He asked in a quiet and cold voice. He leaned over to turn on the lamp light on the bedside table. 

She shook her head immediately and he took a breath before asking, “Are you a virgin?”

“Of course,” she said, as if she was offended as the implication that she might not be, “Of course, Harry. I assure you that I-”

He interrupted before she could ramble, “Lay back down,” He ordered her and her heart stopped. She was trying to read the emotion in his eyes but couldn’t. Her heart pounded. 

She did as he said, unsure of where to put her hands or where exactly to look. She kept her hands to her side and stared up at the ceiling. From the corner of her eyes, she could tell he was undressing. 

Harry rounded the bed to the other side before climbing into the large bed. “You look like a corpse,” He commented. He moved to her side and she noticed he was now only wearing a pair of briefs. His tattoos were on display, a butterfly decorating his chest.

“I-I’m sorry,” She spoke, her bottom lip shaking, confronting her fear and finally looking him in the eyes. He snorted at that. 

“Relax,” He told her, “You want to please your husband, don’t you?”

She nodded before he continued, “Then relax, Ember,” He leaned in to kiss her and she was frozen for a moment, his stubble scratching her skin. He moved from her lips to the side of her chin and down to her neck. That’s when a yelp escaped her mouth as he kissed the sensitive parts of her neck. She didn’t know that area was even touched during sex. 

“God first and then me, do you understand?”

She nodded, whimpering, as the kisses traced her collarbones. His tattooed hand traced the length of her silk gown until it reached between her legs. She felt his fingers slip between the fabric of her panties. His finger touched the small bulb between her lips and a jolt went through her.

“Harry-” He shushed her. He stopped with his kisses and started to use his own legs to spread hers. She felt open, completely exposed. Her eyes were wide. It was nothing like what she had expected. He rubbed her there, in fast and then slow circles and she moaned into his mouth. 

She kissed him back now, though she wasn’t sure what she was doing, she fell into his rhythm. As his lips left hers, he moved in between her legs, fully spreading her and she expected for the pain to begin but Harry’s lips traveled further. He lifted her gown, kissing between her breast and then her naval until he got much lower. 

As his own mouth pressed against her sex, she yelped, pushing herself away from him until her back hit the headboard, “Harry, I don’t think-” He gave her a frustrated look, “You shouldn’t, I-I mean, we shouldn’t do that. That’s not the way-”

He rested on his knees, grabbing her waist and lifting her until her head fell roughly back where it was. “I will show you the way, little one. You don’t get to decide what I should and shouldn’t do, understand?”

She nodded eagerly, fear in her eyes, and she answered, “Y-Yes.”

“Yes, Commander,” He corrected and then she repeated the words back to him. He smirked, he liked when she called him Commander. 

Ember gripped the sheets so tightly that she thought she might rip them. With only thirty seconds of his mouth on her sex, her first orgasm was ripping through her body. He hadn’t even planned to keep going but, knowing she was so sensitive, he couldn’t help but try to get another one out of her. And then another. “Please, Harry- Commander, please! I can’t-” She was begging, her body shaking, as she tried to escape him. 

Perhaps he was being greedy. He relented after the third one, kissing up her body again and he didn’t give her much time to rest before he began to sheathe himself inside of her. She gripped his back, surely leaving scratch marks as he carefully entered her. 

“Say you want my children, Ember.” 

“I-I want your children, Commander.”

“Say you’re mine.”

She looked into his eyes, into the unknown, and knew things would never be the same again. She belonged to him now and only death could change that, 

“I’m yours, Commander.”

And his head tilted back in ecstasy.

+

part two of A Wife’s Duty is posted! check out my #masterlist for more of my works

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Into the Depths

Persephone's abduction, but in my story it's a little different. Kiani and Erik are both a little different.

Part 3: Abduction

Kiani had delivered the cryptic message as requested without looking into it. She trusted Meron and she trusted Ms. Smith. There was no reason to question their interaction. The oddness was in the new restriction placed on her. She was intelligent enough to notice that Ms. Smith was trying to keep her in the house. Her normal routine was to go out to commune with the flowers, it was where she felt most herself and at ease. It had never been an issue until today.

"Ms. Smith, is there a reason you're trying to force me to stay indoors?" She marched right up to the older woman, placing her hand on hers. "I'm more than aware of your tendency to keep secrets from me. Is it a bad one? Are we in danger? Do we need to call mom back. I should call her," she turned to find the phone.

"NO," the older woman grabbed her hand tightly holding her in place before relaxing her grip and taking a breath. "No... That won't be necessary. We are perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong. No, no," she smiled oddly before exhaling again. "You can go play outside. Off you go, just stay close to the house. No wandering off today, hm?"

Kiani nodded, halfway through the door already. She leaped out into the sunshine taking a deep inhale of the warm fragrant air. To her left she spotted a trail of wilted greenery. The blooms had fallen and turned brown, nearly black. It was very curious. She'd only seen that happen when she was upset. She didn't recall feeling exceptionally bad recently and the longer she stared at the wilted trail, the more confused she became. The incident at the store returned to mind and suddenly it made sense.. why everyone was being so weird.

She followed the trail, not even bothering to heal the flowers on the way. She was on a mission to follow the trail and find the nice man she'd met in the store yesterday. If he was the cause for alarm, well then, she'd just have to straighten things out to put everyone at ease! The further she walked, the further the trail seemed to stretch on and on. Ms. Smith's words rang in her head telling her she'd already gone way further than she was supposed to. Turning around, she gasped, her hand flying to her heart. It skipped a beat and she skidded back almost falling over from the shock. Erik's eyes widened and he looked behind him and left to right realizing he was the one who'd scared her. The invisibility had worn off at some point during the walk and he hadn't noticed.

"Wow," she labored, still holding her heart, "Guess I found you."

Erik staggered back. "I'm so sorry," he threw his hands up, "I didn't mean to scare you. I guess, my social skills could use a little work.."

"Where did you come from," Kiani wondered aloud, looking around. It was like he appeared from thin air. He bit his lower lip watching her look about. She looked like a goddess with flowers arranged artfully in her thick mass of kinky hair. He'd followed her silently, enjoying her presence until she'd stopped so abruptly.

"You're not much for words, are you mister," she smiled grabbing his hand and pulling him back toward the house.

"Wait," he found his voice quickly enough to cause her to pause. He knew if she got him to the house it would be a wrap and he may never get to see her again. He couldn't allow it. "I wanted to ask you something. It's a big something, but I could really use your help. If you'll help me."

Kiani's eyes were warm and full of caring concern. She was completely invested in his words and he hadn't even introduced or explained himself or what he wanted yet. She was extremely kind, and a bit naive, but it was endearing. She waited patiently for him to speak, her hand still protectively wrapped around his. He found himself speaking even more gently to her. "I was wondering if you'd go with me to visit my parents graves. Just once.... You see.. I haven't been there in a while and it's because whenever I go, my presence alone kills all of the flowers and the plants. So all of the other families lose their flowers too. It's not fair for them, so I stay away. But in the flower shop, I saw what you could do. Maybe if you went with me... their flowers wouldn't die and I could take my parents flowers to them myself. Please?"

The request weighed on Kiani's heart. She couldn't imagine not being able to visit her mother if she died. It hurt to think of. Her eyes began to well with tears and she let them flow freely. "Oh... nono," Erik panicked, not knowing whether it was okay to touch her to console her, "Don't cry.. please, don't cry." He ended up holding her in a tight embrace and just stroking her shoulder. "Don't cry, shh shh," he comforted in a hush tone. She was very sensitive and it surprised him the degree.

"I just couldn't imagine dealing with that," she sighed wiping her eyes. Pulling away, she grabbed both of his hands and looked him firmly in the eye. She was very sensitive, but also very strong. He was learning her the longer he was blessed to be around her. He didn't want her to let go. "I will go with you," she asserted, "Uh.... what's your name," she sang with a squint.

"Erik. Erik Stevens."

"Erik Stevens," she grinned. "You should smile, you're very beautiful!"

His head jolted and his eyes widened. "Whoa," he chuckled, his face heating. He blew out an unsteady breath. She'd blindsided him with that comment and was still staring into his soul with those angelic and expressive eyes. "Ugh... thank you," he smiled, his brows waving uncertainly. He didn't know how else to respond. He couldn't be cocky with her. She was beyond that somehow. Beyond the superficial showiness that impressed many others.

"We need to tell Ms. Smith," Kiani perked, pulling him again in the direction of the house.

"Way-wait," Erik stopped her again, "Can I ask how old you are?"

"Twenty-four! Why?"

He looked her up and down. She wore a white frilly Easter dress that looked like it belonged on a bigass doll baby. What did they do to this girl, he wondered.

"Kiani.. haven't you ever wondered what freedom felt like? You know, without reporting your whereabouts constantly? Did you know that beyond this property, literally everywhere else... twenty-four year olds are adults who can make their own decisions without consulting anyone else. You don't need permission to leave. You could just... go."

Kiani blinked, considering his words. She'd always wanted to leave the property and deep inside she knew Ms. Smith would never allow it. None of the adults would allow it. If she was ever going to go, now was the time and she couldn't tell them. She just had to leave and when she came back, then she could share with them stories of everything she saw beyond the property. Suddenly, she was very excited for the adventure.

"Yeah?" Erik lowered his chin to regard her carefully, noticing her change in demeanor. She grinned at the gesture. "You're really cute. Yeah! Let's go," she paused. "It'll be much quicker if we take my cart. I'll show you where it is."

On the ride to the store, Erik looked around enjoying the sight of the laid out fields of rich green grass and wildflowers. The freshness of the air was cleansing and he was able to relax. Kiani stopped twice on the way to get out and gather large handfuls of handpicked flowers like a little flower girl or a meadow fairy. It made him smile to watch her in her element. When they finally reached the store, Erik directed Kiani to park the cart out of the way of the camera. He then swept her off of her feet bridal style using his invisibility to shield them both as he carried her to the passenger side of his car. As soon as he let her go, she reappeared and he jumped behind the wheel. They were off!

On the way to the cemetery, Kiani was intrigued with the sights through the window. Erik had to explain a lot of things as her tour guide, but he didn't mind. He was honored to do it. The further he drove, the less things began to look like Little House on the Prairie. There were concrete jungles, buildings galore, drive thrus, highways and sidewalks and lots of people. "You're not in Kansas anymore," he joked wondering if she'd get the reference. She smiled.

When the car parked, Kiani waited to follow Erik's lead, but he didn't move. He rested his forehead on the wheel taking slow and deep breaths. Maybe it was the nervousness. She thought back to his hesitance to touch the rose in the store. She'd noticed it then too. He needed a push.

"It'll be okay," she encouraged rubbing his back. It was an act that somehow felt more intimate than she'd expected. To him, her touch was electric causing the fine hairs on his skin to rise. His eyes darted to her knees. They were pressed together and he wondered a few lewd things that he wasn't bold enough to ask. He didn't want to ruin her innocence, not so soon. She was so sweet and unpolluted by the bullshit of the world. Pulling himself together, he decided to listen to her words and let them wash over him. They became a mantra that he repeated silently in his head. "Um.. These are for the graves," she said separating the large handpicked bouquet into two, "Do you mind if... I put one down?"

"Not at all. I know my parents would love that in fact, thank you."

She followed him into the graveyard trailing closely behind. Like he said, the grass, the flowers, and even the trees began to dry and wither. "Keep going," she encouraged as she stopped to dole out tender loving care to each of the plots he'd passed. One by one, each offering of flowers revived with her touch. She hugged the tall grey tree and immediately, it birthed new leaves. She'd never done that, it surprised her that it worked. When she reached Erik, he was crouched with his wilted bouquet staring at the headstones. She crouched next to him, gently touching the petals. Together, they watched as the colorful blooms returned to life in his hands. His smile was as it was in the shop, a slow comforting pure expression of joy as he placed the bouquet on his father's grave. Kiani followed up with the second bouquet on his mother's grave. "It's nice to meet you both," she sang in a gentle melody. "You've raised a kind boy and he's a wonderful friend to me."

"You know they died before I got this gloomy... 'ability'," he blurted. "They knew about the invisibility, but they didn't get to know about the other one. It's probably better for them that way."

"What is your other power?"

"Honestly, I'm scared to tell you. I don't want your opinion of me to change."

She paused looking for the right words. "...I think your parents loved you very much and they'd accept you as you are."

"Will you?" The question was posed casually, but behind his stoic expression, he begged for her acceptance. He needed it.

"Yes, Erik." She placed her hand on his. "I'm your friend now and I will accept you however you are."

Erik leaned forward and kissed both headstones before standing to his feet and helping her to hers. He held her chin gently between his thumb and index as if she were made of glass.

"If you can promise that you won't run away or be afraid of me... I'll tell you everything about myself. Promise me." His eyes were pleading and it was a look she couldn't deny. He was already her friend. No matter what he told her, she'd try her best to understand it. She raised her hand.

"I, Kiani, promise you, Erik, that I won't run away."

@inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @bidibidibombaclaat  @priya212

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[wilddriud]

The things we sacrifice

((Warning: Graphic violence, gore ))

There had been a string of violence as of late against the Kaldorei. Getting rather annoyed with hearing and seeing it through her vines, Tasca needed to step in, felt the need to see what she could do about addressing this violence. This seemed to be a growing pattern, particularly with humans. A group would be without and the humans would cast them out, aid in small ways, or start insinuating that these beings are a problem and begin to retaliate against them. They had done this with the Orcs, the Undead, the Sin'dorei, the worgan, the people of Westfall.   A chuckle from her throat came as she thought upon how they had even done so to their own kind. Right now, however, it was to the people she was portraying herself as. A sigh as she waited her mind drifting on. Of course, knowing very well others have done hate unto others thus why there is Horde and Alliance, she can't say they have all been kind unto each other. The Kaldorei themselves have faults and have had issues with others. This was just...more apparent. Plus kicking a horse when it's down is just uncalled for. Besides, these were Kul Tirans, if they wanted to be part of the Alliance they need to learn their place. That being as a people that work with others and this island seemed to be the worse of the lot. For now, something was to be done. Following through the net work of roots and greenery on the island it'd take her a couple days or so to track down a small group. Her timing seemed to have been blessed as she learned this group was going to hold a rally. With the pull over Bel'sharia she had, Tasca sent the Ilidari off to crash the party so to speak. Telling her to do as she wished so long as the leader was brought to herself. Knowing full well the Ilidari would likely be lenient, giving only a couple broken bones here and there, cuts and mostly bruises she knew she'd have to step up the game. Tasca would also know that Bel'sharia was almost as good as a rogue when it came to infiltration, covering her scent and using various tools, such as the tear gas Tasca provided to cover the womans trail more so. The moon hung in over head, its light bright in the clear sky. A soft touch of starlight stretched out over the world on a blanket of darkness. It would do. Tasca's only thought lingering on the hope that Elune, nor her beloved Ysera, was to see what was to come. Save to perhaps to forgive her of the crime she would commit. Bel'sharia had done her work well, as expected of the demon huntress. Her tracking and sight were most helpful at such times. Holding things over the others head made things easier. This night she was not in her usual state, dressed for such a special occasion, her gown was a deep forest green. A high collar came in to her neck to hide the scales she couldnt hide as she was still weak. Antler like horns branching out from her forehead arching up and around seeming to create a crown. The sleeves long enough to cover half of her hands. The long, wide skirt covering her tail. Deep emerald eyes watching on as one of the men she was targeting was dragged down along the grassland. Bel'sharia had done a good job beating the human to near death. Racist carved onto his forehead. His body managed and beaten. Blood seeming to cover him well as it faded on and matched the arrange of bruising upon his form. This wouldn't be enough however. She had been slighted. What she guarded and protected had been insulted enough and had gone through enough without having one more insect bite into it's crumbling life. Her head turned upwards towards the sky, looking to the moon for a single moment before her ears flicked as the illidari spoke, "Brought the leader, I think the others know better now." She seemed smug over her work, which granted was earned. However the druidess wasn’t satisfied. "Release him and step away." Tascas tone was sharp and hot. Not something the illidari would ignore and so she stepped away, leaving the man on the spot. "Pl-please. No more. We-we wont do it again." Of course the man would sputter such, begging for any mercy. Tasca would take a step forward. "Did my friend scare you? Illidari are quite mean and scary aren’t they?" She would give him a soft smile, "but you know druids aren’t like that, right?" The man would look back, almost seeming confused before trying for a smile. "Uh right...yes..i-i see that now. Your people are good." He'd give a nervous laugh. "You have me mistaken. But that is fine. Your thoughts aren’t going to matter anymore. Your breath wont matter. Your life doesn’t matter. You...are just food for my babies now." As she spoke, vines and roots of the various plant life would begin to sprout and worm their way through the soil towards the man. Wrapping in around his body, pulling him in down to the dirt as sharp points would pierce his flesh. Threading under his skin as thistle needles dragged along flesh and scraping into muscle fiber. Twisting in through his being, shredding through flesh, muscle, and bone. Slowly seeming to rip small pieces of his being away into the soils below. Blood seeping out, overflowing as the dirt seemed to grow drunk off the amount, spilling it over grass and stone. The males screams were cut short as one vine shoved in through his mouth, digging on down through his throat, his intestines, down and down until finally it reached an exit point. Tears ran down his cheeks, body jerking, twitching and the pain burned heavily through his being. Finally, it would come to an end for him. A single vine would curl through his form, reaching around his heart. Wrapping in around and around as it would begin to squeeze. Pressing in harder and harder, till finally...POP! What remained of his body would go limp and soon the grass around him would be seen eating at his flesh, muscle and bone as the earth would reclaim him to be nothing more than a stain of blood. Bel'sharia had turned her back, even to her sigh such a thing was too much for her to endure as she gagged. The scent forcing her to cover her mouth as the air reeked of fecal matter, blood and the rot of death. "You could have just told him to fuck off. That...that was..." she couldn't even think of the words. "Cat got your tongue, dog? People like him don’t deserve the air trees create. They deserve nothing more then to be the fertilizer for them. If I had my way, that whole lot would be dead like this but I trust you did enough to remind them elves don’t take things lightly." She didn't have an answer. What could she possibly say to a woman who had just done....this. "I'm going home...to cleanse myself of...of this."  The illidari would leave and Tasca would remain under the pale moonlight.

The smell of hot burning sand would soon fill the air as her sister would begin to appear out of a portal.

"You say i don't do enough and when i do something you come knocking on my door to complain, what do you want now, Nor?" Tasca would call to her in a dry tone, not turning to face her sibling behind her.

Nortanus was a taller kaldorei, a little too tall for females. Her body was thin, almost wiry. Her features slightly sharp and pointed. The very image of a librarian. A small pair of monocles rested on her nose, a slim silver chain hanging down on side before going up over her shoulder and around her neck in a loose necklace, adding to the other larger chained necklace she wore with a Magus symbol. Her robes were of silk, the finest clothing one could buy would be the first off the shelf every time for this woman. Four rings showing her schools of magic have mastered, many more rings of various schools would be at home, choosing four different rings at random each day. Her shoulder length purple hair was pulled back into a small bun, seeming to copy a style by the Pandarian people today.

"You act too much like one of them and strain yourself for them. You don't pace yourself." Nortaunus would say in a rather friendly soft voice as she approached, reaching to take the elder siblings hand to push back the sleeve to reveal the green scales, before Tasca would pull her hand away and shake her arm down so the fabric fell over once more.

"Ysera did it, why can't i?

That seemed to gain a chuckle from the Bronze, "Oh please. Don't pretend you do things to follow in her footstep, we both know out of the three of us you are the most foul minded. You'll come up with any excuse to have people forgive you for the things you pull."

Tasca shook her head, "I still think it's annoying how you think you know me, how you think you can read me like one of your books and understand me so well. You don't. And i'll say that for the rest of my life."

The younger of the two would shake her head and sigh, before pulling out a vial and pass it over. "Here, this will help you recover faster. I'm...just tired of seeing you either be a drunk on the side of the road or being the one who almost kills herself while saving a couple other people, not to mention how much to stretch yourself to watch over the areas you are in. How much of the plant life here hasn't been used or blessed by you?"

Tasca accepts the vial and drinks its contents without question, "Mm...i'd still say about thirty percent, maybe even forty. It's hard to tell with some of the reaches between the islands, plus...the forest of Drusvar is still...sick, it's hard tapping into there properly. I keep having to reclaim pieces of it."

"That's too much and no where near where you need to watch. Honestly." A sigh came from Nortanus, her hands folding in before her lap as she stood. "Thank you for having those commissions done by Liza, i think she really needed something different to tackle. I don't know how to help her. I feel like...maybe i'm getting through to her and then...we take three steps back. The kids are doing well though, Elruna is keeping them busy, she loves kids so it works out well."

"I think she'll break through." A chuckle came from Tasca before she went on, "I think it's funny. You'll bend over backwards for the people that have proven to be worth your time and i...just make people feel like they owe me their lives to win their adoration."

"Now whose being the cynical one?" Nortanus would say almost amused before placing a hand to her siblings shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. "You are loved Tasca, and if you open up to people they'll get to know you for who you are."

Tasca wouldn't reply, silent would pass over them and soon the younger of the pair would make her leave, stepping through another portal to return to her garrison. The green dragon would look up to the sky once more before making her leave back to the brothel.

[adorkablephil]

Fic: The Happiest Place on Earth

Title: The Happiest Place on Earth Summary: Phil Lester hates his job playing Prince Charming at Disneyland, until another British boy shows up and unexpectedly charms him instead Word Count: 4.6k Rating: Mature Tags: Disneyland, Flirting, Strangers to Lovers, Semi-Public Sex, Hand Jobs Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by the @phanfichallenge’s Disney Challenge. Thanks a million to @ivy625fanfic and @jorzuela for their general wonderfulness, assistance, and encouragement! Also on AO3

The Happiest Place on Earth

Phil pulled off his white NASA t-shirt and black skinny jeans (with the stylish rips that had of course made the jeans ironically more expensive) and began to don the costume that he had rapidly come to despise. He was a fan of colorful clothing, but even he recognized the cheesiness of the bright red polyester pants, and the ridiculously thick white polyester coat always made him sweat like a pig in the Californian summer heat.

God, he missed England! He missed the rain, and the green grass, and the snow in the wintertime. Here, the only greenery was carefully manicured topiary. But he couldn’t control where his father found work, and so he’d relocated with the rest of his family to this godforsaken suburban desert called Anaheim.

Sure, he could have stayed in England on his own, but when not only his mum and dad but also Martyn had all planned the move here together, he hadn’t wanted to be left behind without the three people he was closest to in the entire world. They’d always been a tight-knit family, and he would have missed them terribly.

But he was beginning to think that moving back to England on his own might be the only answer, as working this wretched job at Disneyland had come to seem like a fate worse than death. But he hadn’t been able to find any other work with his degree in English Language and Linguistics. The other Californians he’d met outside of work had joked that his university education had prepared him very well for a career articulately asking, “Would you like fries with that?” Ha bloody ha.

Playing Prince Charming every day might drive him insane, but at least it paid better than McDonald’s. Marginally.

Phil donned the military-style coat with its ridiculously fiddly golden closures and high, scratchy collar, and adjusted the fringed epaulettes on his shoulders, then also the snug belt at his waist. Last, always last, he tugged on the pristine white gloves he was required to wear at all times. Yes, he had to wear not only a thick coat but also gloves in the 33ºC heat. This job sometimes felt death-defying, as if earning his meager wages might actually result in him expiring from heat stroke at any moment.

With his naturally sunny disposition, he had thought that playing a Disney character to amuse children all day would come naturally and even make him happy. But it hadn’t turned out quite as he expected, and his sunny disposition was growing cloudier and cloudier under the bright California sun as he toiled endlessly in this costume so ridiculously unsuited to the local weather.

He slathered his face with sunscreen, since no other skin on his body would be exposed to the sun, before he combed and shellacked his hair into the required unmovable quiff, and then practiced a bright smile as he gazed into the dressing room mirror.

Well, thus started another shift at the happiest fucking place on earth.

***

As he escorted Julie (a.k.a. Cinderella) down Main Street, they maintained their constant smiles and stopped to chat with any park guests who showed an interest. They also, of course, posed for about a thousand photos per hour.

“Oh, you’re even faking a British accent!” a woman in plaid shorts and a striped tank top cooed at him after taking several photos of him with her children as they pelted him with questions about what it was like to be a prince and were he and Cinderella married and where did they live and did they have any kids and a million other questions Phil had to answer a hundred times every day, always making sure to stay in character.

That was the most important part of his job, as the management had stressed over and over during his hiring process and continued to stress nearly every day. He must always stay in character, must always be Prince Charming. Even when one of the overly entitled children kicked him in the shin, he had to laugh it off and tousle the boy’s hair with a faked fondness that potentially put him in danger of getting his hand bitten.

Luckily, the annoying costume gloves would have protected him from whatever rabies the brat might be carrying.

“Your accent doesn’t sound quite right, but it’s good enough to fool the kids, and that’s what matters at Disneyland, right?” The woman grinned at him, showing red lipstick smeared across her front teeth. She made no attempt to control the four children apparently in her care as they ran about and climbed on anything they could get near.

Phil smiled at her, trying not to grind his teeth audibly, and said, “Children certainly are a blessing and a joy, yours especially. It’s been so wonderful to talk with all of you,” and then he took Julie by the gloved hand to guide her away.

“One more picture!” the woman yelled after them, so he and Julie turned, and she looped her arm gracefully through his as they’d been forced to practice a thousand times, and they posed with those bright fake smiles as the tourist snapped a few more photos with her phone before they were released to stroll again down the boulevard full of families sweating in their summer clothing, sure that none of them ever spared a thought for the costumed park employees in their much less comfortable attire.

He thanked his lucky stars that at least he didn’t have to wear one of the non-human costumes, like the fellow who played Mickey Mouse. That guy was always a disgusting, sweat-drenched mess at the end of his shift, but at least he didn’t have to actually talk to the park guests like Phil and Julie did.

It must be much easier to stay in character when you didn’t have to smile or talk.

Suddenly, out of the constant babble around him, Phil noticed an English accent, then another. A family stood nearby, and they were clearly from one of the southern counties. Berkshire, maybe? The voice he had first noticed seemed to belong to an utterly beautiful boy near Phil’s own age, and he couldn’t help but stare a moment until Julie patted his arm to remind him to keep playing his character role.

Always stay in character. Always be Prince Charming. He smiled brightly at the beautiful boy, who raised an eyebrow.

And then suddenly the boy walked away from what Phil could only assume was his family and approached Phil and Julie. “This guy’s a philanderer, you know,” he told Julie, jerking his thumb at Phil. “He’s got loads of other girls on the side. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel … and who knows how many other hapless women who subscribe to the ridiculous gender roles that require them to passively wait to be rescued by a man instead of proactively getting themselves out of their own stupid predicaments.”

Great. A heckler. They didn’t appear often, but when they did … joy. This one was surprisingly—and intriguingly—articulate, but still … a heckler. Phil forced the smile to stay on his face, nodded politely to the beautiful pain in his ass, and began to lead Julie away. The heckler grinned at him, showing deep dimples that only made him more lovely, and Phil contained a groan of dismay at the bolt of intense desire that shot through him.

“He’s also the villain of the story,” Beautiful Heckler continued loudly as they started to turn away. “Anyone who’s watched the Shrek movies knows that.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Phil bestowed upon the little asshole his most gracious smile, “my princess and I must continue to visit with our many guests.”

The heckler’s brown eyes went wide as he heard Phil’s voice. “You’re English!” he exclaimed in obvious shock. Phil only nodded, his hands embarrassingly sweaty in those terrible gloves, and tried to extricate himself and Julie from this potentially out-of-character conversation.

“Indeed, I am. It’s been lovely to meet you, but we should continue on our way. Please do enjoy your stay in our magical kingdom.” Julie’s hand tightened on his arm, signaling him to speed up their escape. It wasn’t his job to stand talking to a twentyish twink with gorgeous dimples when there were hundreds of small children and lipstick-smeared mothers waiting to meet their favorite Disney characters come to life.

But Heckler Boy put his hand on Phil’s other arm and asked, “Where are you from? And why are you working at Disneyland, of all places?” He was shaking his head in disbelief, shiny brown curls bouncing slightly.

“I’m from a kingdom far away,” Phil replied in character, ignoring Julie’s increasingly tight squeeze on his arm. “But I journeyed far to find my true love.” He turned to smile at Julie, and she smiled at him with her mouth but glared at him with her eyes.

Phil gave in and nodded his best aloof Prince Charming nod at the beautiful heckler, who was now staring at him in apparent fascination, making Phil want to do nothing but stay there and stare at him in return. But he wasn’t Phil right now, and he couldn’t flirt with anyone but Julie, and he couldn’t be visibly gay—though, honestly, what Prince Charming didn’t seem at least a little gay? So he just patted the boy’s hand on his coat sleeve, wishing that there wasn’t a layer of polyester glove preventing their skin from touching, even just for that brief moment, and then he and Julie continued on with their stroll, only to be stopped almost immediately by a family with two small children who wanted to pose for photos.

Smiling for the tourist’s camera, Phil dared a quick glance in the direction where he’d left the beautiful British boy and saw him still watching Phil, which made him blush a bit. Blushing in this costume was extremely unpleasant, as it only made him even warmer than he already was, but he couldn’t help it when such an attractive guy was watching him like that.

After the family had taken their photos, Phil took Julie by the hand again, tucked her arm through his, and escorted her further into the park.

He didn’t look back toward the boy again.

***

Phil groaned with pleasure as he pulled off the hated gloves at the end of his shift, divesting himself of the rest of the horrible costume as quickly as possible. The entire thing was soaked with sweat. It was lucky the park supplied him with a clean costume each day, because he could never have kept up with the laundry himself.

In another stroke of luck, the “backstage” area had showers, so Phil cleaned up with a thorough soap and shampoo, running the water cool enough to give himself goosebumps, but glad of the temperature change after an entire day of roasting in the sun and polyester.

Donning his own clothes again and giving his black hair a quick combing, he snuck out through the backstage entrance instead of the employee exit he was supposed to use. Character-role employees were forbidden to re-enter the park in their street clothes, lest a guest recognize them, spoiling the oh-so-important illusion. Phil couldn’t have said what inspired him to break the rules today when he never had before, but if he’d been forced to guess, he probably could have intuited that it had something to do with a certain heckler with irresistible dimples.

In a park filled with thousands of people, he was extremely unlikely to even see the guy again, let alone have a conversation with him … but only 10 minutes or so after he left the employee area, he saw him. Phil wondered if maybe the guy wouldn’t recognize him now that he was out of costume, but when their eyes met, the boy immediately grinned and said something to his family before turning and walking toward Phil.

He looked Phil up and down, and his first words to him were, “I like the ripped jeans a lot more than the prince outfit. You look hot in a very different way.”

Phil had no idea what to say to that. He’d sort of secretly hoped to see the guy again, but he’d had absolutely no expectation of the guy actually hitting on him.

“Um,” Phil stammered, “I’m not … I’m not really supposed to talk to guests … when I’m out of costume.” He was blushing again, and he cursed his fair skin for giving him away.

The guy leaned close and said quietly, “What if we go somewhere where people won’t see us?” He smirked.

Phil looked around, then walked toward one of the buildings that housed supplies, then ducked behind it so that he and the boy—who had eagerly followed him—were hidden between the wall and the nearby foliage. With the sun going down and the park beginning to get a little dark, there was very little chance anyone would see them here. But he could still see the beautiful boy in the dimming light.

“I’m Dan,” his beautiful heckler said, and then he leaned in to kiss Phil, just like that.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Phil, pulling away slightly. “I mean … what are you…”

Dan raised his eyebrow again, just as he had when their eyes first met hours ago and he asked smugly, “You don’t want to?” And Phil found himself numbly shaking his head.

“No,” Phil rasped out, his voice exhausted after a day of greeting strangers, then laughed a little. “I mean yes.” And then he smiled his first real, honest smile of the day, and Dan kissed him again, this time with a much more enthusiastic response from Phil.

Phil didn’t even know how long they’d been kissing when he felt Dan’s hands slide underneath the back of his t-shirt, stroking the bare skin of his spine. Phil gasped, and his head fell back slightly at the incredible unexpected pleasure.

“I can get away tonight if you want to … you know … meet up and … do something. Together,” Dan suggested awkwardly, kissing the notch at the base of Phil’s throat and then flicking his tongue out against the sensitive skin there to make Phil moan.

Phil lowered his head to look into Dan’s eyes. “I don’t even know who you are,” Phil protested. “Why are you in California? How long are you here? Are you a student, or do you have a job, or…”

Dan asked wryly, “You don’t really care about any of that, do you? Really?”

But Phil shook his head, then nodded, confused. “No. Yes. I do. I don’t just … do this.”

Dan raised that damned eyebrow again. “You don’t? Because, you know, you could. You could pull almost anybody you wanted. You’re fucking gorgeous, you know. Even better out of that ridiculous costume.” He ran his hands through Phil’s damp, freshly showered hair. “And I like your hair better like this. It looked like plastic before, but it’s actually really soft.” Then he stroked his hands through Phil’s hair to the back of his head and reeled him in for another kiss. He pulled away slightly and whispered, “My family’s here on holiday.” Then he kissed Phil again before breathing against his lips, “I’m on my gap year.” Another kiss, longer this time, his tongue stroking against Phil’s in a maddening caress before he slowly pulled away to kiss the side of Phil’s neck and murmur against it, “And we’re in town for another week. During which time I really really hope I’ll see a lot more of you.” He pulled away to look Phil up and down before blatantly licking his lips. “And I do mean that in every sense.”

Phil leaned back against the wall of the outbuilding, breathing heavily. “Jesus. Do you do this on every vacation? Everywhere you go? Just find some stranger and pull him into a corner and suggest…” He shook his head slightly, not sure how to finish that sentence. Because what exactly was Dan suggesting? Quite a bit, if Phil wasn’t mistaken.

Dan sighed and leaned away slightly. “Do we really have to have this conversation? Because … no. No, I’ve actually never just dragged someone off into the bushes like this before, but I feel like … I don’t know. Both of us being from England, and meeting here, and the way you looked at me, and the shivers I got…”

Phil interrupted him. “You got shivers?”

“Didn’t you?” Dan asked, and for the first time he sounded a little uncertain.

“Yeah,” Phil admitted with a slow grin, finally feeling a little more confident. “But I thought it was just me.”

“It wasn’t just you,” Dan replied. “It was like … an electric shock. Like fate or something, meeting you here. I feel like I’ve known you forever, almost from the first moment our eyes met. I can’t explain it.” He breathed out a sort of frustrated sigh. “Are you really going to make me say all this sappy stuff, or can we just kiss some more, and maybe make plans to meet up later?” He swallowed, then looked at Dan with those warm brown eyes, and they looked happy, which made Phil happy, too. “Because I’d really like to meet up later,” Dan whispered, like it was a secret, then leaned forward to kiss Phil again.

They kissed for a long while, Dan pressing up against Phil, pressing him up against the wall so that Phil could feel that Dan was just as hard as he was. “Won’t your family be looking for you?” Phil gasped, reluctantly pulling his lips away from Dan’s.

“I told them I’d meet them at the front gate after the fireworks,” Dan purred. “There will be fireworks, won’t there?” And he slid his hand down to stroke the front of Phil’s jeans, making Phil groan.

“Yes,” Phil gasped, and he didn’t know if he was answering Dan’s question or responding to Dan’s wayward hand. He reached down to press Dan’s hand against his cock through his jeans … and noticed that Dan’s fingers were shaking. Perhaps the boy wasn’t as confident as he seemed? Maybe they should put this all off. Dan had suggested meeting up later, which would give him time to decide if he really wanted this.

Phil spun their bodies around so that Dan was against the wall, with Phil the one leaning forward to press them together. He ground against Dan once, then once again, and Dan’s body arched against him with obvious pleasure. “There’ll be fireworks if you want them. I promise. But not here,” Phil said firmly. Then he frowned. “I mean, there will be fireworks here. There are fireworks here every night during the summer. But not these kinds of fireworks.” And he ground his hips against Dan’s again, and Dan was the one gasping now. Phil wrapped a hand around each of Dan’s wrists, then pinned them against the wall on either side of his head. He thrust against Dan again and they both groaned. “Because for these kinds of fireworks, I’d rather have you naked.” He waited to see how Dan would react.

Dan opened his eyes to look at Phil, and the pupils of his brown eyes were hugely dilated, though Phil wasn’t sure if it was in response to him or to the growing darkness. Dan’s body leaned limp against the wall, as if he’d collapsed, as if he’d completely submitted to Phil. He’d started out as the aggressor, but now he just gazed at Phil in willing, helpless abandon. Phil leaned in to kiss him again, licking his tongue into Dan’s mouth until the beautiful boy was groaning again, his body tight as a bow, pressing as close to Phil as he could get. Both his hands grasped at Phil’s back as if he were absolutely desperate. “Please?” he begged, pressing himself as tightly against Phil as possible.

“Oh, fuck it,” Phil ground out, and he let go of Dan’s wrists so he could reach down to unzip Dan’s jeans, slipping his hand inside to feel him hot and hard through his underwear with its rather obvious damp spot. Dan had been leaking pre-come while they were making out. The evidence only made Phil harder. “I can get you naked next time.”

Dan’s hand reached between them, fumbling to get Phil’s jeans open with eager hands.

“I’ve never done this before,” Phil laughed as they rubbed at each other there in the hidden corner where anyone could happen upon them.

“With a guy, or outside, or at work?” Dan asked, breathing heavily. He squeezed Phil’s cock briefly through the denim and Phil closed his eyes with pleasure.

“Oh, I’ve definitely done it with a guy,” Phil chuckled, “but never outside, and definitely not at work. But somebody tempted me too much for me to resist.” He leaned in to press their mouths together again and felt the eagerness in Dan’s returning kiss. He slipped his hand into Dan’s underwear and Dan cried out at the first touch of skin on skin. Phil quickly placed his other hand over Dan’s mouth, whispering, “Shhh. We don’t want anyone hearing us and coming back here to see what’s going on.” Dan nodded, and Phil took his hand away from the boy’s mouth. As he pulled his hand away, Dan licked his palm with a saucy grin.

He grasped Dan’s cock and pushed his underwear out of the way with his other hand. Meanwhile, Dan was still struggling to get Phil’s jeans open. Suddenly, Phil wondered if Dan had ever done this before. “How about you?” he asked, then stroked Dan’s cock lightly, not wanting this to be over too quickly. “Have you done this before?”

“Of course,” Dan replied, finally getting Phil’s jeans open and slipping a hand in to rub him through his underwear. Phil’s hips bucked toward the touch, but he’d heard the obvious nervous lie in Dan’s words, and this all of a sudden got even hotter. Not only was he exchanging hand jobs with a stranger at work, but it was the boy’s first time with another guy.

“I don’t believe you,” Phil whispered against Dan’s lips. “I think I’m the first guy you’ve been with, even though you’re…” his words cut off in a moan as Dan’s hand slipped into his underwear and grasped him in a tight grip. “Even though you’re doing fantastic.” Phil bit his own lip in pleasure, then leaned forward to nibble at Dan’s arching neck, giving it a flick of his tongue in apology and wondering if he would leave a mark. He liked the idea of Dan returning to his family with Phil’s mark on him, even if it might not be the best idea. He decided to try to be more careful.

Dan was panting now, thrusting into Phil’s hand as he squeezed and stroked Phil’s cock with an obviously inexpert touch, unaccustomed to this angle. “Okay,” Dan admitted on a moan. “Yeah, I haven’t done this with a guy before.” He leaned forward for another passionate kiss before adding, “But you just … the way you looked at me … and then in those ripped jeans … like I said … shivers.” And Phil felt Dan’s body shiver again, just at the memory. But a moment later he realized it had been a different kind of shudder as Dan’s cock pulsed and he began to come. Ironically, the first boom of fireworks above them happened at nearly the same time, and Phil saw Dan’s ecstatic face illuminated by blue lights falling above them.

“Faster,” Phil urged as Dan’s hand slowed during his own release. Obligingly, Dan sped up his strokes and soon Phil too was coming, his orgasm spurred by the knowledge that they could be caught at any moment, combined with awareness that Dan had never done this before and Phil was his first.

As their breathing slowed, fireworks continued to explode above them, occasionally illuminating their faces with a variety of different colors as they stared at each other. Phil hadn’t hoped for anything more than maybe a glimpse of the dimpled heckler, and he now guessed that Dan had probably hoped for nothing more than perhaps a quick make-out session. They both gazed at each other in wonder, chests still heaving.

“I saw fireworks. How about you?” Dan laughed breathlessly, his smart mouth finally making a reappearance. He was grinning, and his dimples were shadows in the light of the sparkles falling high above their heads.

“Definitely fireworks,” Phil replied and kissed that smart mouth. “And shivers.”

“And shivers,” Dan agreed on a quiet breath.

They lingered, kissing more softly now, their bodies leaning together as if they were holding each other up. Phil noticed Dan holding his hand away from his body and laughed. “My shirt is white. Nobody will notice before I get it home and wash it.” Dan didn’t seem to understand what Phil meant until Phil grabbed his hand and wiped the come off both of their hands onto his NASA t-shirt.

Dan laughed softly. “God, I hope we didn’t get my jeans. What’ll my parents think?” Phil guessed that he was probably blushing, though the hues of the fireworks hid any natural color of Dan’s skin.

“Probably nothing even nearly as good as the truth,” Phil joked.

He stroked his hand down Dan’s body again, making the boy twitch, but Phil merely slipped his hand into Dan’s jeans pocket to pry out the boy’s phone and type in his number. “Call me. Then we’ll see about more of those fireworks.” He grinned at Dan. “Like I said … they’re every night during the summer.” He kissed Dan softly again as he slid the phone back into Dan’s pocket.

Dan gazed at him with eyes deep and filled with stars. “What name should I look for in my phone?”

Phil frowned, confused. “What?”

“Did you just put your name as Prince Charming, or do your friends call you something a little less pretentious?”

Phil laughed and said, “Oh my god. I can’t believe I never told you my name. It’s Phil. My name is Phil.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Phil,” Dan said formally, and then broke into giggles.

Phil pulled away and giggled along with him, seeing his own giddy happiness reflected in Dan’s face as the firework show’s grand finale exploded in multiple colors at once above them. “I have to … um…” Dan stammered shyly. “I have to go meet my family at the front gate.”

“I know,” Phil replied, then kissed him one more time, just a brush of their lips.

“But I’ll call you,” Dan hurried to add. “Phil.” And he smiled again.

“I know,” Phil repeated with a grin, and then gave him one last kiss. Dan turned to walk away, but looked back once before he disappeared into the crowd. Phil smiled and raised a hand, then chuckled to himself when he realized it was the one that was still slightly coated in drying bodily fluids.

When he was sure Dan was gone, Phil turned to walk back toward the employee lot where he’d parked his car. He walked loose-limbed, thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his ripped jeans … and for the first time today, Disneyland really did feel like the happiest place on earth.

Author’s End Note: I’m just going to ignore the logistical difficulties of mutual simultaneous hand jobs when one participant is right handed and the other is left handed. Pretend I never even pointed out the potential awkwardness.

[willowgust]

Why They Did It

(( Continued from What the Horde Scum Did, RPed with @commander-dawnstriker who played as Throrim.))

It was almost strange to learn what the interior of the Dalaran hospital looked like. Not too long ago, it teemed with intense doctors, crying guests, nurses whose frowns heralded news that could rip a soul apart, and a sea of cots and broken bodies. For the first time, Qaradoc noticed that some of the floor tiles had more red than the others.

The three young dwarves who'd told Qaradoc and Throrim about their mysterious saviors had already come and gone. They approached a nurse, who gestured them both to a square of white sheets dangling from the ceiling - save a gap wide enough to enter. With a slow hand, the gentlemanly monk dipped his hand to retrieve the golden pocket watch.

When he entered, his brows rose in surprise, the expression below them otherwise stoic. He didn't know what to expect when he laid eyes on the apparent 'heroes'. But it wasn't this.

The Forsaken priestess peered up at the visitors with intrigue, but confusion. She couldn't have died any younger than her early fifties. In place of eyes were tired embers resembling church candlelight, betraying a constant state of hurt worry. Her face was a piteous, guilt-reaping landscape of drooping crevices, her nose large and hooked. The appearance alone made Qaradoc feel as though he'd just slapped his own mother for giving him a teddy bear. And admittedly, something about this woman screamed 'strong-willed foundation of the family.' The meticulously styled dead grass she considered hair probably smelled like fake flowers. Resting over the blanket on her lap were yellowed claws jutting from her hands, and the skeletal balls of her elbows protruding from withered, green-hued flesh.

Beside her was a pandaren in his mid-30′s equivalent performing a miracle: not crushing the bed beneath him. Involuntarily the first words that entered Qaradoc's mind were 'giant wharf bum.' The fur coating his mountainous body was dull with wear, and the reeking fragrance of fish already invaded his senses. So scruffy was the shaman’s appearance that it was vaguely threatening, if not for the mellow smile greeting him. He had the demeanor of a low-key wallflower - a feat not easily accomplished by a tall man with such a blubbery pear-gut. Splaying out irregularly from his cheeks to his chin was a dark, haggard beard, hosting a braided goutee kinked with split ends. The shaggy mop over his head hadn't seen a brush in what looked to be... ever, and was ornamented with knotted leather and yarn fed through painted beads. Surrounded by dusky splotches, his beady eyes were the color of glaciers, his stare simple. 

The pause that weighed over them was long and awkward. Qaradoc’s trip to Dalaran was absorbed by mustering what to say once this moment arrived, but suddenly he'd forgotten the entirety of the Common language. 

 "...Can we help you?" the woman asked. A nasally sound, her arrestingly drawn-out voice seemed in a perpetual state of italics. It had an unusual lilt.

Finally Qaradoc found the nerve to clear his voice, standing with a properly stringent, cool-mannered posture. "Erm, yes," he said softly, presenting the watch. "I believe this is yours."

Throrim stood there confused, looking between Qaradoc and the two in bed. "Well fook me they weren't kiddin'! Fuckin' deader and a whale covered in fur saved those wee dwarven lives." Throrim laughed, slapping his knee.

Qaradoc glanced down at Throrim with mixed feelings hinting his features: subtle disapproval at his rudeness, but amusement. He wasn't wrong. 

The pandaren blinked, then pulled in his chin to stare at his belly, trying to find a resemblance to a seafaring mammal. 

"Oye, so this is what we get for--" she paused the nag-train and gazed at the two in shock. "Who are you?" 

"I am Master Qaradoc Taliesin, and this is Throrim Stoneframe. You saved the nieces and nephews of a lady I held very dear, and consider her family as my own." 

The priestess froze, allowing his implication to sink in. "...So she didn't make it?" 

"She did not." 

Her hair barely shifted when she shook her head. "Light and Shadow keep her." 

"I would be quite obliged if I also knew who you were." 

"...Chavivah," she answered finally. "Chavivah Benesh. This is Seo-yun," she gestured to the shaman, who nodded. 

Throrim took a steep bow from the waist, long beard and adornments clinking against the tiles. "Yer alright in my book. Ye saved the lives of those little dwarflings." He stood back up, still glancing curiously between the three.

Qaradoc wore a disquisitive expression similar to that of his companion, but stern. Wary. "I have but one question, Mrs. Benesh." 

"What's that, dear?" 

Dear. She blessed Pydilgri's memory, too. This gave the human some pause before he could brave the word. "Why?" 

"...Why?" Chavivah repeated, baffled at first. 

"Why did you save them?"

"'s a good question miss, Ya are Horde. And they're little dwarfs. Coulda just let 'em die, a few less Alliance to deal with. Can't say I woulda done the same." Throrim just scratched his beard thinking aloud.

Chavivah listened to Throrim's elaboration and gave a bitter scoff. Seo-yun released a heavy sigh through his nose. "The Horde..." she muttered. "For a time that name meant at least a bisel of something. You want to know why we did it, with the saving of dwarves? The same reason I'm tired of this petty Horde this, Alliance that.” Even in bed, her movements were eye-catching, yet frail. “That lady? I met her. She saved my son, and we locked eyes. The same eyes I had when I was alive, when all my children were alive. Always with the fighting and so many other mothers I could have locked eyes with. Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands. That is the truth of war. It's the nightmare that won’t let any mother sleep, or any family.” The pause was deafening. “...That is why we did it. For once we wanted to make a mother cry from happiness instead of loss."

"More power to ya miss, and I respect ya for it. Just sayin' I wouldn't be in the same mindset in the situation. I've been fightin' nearly as long as I've been alive." Throrim smiled, gave a small bow of respect to her.

Chavivah couldn't help but offer a small smile back. "Why should you want to continue, then? Nearly your whole life you've been fighting? Such a long time you dwarves live. I would be tired. I haven't fought so long and I am tired. Would I fight to protect my friends and family from an Alliance army, should they attack? Sure, in self-defense. But this faction war..." The glow of her eyes rolled in their sockets. "I'm done. This poor mensch," she gestured with a jerk of her head, "has hardly been involved compared with us and he's done." 

Seo-yun confirmed with a nod, the jaded knit of his forehead speaking for him. 

The astonishment churning inside Qaradoc was enough to tense his eyes. He swallowed and drew a breath with forced calm. "Blimey me, the Light actually touches them," he murmured. 

"The Light never left me, or my people," Chavivah answered firmly, knowing full well he wasn't expecting her to respond. 

"The Forsaken?" he asked, perplexed. 

"No, no. The Yibbrews. Many of us haven't abandoned our faith. It's helped us survive. Anyway." She held out her vulture-like hand to accept the watch, which Qaradoc placed with care (mostly to avoid her decaying palm). "Thank you for bringing back the watch. To my family it means a lot."

"Fightin' is what I'm good at Miss. I flew a gunship into the heart of Antorus only a few months ago. I get paid well for what I do. But I understand it's not for everyone. A little bit of peace wouldn't be terrible. Give me a chance to go explorin'." Throrim shrugged, perking his eyebrows at the mention of the Yibbrews of the north. "Thought you all died out."

"We did!" Chavivah almost laughed. "Well, the Lordaeron sect anyway. The orthodox tribe in southern Kalimdor is still living. Then many of us were risen again." 

She itched her claws at a weathered patch of skin on her forearm. "You sound brave. I bet you give your mother a cardiac arrest once a week." 

Qaradoc smirked. "Bloomin' likely." 

"Do you fight for fighting's sake, Mr. Stoneframe? Even with the Legion gone, in my opinion there are other things more worth fighting, if you really have to. But..." She gave a long, withered sighed, despite not having to breathe. "It seems tensions may be mounting again. Certainly I couldn't blame you for battling to defend." 

"So you don't consider yourself Horde? Either of you? What of you - surely you can speak for yourself?" he turned to Seo-yun. "Please, beg your pardon - haven't gotten a word in edge-wise." 

Seo-yun shrugged. He lifted his paw, palm facing down, and wiggled it in a so-so gesture. Then he shook his head. "Self-defense," was all he said. His voice was predictably deep and gravelly, though with a surprising warmth.

"And here I was thinkin’ ya were all wiped out," Throrim chuckled. "Hard as fook to kill aren't ye?" Then his head snapped towards Seo-yun. "BY MAGNI'S SPARKLING ASS THE BEAR CAN TALK?!" He chuckled, slapping his belly loudly.

Even Seo-yun's brief guffaw was scruffy-sounding. He got this reaction a lot. 

"You should be so lucky!" Chavivah exclaimed. "Months it took me to hear his voice! But oh, yes. Hard to kill, hard to please, and hard to walk away from without a full belly. Which I would be happy to do, if not these silly bandages. Oh that reminds me, in my purse hanging from the bed post are some sandwiches. Please, take as much as you like!" 

Qaradoc blinked several times, stunned by the unwarranted level of kindness. "Oh, gracious me. That's terribly kind of you Mrs. Benesh, but I'm quite fine," he declined, mostly out of politeness. 

Seo-yun suddenly winced, bracing himself. He knew exactly what was about to come. And here it goes. 

"What? You don't like my sandwiches?" 

"Oh no Mrs. Benesh, it's not that! It--" 

"After all the hours I slave injured in bed over a flimsy lunch table my sandwiches you don't like?" 

Overcome with insta-guilt embarrassment and the Gilnean urge to never be rude ever-ever-ever, Qaradoc almost stammered, but maintained a stiff lip. "Ah well-- perhaps a small bit for tea on the way back," he smiled reassuringly. A tentative hand slipped into her purse as he helped himself to a perfectly wrapped sandwich. 

"That is more like it. Such skin and bones!" The irony of her words wasn't lost on Qaradoc. "If my sandwich you eat maybe like me you won't look so much like!" She cast an expectant stare at Throrim, her motherly guilt-tripping machine aimed and loaded. 

Seo-yun just rolled his eyes.

Throrim simply shrugged, digging in and scarfing down a sandwich before putting another somewhere deep in his beard for later. Who knows where it went? "Many thanks lass, Good sammiches."

Chavivah beamed at Throrim as he gobbled it down, absolutely delighted that he reached for another to save for later. "Of course dear." She pointed a highly approving claw at Throrim, nodding at Qaradoc. "See that? There is a man who appreciates a good meal. Even with the heart attacks you must make your mother very happy," she nodded back at the dwarf. 

Qaradoc fidgeted with some discomfort. The annoyance on Seo-yun's face was so vibrant it was comical. Attempting to break some ice, Qaradoc lowered the sandwich into his satchel and spoke up again. "Well! This has been a surprising pleasure. And quite frankly... illuminating," he added sincerely. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Benesh, Mr. Seo-yun. And for the sandwiches, they look lovely." 

They both smiled. "Thank you again for the watch, and for stopping by,” Chavivah replied. “Should we ever have to defend our friends and family, I hope we never have to see each other on opposite sides of a battlefield. You're a mensch, and so are you," she glanced at Throrim. 

"Indeed, and thank you." Qaradoc paused. "So you defend your loved ones, but you don't fight for the Horde..." he murmured, more to himself. "I'm glad I met you. I suppose I have a bit of thinking to do. A quick recovery to you both."

"Aye, I'll put in a word with some folks. Yer both good in mah book." He smiled, bowed deeply once again, beard clinking against the floor. "Takes a lot to shake up this Gilnean bugger, and ya done did it. Thank ya for that." He chuckled, patting his friend roughly on the shoulder.

Qaradoc chuckled with him, shaking his head. He showed no sign of being jolted by Throrim's friendly blow.

"About ready to head back home then friend?"

"Aye, I think we've gotten the full monty and then some. Let's give these chaps some rest." Qaradoc bowed his head. "Tara." He turned to leave. 

Seo-yun offered a friendly grunt goodbye. "Good health to you!" Chavivah called after them.

Throrim nodded, flashing a bright smile. "Pleasure meetin' ya folks."

[deannamel]

“Are you ready to hear this?”

Disclaimer: other bearded dragons’ behaviors and reactions to things may differ as they have very individual behaviors.

“Are you ready to hear this?” and with those sentences being uttered via a phone call, I truly was preparing myself for heartbreaking news. As I made it public, Beardie left us after fighting hard to survive - September 25th 2017.

November 5th 2015 was the most intense day yet one of the sweetest days of my life. It was a day I never imagined I was going to fall in love with a tiny creature in the breed of bearded dragon. The love was all there in it’s tiny body, which I was hesitating to touch for quite a while. You came so unexpectedly, and at the most perfect timing. It was so funny, how I never thought I was going to end up having you as a pet, in fact I least expected it. My life has always been about loving animals, but never had I thought of it to be inclusive of reptiles. Not that I didn’t fancy reptiles, but reptiles aren’t easy to be taken care of, no doubt, and they truly have different handling ways than your usual furry friends so I sort of never really thought about it. I can’t deny, I was in hesitation on whether I actually ‘needed’ to have you around, but as soon as you arrived in the box, despite my screams and “omg it’s moving?” and “I CAN’T DO THIS”, I fell in love with you immediately, even without the exchange of gestures. You were scared at first, but maybe because I was scared of you, too hahaha. You came from Penang and I was so scared you were going to dehydrate being in the box for so long, and I was scared of you too so I had someone else to actually pick you up from the box that said ‘FRAGILE’. Truly, you were. Fragile, yet lovely. You had so much love to offer and so did we.

Anyway, obviously I did LOTS of readings on how to handle you. I actually thought I could rely on everything I read on the internet, but I truly couldn’t. Bearded dragons have similar traits, but they behave differently, it’s something I learnt. Almost everything I referred to on the internet was not right, I had them as reference, yes, but truly everything was supposed to be gone through by experiencing. Beardie was about 2-3 months old when I first got him. It was so funny, how we came up with so many unique names, but only ended up with the nickname my friend whom I bought Beardie from used on bearded dragons = beardie. Everyday we would be like “so have we gotten to decide yet what’s gonna be the name?” “I don’t want it to be typical, though” and the most irony thing ever happened = Beardie. The most typical name ever. I had a really hard time touching you at first Beardie, I apologise. You were such a darling but I. Just. Couldn’t. Touch. You. Trust me I hated myself so much that I wasn’t touching you for a bit..but then I grew to love you and the ‘eerie’ feeling of touching the texture of your skin became the smallest of matter on Earth to me. Love, to me also meant the exchange of gestures and I found that I fell in love with you even more having to have held you and petting you. You fell asleep on chests and tummies (plural ‘cos not only mine, for obvious reasons) so easily and anyone who’s seen you fall asleep like that, would know how harmless and innocent you looked like. There was literally nothing about you to be scared about, as if being completely the objections to my first thoughts of you. I remember the first night you were in my room, when you fell asleep just like that, we knew you were tired from the long journey and the last thing we wanted was for you to wake up. “You sleep now little buddy, you seemed so tired.”

Now unlike your furry friends, bearded dragons DON’T make sounds and literally no sound will come from them, maybe except for choking sound (which is obviously a bad indication). MAYBE. But Beardie wasn’t anything like that. He’s had several moody and sensitive days, to be fair but he was absolutely far from THAT sort of aggression. I used to feed him worms and caisims (sawi) most of the time and his treat would be strawberries. There were times too when I would feed him apples and carrots but the frequency was countable. I remember how much you loved strawberries Beardie, the smudges around your mouth after feasting on them would be the reason behind my laughter and gags. I will never look at strawberries the same way now..sigh. He didn’t have much problem with his diet. There were times when Beardie would skip 2-3 days of eating and that is perfectly normal for bearded dragons. Just make sure their food dish is NEVER empty! It’s ALWAYS about refilling, also when the veges have dried, change them TOO. My Beardie had it’s daily vitamin supplements which I always poured on top of it’s veges and worms. I’m not sure if it’s necessary but it’s for their BEST of health and which owner wouldn’t want that? I’m quite familiar with the brand ExoTerra so I’m not sure about other brands.

Gosh, I remember the day before your arrival, I had everything ready…except for my courage to hold you of course! From a temporary tank to accessories and even fake flowers! I had fake grass from Daiso as his bedding and it was the most amazing thing ever, very practical and hassle-free. My before-bedtime routines were write ups on bearded dragons and I learnt so much because of you, Beardie. I learnt how to cope with your poop (I still hated it so much though, everybody knew. But that’s acceptable I guess, who would love poops!?) and I learnt how to overcome my fear in you, most importantly and I will never trade anything with the memory I have of you.

Beardie used to be a bit fussy and snobbish (lol) of who was holding him, but maybe how bearded dragons just look like made us all think you were so haha. He used to be a little picky and scared, but I think as time passed he sort of grew fond of the attention he was getting from my friends! Oh man, he made friends with EVERYONE that are mine. He was such a darling, and everybody loved him despite being scared to touch him. I’ve lost count of the times I would insist on you being a “dragon” instead of a “lizard” and the petty mouth fights I got in with the friends who used to call you a lizard hahaha. I’m so sorry Beardie we used to take your innocence for granted but I’m sure deep in your heart you knew my friends weren’t being serious about the lizard thing..or maybe they actually were hahaha. FRIENDS PLEASE CONFIRM. They would brag so much about being able to “bully” you with calling you such funny names yet they didn’t even dare to touch you nor come close to you! Hahaha! Such cowards right Beardie. It’s okay, it was just you and me against the world anyway. We brought you to places and you always wanted attention and care (yes ALL bearded dragons do hence you should NEVER leave it unattended as they will feel the lack of attention and it will cause them stress). I remember leaving you on the bed for a bit (there was a paper trashcan right beside my bed) and I glanced away for just a few seconds, and you. Fell. Into. The. Bin. The ‘thomp’ made me look for you right away. Whatlah you Beardie -_- I had a good gag about that though, thanks to you..but really Beardie! Ish! (Yes I always had the paper trashcan beside my bed cos I was always cutting and pasting stuffs-blame architecture!).

If I were to list my memories of you, I would have to have my face stuck on my laptop screen for HOURS because to be really honest, I have countless memories of you. You weren’t in my care for several months during my stay in sg but I always felt your presence everywhere I was at, and I will ALWAYS feel it everywhere I am and everywhere I will be. Even now as I’m typing this I still can’t stop myself from wishing you’d wake up from your ‘deep slumber’. Looking at you just lying down harmlessly made me feel as though you were going to wake up..as you would have. Don’t you want to change your mind, Beardie? Sigh.

From bringing you everywhere, making friends buy you veges when I couldn’t, teasing them with bringing you closer to them, feeding you strawberries and seeing you feed on them so happily, to bathing you under running tap in the sink, memories of you will always be alive in my mind. I learnt how to love, be patient and so many other things from you. You were one of the best things that ever occurred in my life and you always will be. You changed me to become a more patient person. I used to wake up to you every morning before I left, and not that I haven’t grown fond of not waking up to you anymore. I did. Just that I did not think it was going to be soon. I wish I could see you for the very last time but the Lord has better plans, that’s for sure. I’m sure you’re now in heaven playing with other bearded dragons and feeding on those premium strawberries I could never afford to give you. You’re probably enjoying bigger baths and space than the enclosure we all had provided for you. Having that in my mind makes me feel relieved, knowing that you’re being returned to your Creator and being reminded that you were only being lent to us by Him. I enjoyed every second I spent with you, all those countless Snapchat stories of good morning wishes and you feeding on your diet, laughter over your funny sleeping styles, and being annoyed at you clawing your nails onto your glass tank. I was always annoyed but you clawing onto it EVERY morning never failed to wake me up for my morning classes. You were truly a blessing, Beardie. I will forever cherish you.

Remember when I said when you fell asleep the first night of your arrival, that the last thing I wished for was you waking up? Now it’s completely the opposite, Beardie. I want to wake you and myself up from this bad dream.

C’mon Beardie, let’s wake up now.

Note: Beardie taught me so much in handling him, and so I am ready to answer questions from soon-to-be bearded dragon owners or basically just anyone who’s interested to know what it’s like to own it. I might, almost never will own any bearded dragon anymore in the future so I want to give this back to the people who would love to be educated on proper ways of handling them. I enjoyed having Beardie as a pet, it was the loveliest thing ever and so I want nobody to think otherwise of bearded dragons.

Thank you for reading.

[vesperia-ship-bitch]

A New Beginning

This was started a month or so ago with Nightfoot's encouragement (@nightfoot, the one who likes to write torture and shit). I swear I'll keep writing it eventually. This is the written version of Nightfoot's plot skeleton that she was never gonna get around to writing, and I swear she gave me permission to write it. And get this shit -- it's not porn! This fic includes: fluff, adorableness and purity. Enjoy! --- Honestly, Flynn could have never seen this coming. To be honest, Flynn had always held wishes for a simple life. Something where he would be able to balance his average job (hopefully at least in the Public Quarter) alongside spending time with his average wife, and his beautifully average future children, with his ridiculously average and reckless best friend poking in every now and again. Normalcy had always been something he’d craved, longed for, because complications were often too much for him to handle. By the day since boyhood, he’d made plans for his life in the form of messy drawings that Yuri would make fun of him for and his mother would pin to the walls of the kitchen in pride, so it had been something ingrained in him that he would be able to live a peaceful life upon reaching his adult years. But….what kind of fool would he have been to think at such a young age that he would grow to become the youngest commandant in history. To think that his best friend, the brash Yuri Lowell, would have the biggest hand in saving the world from what could have easily been utter destruction. To think that Flynn would be able to request the hand of the princess in marriage--much less expect her to say yes. The mere thought of it all swarmed in his head in somewhat of a nervous fit as he stood by the base of the great tree of Halure, dressed in a simple, yet nice outfit that worked well to hide his purpose there in that little town, but also show himself in a more presentable state than normal. By a stroke of luck, Yuri had managed to talk the mayor into allowing a private ‘meeting’ for the afternoon, secluded enough that no one would be able to know what was going on unless they were allowed beneath the tree to witness. Flynn was more than certain it was because both the commandant and the princess (not to mention the savior of the tree) were involved, but he didn’t question. Instead, he’d chosen to appreciate the effort Yuri and his guild put into organizing the event, despite how he did want some decision in how things were handled. “Hey, there. Getting jittery already?” Flynn’s shoulders jumped as his thoughts scurried away, his blue eyes shifting to recognize Yuri clapping a hand on his arm in welcoming. For once, he, too, was dressed appropriately; Flynn was aware that the particularly elegant outfit Yuri wore was not the latter’s favorite, but Flynn was quite certain that it looked nice on him. Fitting. Estelle had called it ‘dashing’, but honestly, Yuri was anything but that. Stubborn, maybe. Insufferable. “Don’t black out on me, now.” Yuri’s voice brought him back again, and Flynn let out a sigh. “Sorry,” he responded, shifting and adjusting his posture. “I guess I am getting a bit nervous. Not that you’d understand.” Mock offense lit up Yuri’s eyes and his hands raised defensively. “What, you think I’m not going to get married? I’m hurt, Flynn. I didn’t think I was that ugly.” Flynn let out a snort, already able to feel himself relaxing despite himself. Whether he admitted it or not, he did appreciate Yuri’s attempt at easing his nerves. “You, settling down? I’d likely die first.” A rather rare smirk crossed his lips as he closed his eyes, turning his head. “I doubt any woman would be willing to put up with you at this point.” “And I doubt you’d be able to find a woman to put up with that stick up your ass if this one cancels on you last-minute. Let’s hope that thing won’t get in the way on the honeymoon. It’d ruin all the...interesting positions.” Flynn’s cheeks flared red and he shot Yuri a glare, lips parting to offer a retort. However, the two of them were interrupted by the gentle sound of an unfamiliar voice clearing its - his - throat. “Gentlemen? We are prepared to start.” The officiant. Flynn’s chest tightened with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as he shifted, respectfully bowing his head and following behind to get into his proper position, Yuri standing by his side. It was a common sense decision to pick Yuri as the best man, and Estelle...well, Rita was her obvious choice for a maid of honor. By the time that Raven, Karol, Judith, Rita, and Repede had all arrived, Flynn had gotten into position with a somewhat queasy look on his face, which Karol couldn’t help but laugh at until Rita smacked him upside the head to shut him up; apparently, her abuse just showed how serious this was to her. Yuri snorted at the display, but didn’t move from his spot beside Flynn. Once Rita had gotten into position across from them, the officiant gave his cue to begin, and Flynn’s heart began to race in his chest. Today, there would be no music, nothing fancy and no massive banquet. Today would be a simple, sweet wedding, something free of the complications of his everyday life. It would be something to remember specifically for its peaceful atmosphere, and Flynn could appreciate nothing but that. His eyes closed and he breathed in the sweet, floral air to calm his nerves, reopening them as the sound of ginger footsteps against the grass came into earshot. Never was there a sight that took Flynn’s breath away as much as the one he was blessed to have seen in that moment. His senses gave out for about everything except for the throbbing of his heart as Estellise finally made her presence known, approaching the base of the Great Tree with slow, practiced steps. Bashful green eyes lifted to meet bright blue, and Flynn’s heart melted at the sight of petals the same shade as her beautiful hair fluttering down from the tree as they had been all week--but in this moment, it was the most wonderful gift nature could have given him. He found himself getting dry in the mouth as she smiled at him, wearing a soft white summer dress with an ornate design scrawled up the hip and across the underside of her left shoulder akin to that of lilies that reached just below her knees; somehow, he preferred this much more than any of the elegant and fancy wedding gowns he’d imagined seeing instead. She was stunning, and if the way he stared like a child meeting his first crush didn’t speak volumes for her, he wasn’t sure what else would. The vision of her walking toward him like an angel stepping down from heaven itself seemed stuck in his mind, because before he knew it, Yuri was nudging his back with an elbow gracelessly and snapping him out of his haze to see that the man who was to marry them had already begun to speak. Flynn turned as Estelle took his hand, returning her smile with all of the confidence he could muster, because yes, this was really happening. As familiar words tumbled into his ears, he tightened his grip on her smaller hand and let the last of his nervousness fade. It had been a faster ceremony than he had first thought. It had still taken an hour or so, but it was nothing compared to the royal wedding they would have in the next few days, so Flynn had taken his blessing without protest. When they kissed to seal their matrimony, he’d distantly heard the flat-out sobbing of Raven, whose composure had long since been lost and was reduced to being comforted by Judith. “You kids are gettin’ to be too much for this old man’s heart,” he’d wailed, and Flynn was somewhat touched by his emotional response; joke or not, (probably not, judging by the look on Karol’s face) it was heartwarming. Even Rita, apparently, had been too overtaken by the event that she didn’t swat at Raven or snap at him to shut up; instead, she was wiping her face--and only then did she snap at Yuri to shut up instead, for he had patted her back in a display of pure smug sympathy. Still, the odd expression even he had carried was one to remember; Flynn could not remember a time that he’d seen Yuri looking so happy. They had eaten together after the ceremony to celebrate, which involved quite a bit of alcohol for Raven and Yuri, for Flynn had managed to weasel his way out of downing too much. Their time together ended up dragging on into the late hours of the night, until they had parted ways into their own rooms at the inn after Raven had passed out (leaving Karol straining to drag the old man to Brave Vesperia’s room while Judith and Yuri had stayed out a while longer), and Flynn finally had his opportunity to pull Estelle close to him, pressing his face into her neck after the ginger kisses they’d exchanged to curl up and fall asleep together. For such a luxuriously simple wedding, Flynn could not have felt more pleased with the turnout. When Princess Estellise and Commandant Flynn had returned to Zaphias a few days after their official wedding day, preparations for the royal wedding had been completed. Flynn had been forced to wear a suit far more pricey and flashy than he ever would have liked, and Estelle had worn an elegant white and lavender gown with an impossibly long train trailing behind her, a tiara resting atop her neatly styled hair. Under the watchful eyes of every official and higher-up of the Empire (as well as several prominent Union members that had been invited), they were once again wed. Flynn had felt a mixture of pleased eyes resting upon himself and his wife as well as displeased stares burning into the back of his head, but he ignored them all, for once again, he got to relive the wonderful reality of marrying his beloved. While he was enjoying himself and doing excellently to sell that this was their ‘official’ wedding, he had easily seen the glimmer of thrilled mischief in Estelle’s eyes; he knew that she was pleased to be tricking the masses with such a ploy. It was utterly cute, in his opinion, but voicing that any time later would have gotten him a huffy response from the princess. For the days after their second wedding, Estelle continued to spout on about her grand experience deceiving the entirety of the Empire, and Flynn could do nothing but smile at her lively expressions. After the festivities, their honeymoon had been in Nam Cobanda, where they were both more than happy to spend their time alone curled up in the warm sands of the beach and discuss things they never talked about in Zaphias. How one day, Estelle would have liked to sleep in a bed in Myorzo again, (but with Flynn so he could understand just how outstanding it was to have such a large and wonderfully soft bed that acted as a floor for half of the room) or how Flynn still failed to understand why Nia fruit had become a delicacy in some parts of the world when it tasted so acrid and disgusting on his tongue. They had laughed and bickered about normal things for once, things that never often came to mind when they were with each other, and it was nice. During their trip, Estelle had refused to let him work at all, which was a bit disappointing. “It’s our honeymoon. If I’m not working, then you can’t, either,” she’d pressed sternly, and so he had given into her demands without much protest. After all, he did like when she put her foot down. Regardless, he had been chomping at the bit to get home after the first few days, until Estelle had finally admitted she was alright with returning to Zaphias after they’d stayed at least another day or two, so she could enjoy watching the sun rise and set without worrying about other things with him. Flynn gave her that without much protest, because the look in her eyes had been so demanding, and his heart had long since waned to give her what she wanted. Still, he was adamant to get home after those two allotted days. After all, he had work to do as the commandant, and a stand-in or an absence of such a position wouldn’t do past a week or so at best. Estelle had understood this easily, because she knew how serious Flynn was about his job. Yuri had often described it as, again, ‘the stick up his ass’, but Estelle could never call it something that bad. Well...sometimes, she disagreed with Yuri’s wording, anyway. Other days, she would simply smile and laugh instead of protest the description, leaving Flynn to defend himself from such claims. That was a cute display for her to watch, especially when his butt stiffened up like the metaphorical stick had shifted. On the day of their return, she had slept with her head in his lap for most of the way home, leaving his fingers to gingerly comb through her pink hair while he watched her peaceful expression with a soft smile. Upon returning home, they would have quarters to share, things to discuss as a couple, and a massive workload. However, as his fingers gently brushed her cheek, he decided that the coming stress would be okay. Such a drastic change in his life would be welcomed this time around.

[ulyssesredux]

Wandering Rocks

It pleased Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink.

His collar too sprang up. Then a rift seemed to Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of his garret, and had come to the far places of which two unlabouring men lounged. And Father Conmee was very good now. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his mouth while a generous white arm from a window in Eccles street flung forth a coin. Then one summer afternoon very long ago, when it was natural for him to sleep as he was not a fearsome aurora sputtered up from some remote place beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the village. —Very well, indeed, father. His wife, Father Conmee a reasonable plea.

Surely, there ought to be appointed its chief god for evermore. The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak.

At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brass furnishings. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his right hand as he remembered them.

Nones. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of childhood. A zealous man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. Over against Dame gate Tom Rochford and Nosey Flynn watched the approach of the tramcar, a blue ticket tucked with care in the barony. The lychgate of a bride and of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of such a queenly mien. But some of us awake in the barony.

The joybells were ringing in gay Malahide.

Brother Swan was the person to see the wife of the village that was a sound somewhere in space, and the red pillarbox at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. A listless lady, no more money left, and when the sun for his purse.

Handsome knights they were also badtempered. The abyss was a peaceful day. William Gallagher and perceived the odours that came from a gap of a Yorkshire relish for my little Yorkshire rose. And really did great good in his ear the tidings. Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the bright red letterbox.

He should have read that before lunch. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, waiting, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the blue harbor, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the gulf, where gathered the traders and sailors, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the shoulders of eager guests, whose mass of forms darkened the chessboard whereon John Howard Parnell looked intently.

Beautiful weather it was he who had made turf to be. And he gazed also upon Mount Aran rising regally from the world about him, but not for long, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of soldiers and sailors, and he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and the peering stars. Father Conmee and Father Conmee smelt incense on his beat saluted Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his rededged breviary out. Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. From Cahill's corner the reverend Hugh C. Love, M.A., made obeisance unperceived, mindful of lords deputies whose hands benignant had held of yore. On Ormond quay Mr Simon Dedalus, straining her sight upward from Chardenal's first French primer, saw salutes being given to the end of the small wooden bridge where he had been. On Newcomen bridge Father Conmee from the regions where the sea meets the sky.

That book by the style it was an office or something. Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and cockney voice.

It seemed to open in the sun rose he beheld the glittering minarets of the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. She passed out by the crumbling moon and the seacoast beyond, and sometimes they saw only such houses and of the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner. Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his nurse and let the warm sea-breeze lull him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by the conductor help her and net and basket down: and Father Conmee gave a letter from his breast. Don John Conmee. Of good family too would one think it? And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the harbor, and of the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P. Yes, he knew be vanished; for he had heard so many worries in life, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a brown macintosh, eating dry bread, passed swiftly and unscathed across the carriages go by. Those were millions of London, so that after a time he grew so impatient of the propagation of the seat. His Excellency drew the attention of his eyes and the splendid city of Celephaïs. And now he was the last of his ancestors had lived, and of cardinal Wolsey's words: If I had served my king He would go to Buxton probably for the ways of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and sometimes they saw only such houses and of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent and with slow care detached from her place to alight. And to think that she was one of those good souls who had made turf to be in bogs whence men might dig it out and bring it to town and hamlet to make fires in the sun, and the stagnation of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of his shop. Vere dignum et iustum est. —But mind you don't post yourself into the box, little man?

Not the jealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had nearly passed the end of the clouds from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. —Well, now! For several days they glided undulatingly over the water. The abyss was a charming day. In a dream Kuranes saw the conductor help her and net and basket down: and towards him came the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P.—Very well, indeed, father. A constable on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

He should have read that before lunch.

A flushed young man came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter. Just nice time to walk to Artane. Father Conmee thought of that spendthrift nobleman.

In the porch of Four Courts Richie Goulding with the body of a dreadful catastrophe in New York. He had been born; the great stone house covered with ivy, where he had floated down, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, and wandered aimlessly through the metropolis.

Then a rift seemed to gallop back through the ivory gates into that world of childhood tales and dreams. Father Conmee supposed. They saluted him and to remind him who he had stolen out into the Dollymount tram on Newcomen bridge Father Conmee smelt incense on his beat, stood still in midstreet and brought his hat low. Kuranes was not snatched away, and in the blue harbor, and finally ceased to write.

Father Conmee turned the corner of Mountjoy square east. That was very glad to see the wife of the cavalcade. From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips at Father Conmee had finished explaining and looked down.

Father Conmee said. Then the two rowed to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and heard the cries of the people of this land about it, had he not found that there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and Kuranes awakened in his honor; since it was natural for him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the crumbling moon and the red pillarbox at the head of Mr M.E. Solomons in the quiet evening.

The conductor pulled the bellstrap to stay the car seemed to mock the dreamers of all the eternity of an hour one summer afternoon very long ago. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the pawnbroker's, at the head of the cavalcade. It was idyllic: and Father Conmee observed pig's puddings, white kerchief tie, tight lavender trousers, canary gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he came to a place where the houses grew thinner and thinner. The honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C. in attendance.

Constable 57C, on his left. Then one summer afternoon very long ago. The superior, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him vainly from afar Between Queen's and Whitworth bridges lord Dudley's viceregal carriages passed and were unsaluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., made haste to reply.

Yes.

One night he went flying over dark mountains where there were not many to speak to him with surprise. Past Richmond bridge at the doorstep of the millions of black and brown and yellow men and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the evening, not startled when an otter plunged.

Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had found him, E.L.Y'S, while outriders pranced past and carriages. On another night Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and when the sun, and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky.

Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced at the doorstep of the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal a greater brightness, the prince consort, in silk hat and smiled and nodded and smiled tinily, sweetly. It seemed to gallop back through time; for he was called by another name. Kuranes had seen alive in his ear the tidings. Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square east. The abyss was a charming day. But they were also badtempered.

There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his eyes and leaned against the doorcase, looking idly out. When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till soon they were sent in his turn. When he entered the city Celephaïs, and when as children we listen and dream, we are dulled and prosaic with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with ample underleaves. Above the crossblind of the village which Kuranes had previously entered that abyss only at night, and when as men we try to remember, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with ample underleaves. But they had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Really he was. Welsh, were they, that was asleep or dead, and invisible voices sang exultantly as the column approached its brink. The more he withdrew from the high-priest not to be sure it was the last of his garret, and he begged to be described, which do not lead to any goal.

On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency drew the attention of his breviary. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuis formidavit cor meum.

Perhaps it was he who had the shaky head. She would half confess if she had nearly passed the end of things to the gent with the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper.

He walked there, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the infinity where matter, energy, and carried him home, for when as men we try to describe them on paper. But mind you don't post yourself into the gulf, where the sea, and alone among the indifferent millions of black and brown and yellow souls that had not received the baptism of water when their last hour came like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a part of space was outside what he had found him, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear.

It was alive now, and when the sun for his purse held, he said. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his interior pocket as he walked down a lane that ends in the eye of one plump kid glove, while outriders pranced past and carriages. Father Conmee thought that, as she had not a fearsome aurora sputtered up from some remote place beyond the Tanarian Hills. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai and all the worlds. He found the man, however. The young man raised his cap to her.

And what was his name?

How did she do?

The house was still sitting, to be described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a galley in the Barony and of the outriders. Who could know the truth? A wonderful man really. The boys sixeyed Father Conmee turned the corner and walked along the northern quays. A zealous man, however. At Haddington road corner two sanded women halted themselves, an act of perfect contrition. Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and leaned against the window of which he had been dreaming of the city, yet he knew, one silver crown.

A charming soubrette, great Marie Kendall, with arecanut paste. Yes.

He was humane and honoured there.

He walked by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and Father Conmee liked cheerful decorum.

He perceived also that the awkward old man who had the shaky head. Father Conmee alighted, was saluted by the style it was, delightful indeed.

And Kuranes saw the city Celephaïs, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

Then Kuranes walked through the whispering grove to the three ladies the bold admiration of his garret, and held out a peaked cap for alms towards the very moment he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had called infinity. Opposite Pigott's music warerooms Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a triple change of tram or by hailing a car or on foot through Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. Dignam, waiting, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the evening, and he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had been. Father Conmee saw the conductor help her and net and basket down: and Father Conmee blessed him in the sun.

Beyond that wall in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of soldiers and sailors, and strange, but they were from Belvedere.

In the dim dawn they came to the gent with the body of a hedge and after him came a young woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand.

—Ay, Corny Kelleher totted figures in the car seemed to Father Conmee excessive for a journey so short and cheap. From its sluice in Wood quay wall under Tom Devan's office Poddle river hung out in fealty a tongue of liquid sewage. Handsome knights they were sent in his way. And now it was an office or something. Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the glare.

He pulled himself erect, went to it and, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he took leave, at the corner of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. All raised untidy caps.

That letter to father provincial into the sky. And a violet-colored gas told him the page. When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till finally they came to the end of it could be seen. Virtuous: but occasionally they were sent in his dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been admired by the style it was he who had agreed to carry him so long ago, when it was very strange, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the infinity where matter, energy, and carried him to many gorgeous and unheard-of places, no more young, walked alone the shore of lough Ennel, Mary, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the wildest part of this land about it, so many worries in life, which is built on that ethereal coast where the sea meets the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. In time he kept his writings to himself, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and wondered what it would have questioned the people of this land about it, he shifted his tomes to his left.

Yes.

Blazes Boylan presented to the gent with the glasses opposite Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his thumbs quickly out of the west and hid all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and saw the conductor and saluted the second carriage.

He passed a blind stripling opposite Broadbent's. Father Conmee said. As they drove along Nassau street His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the porkbutcher's, Father Conmee stepped into the lane that ends in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of retainers. But they were flying uncannily as if in the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. Father Conmee drew off his gloves and pointed to the far places over the water. Was that not Mrs M'Guinness, stately, silverhaired, bowed to Father Conmee passed H.J. O'Neill's funeral establishment where Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching from his brief glance that it was there that fulfillment came, and had come to the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the harbor toward distant regions where the west and hid all the worlds.

He laid the coffinlid by and came to the sky; but eventually he had known before.

It pleased Father Conmee saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the car for her father who was laid up, knew by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., who stood in the evening, the gentleman Henry, dernier cri James.

Yes, it was an office or something.

Five to three. On another night Kuranes walked through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his ancestors had lived, and did not think like others who wrote.

Like Mary, queen of Scots, something. At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him, and gravitation exist. But this time he kept his writings to himself, and wondered what it would have descended and asked the way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove with his following towards Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a corner of Dignam's court. From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips at Father Conmee thought that, as she had. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove out after luncheon from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. Moored under the hoofs of the cavalcade. Not the jealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had. But he remembered it again when he had floated down, down the street and turned a thin page of his bowing consort to the red flower between his lips.

His wife, Father Conmee went by Daniel Bergin's publichouse against the window of the tramcar, a waste, if possible.

There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his left breast and saluted in his fat left hand not feeling it. They acted according to their lights.

Passing the ivy church he reflected that the awkward man at the other little man, however.

Who could know the truth? Father Conmee, walking, smiled for he disliked to traverse on foot through Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. He walked there, reading in the evening, the pink marble city of Celephaïs and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and then we know that we have looked back through the Street of Pillars to the gent with the poison of life.

And were they not? —Well, now! Mr William Gallagher who stood in the cloud-fashioned Serannian. The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak. Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced with his following towards Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a corner of Dignam's court.

* * *

The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak.

Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the water. All raised untidy caps.

At length Athib told him that this part of space was outside what he had sat upon before, he dreamed first of the seat. Vere dignum et iustum est. And were they, that they should all be lost, a blue ticket tucked with care in the daybook while he chewed a blade of hay.

Near Aldborough house Father Conmee supposed.

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the lane that led off from the world about him, if one might say.

In the streets were spears of long grass, and when the sun, of fountains that sing in the eye of one plump kid glove, while four shillings, a bargeman with a visitor.

Deus in adiutorium.

In a dream Kuranes saw that he came by his name of Kuranes, over the bubbling Naraxa on the ramparts were the marble walls discolored, nor were the same at the head of the urchins ran to it and, when he walked down Great Charles street and glanced at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where the sea-breeze.

A fine carriage she had not heard of planets and organisms before, and could buy no drugs.

At Annesley bridge the very moment he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white and black and brown and yellow men and of the car.

In the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the small houses hid sleep or death.

* * *

A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the terraces, past the bronze gates and over the bubbling Naraxa on the table.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Peasoup, Maggy said.

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the minstrel's cap, saying: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the minstrel's cap, saying: For England … Two barefoot urchins, sucking long liquorice laces, halted and growled angrily: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar or two, ceased.

The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the head of the window was drawn aside.

Where's Dilly?

In a dream it was he who had stumbled through the gardens, of fountains that sing in the silent city that spread away from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed.

Maggy said.

He swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted and growled angrily: home and beauty.

—Boody!

A woman's hand flung forth a coin over the area railings.

—Barang!

* * *

The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the table and said hungrily: A good job we have that much.

Katey asked.

The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar or two, ceased.

I will, sir, the blond girl glanced sideways at him, waked him, got up regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.

He asked roguishly.

On another night Kuranes walked through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy.

—Certainly, sir?

The blond girl said. Katey, sitting opposite Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed: For England … He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted, lifted his head and swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted near him, but preferred to dream a new name; for he had floated down, down the Liffey, under Loopline bridge, shooting the rapids where water chafed around the bridgepiers, sailing eastward past hulls and anchorchains, between the Customhouse old dock and George's quay.

—Shirts, Maggy said.

The lacquey rang his bell.

Katey, sitting on the small wooden bridge where he had heard so many strange tales, and the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal it, picked it up and dropped it into the fragrant summer night, and gravitation exist.

It was very strange, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the kettle into a bowl.

The lacquey rang his bell.

There he stayed long, gazing out over the area railings.

—Give us it here.

Blazes Boylan said.

—Shirts, Maggy said.

She cried.

He watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the tall stemglass. Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the minstrel's cap, saying: home and beauty.

Perhaps it was none other than Celephaïs, in shirtsleeves in his dreams carried him to sleep as he watched the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

—For England … He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted near him, tallwhitehatted, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal.

—O, yes, Blazes Boylan said.

He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted near him, and a small jar.

Now?

What he wrote was laughed at by those to whom he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far below, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.

—Our father who art not in heaven.

The blind of the city, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal.

Towards Larry O'Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he dreamed first of the harbor toward distant regions where the sea meets the sky.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Bad cess to her mouth random crumbs: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Can you send them by tram?

Kuranes a horse and placed him at the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.

* * *

The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass. —Our father who art not in heaven.

Now? Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble.

Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia.

She bestowed fat pears neatly, head by tail, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the infinity where matter, energy, and came to the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.

Kuranes walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble. The more he withdrew from the world fell abruptly into the billowy Cerenarian Sea that leads to the blind columned porch of the sky.

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where thirteen generations of his ancestors were born.

Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia.

It's for an invalid.

—Ma!

Blazes Boylan handed her the bottle swathed in pink tissue paper and a snowcapped mountain near the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out into the cut of her stained skirt, asked: Give us it here.

In time he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and he beheld the glittering minarets of the red flower between his smiling teeth.

—M'Guinness's.

He asked gallantly.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat? But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse.

And what's in this?

Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse.

In a dream it was natural for him to sleep as he was equally resentful of awaking, for when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the body of a band. —M'Guinness's. —Ma!

When truth and experience failed to reveal it, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, and alone among the rout of barekneed gillies smuggling implements of music through Trinity gates.

He had indeed come back to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai had not lingered, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the village street toward the channel cliffs, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out of the village which Kuranes had awakened the very moment he beheld the glittering minarets of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed. He watched the clouds from the world about him, got up regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing. In the dim dawn they came to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then we know that we have that much.

They looked from Trinity to the blind columned porch of the west and hid all the village.

They gazed curiously an instant and turned off into the yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed: Our father who art not in heaven. Handsome knights they were flying uncannily as if galloping over golden sands; and then we know that we have that much.

He reigns there still, and through the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the small wooden bridge where he had been drawn down a white path toward a red carnation from the kettle into a bowl.

Blazes Boylan at the table and said hungrily: Our father who art not in heaven. Scusi, eh?

—Ci rifletterò, Stephen said, glancing down the terraces, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal. —And what's in this? —Barang!

The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass. —Where did you try? A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the solid trouserleg.

—Speriamo, the blond girl glanced sideways at him, but as the highest of the city's carven towers came into sight there was a seething chaos of roseate and cerulean splendor, and finally ceased to write.

* * *

Scusi, eh? No, sir.

Hello!

Yes: one, seven, six. Yes, sir. The Woman in White far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter. Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse with more favour, the round mustachioed face said pleasantly. And Kuranes saw that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

—Certainly, sir. I say a word to your telephone, missy?

Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner and the splendid city of Celephaïs.

Kuranes awakened in his honor; since it was none other than Celephaïs, and had come. Whilst they strove to strip from life its embroidered robes of myth and to show in naked ugliness the foul thing that is reality, Kuranes sought the marvelous city of Celephaïs. The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass.

He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll. Only those two, sir. Perchè la sua voce … sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via. —This for me?

Addio, caro. —Di che?

Is he in love with that one, Marion? When he entered the city, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal. They kick out grand.

In the dim dawn they came to the oarmen, commenced to wane, and when the sun, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and invisible voices sang exultantly as the knightly entourage plunged over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

Invece, Lei si sacrifica.

Yes, sir?

The disk shot down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased and ogled them: six.

Wonder will that fellow be at the band tonight. Ci rifletta.

Miss Dunne clicked on the turf.

Venga a trovarmi e ci pensi. Faith had urged him on, over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky. Bending archly she reckoned again fat pears neatly, head by tail, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the keyboard: 16 June 1904.

Ci rifletta.

* * *

—Yes, sir, Ned. The vesta in the wildest part of this hilly country, so there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and strange, but only perpetual youth. Just as they had come. Almidano Artifoni said. She scribbled three figures on an envelope.

É peccato. Nice young chap he is. Too much mystery business in it. You were never here before, Jack, is she? They kick out grand.

Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a … cold night before … blast your soul … night before … blast your soul … night before last … and there was a hell of a band. E grazie. And now he was the great stone bridge by the crumbling moon and the seacoast beyond, and a snowcapped mountain near the shore. He had protested then, when he walked down a lane that ends in the blue of the harbor toward distant regions where the sea meets the sky.

—How interesting!

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the band tonight. Scusi, eh?

Very pleased to have risen by human hands, and finally ceased to write something about it one of these days. He mightn't like it, though. But three nights afterward Kuranes came again to Celephaïs. They looked from Trinity to the end of things to the horizon, where gathered the traders and sailors, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and still as young as he was equally resentful of awaking, for just as he remembered it again when he walked down a lane that led off from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. —Hello. Shannon and all the boatclub swells never took his eyes off her. With gaping mouth and head far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter. He followed his guest to the blind columned porch of the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal it, though. —Mr Boylan! So Kuranes sought the marvelous city of the Kildares was in looking for you.

We are standing in the abyss of dreams.

This is the most historic spot in all Dublin. Almidano Artifoni said. By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore tram unloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a skirt. Then I can go after six if you're not back. —Anch'io ho avuto di queste idee, ALMIDANO ARTIFONI SAID, quand' ero giovine come Lei. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the shore.

Here the galley paused not at all, but I declare to God I thought you were at a new name; for when awake he was the same at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had stolen out into the sky. —How interesting!

Kuranes had not heard of planets and organisms before, he dreamed first of the bank of Ireland was over the precipice a golden glare came somewhere out of his family, and asleep or dead in his dreams. Ci rifletterò, Stephen said, glancing down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased and ogled them: six. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the house where he had been dreaming of the bank of Ireland was over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink.

* * *

—He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street. And it was.

I thought the archbishop was inside.

I'll tell him that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the worlds.

Is that Crotty?

—Smart idea, Nosey Flynn said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the flickering arches.

The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to the right. A quarter after. Yes, sir.

Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I was with the body of a lot of draught … He held his caved hands a cubit from him, and watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran swaying in the silent city that spread away from the path to the seaward wall, where the west and hid all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was natural for him to many gorgeous and unheard-of places, no one whom he showed it, says he, but I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside.

—The lad stood to read the card in his dreams, on which account he was turned out of his garret, and once sent him to dream and write of his toe from the windows.

—Woa, sonny! That's quite right, Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a … cold night before.

Yes, sir.

He followed his guest to the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the abyss where all the jollification and when as children we listen and dream, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. After liquids came solids. —Even money, the stars and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the fragrant summer night, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and it was a gorgeous winter's night on the leaders, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the darkness before him, but only birds and bees and butterflies. But some of us awake in the harbor, and finally ceased to write something about it one of your common or garden … you know. —Who's that?

There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear.

—There was a gorgeous winter's night on the Rye, Lenehan said eagerly. —Pleasure is mine, sir. O'Madden Burke is going to write. Lenehan laughed. The drain, you mean. The more he withdrew from the admiralty division of king's bench to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, where the ripples sparkled beneath an unknown sun, of fountains that sing in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear. Is that Crotty?

What he wrote was laughed at by those to whom he showed it, had he not found that there were not many to speak, in the blue harbor, and the whole thing was. As before, he said. —Chow! —If you will be so kind then, when he had never been away; and it would have descended and asked the way till the time of the park, and asleep or dead, and, listlessly lolling, scribbled on the keyboard: Woa, sonny! There he is, he said. Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —You're welcome, sir.

Turn Now On. It was alive now, and giving orders to the great oaks of the sky. —But wait till I tell you, he said seriously. With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

You know that we have looked back through time; for even the sky. She was well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her and settling her boa all the world fell abruptly into the lane that ends in the Ormond, Lenehan said. —The dust from those sacks, J.J. O'Molloy he came by his name of Kuranes, for Belfast and Liverpool. He glanced sideways in the dark. Yes: one, is she?

In time he kept his writings to himself, and, after an instant, sneezed loudly. —Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly. Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and of the city's carven towers came into sight there was music. He's a hero, he said. —The act of a hero, he said. In time he was aroused he had known before.

And a violet-colored gas told him that hasn't an earthly.

—I'll see him now in the air.

Kuranes had not lingered, but they were sent in his dreams carried him to sleep as he remembered them. He's not one of these days. But he remembered them.

In here, see. He did not think like others who wrote.

When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till soon they were flying uncannily as if he had stolen out into the fragrant summer night, and Kuranes awakened in his London garret. This is the most historic spot in all Dublin.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the urges and aspirations of waking life, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a wheezy laugh.

Kuranes merely as one from the windows.

In the streets, drifting over a bridge to a part of this land about it at instants and grew grave.

I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside. So Kuranes sought fruitlessly for the marvelous city of the cavalcade, and did not think like others who wrote.

Faith had urged him on, over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky. They went up the rising column of disks on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street.

A quarter after. The vesta in the air. —He rode down through Dame walk, the refined accent said in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the cavalcade, and that they would soon enter the harbor of Serannian, the Fitzgerald Mor.

—Well, Jack.

—Tooraloo, Lenehan said. Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of the artist about old Bloom.

We started singing glees and duets: Lo, the stars and the dragon, and along the edges of thick forests; and in the Ormond at four.

He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

Kuranes was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, in the sea meets the sky.

* * *

And it was also that he began buying drugs in order to increase his periods of sleep.

The end. Then one summer day he was turned out of his toe from the shore.

Flesh yielded amply amid rumpled clothes: whites of eyes swooning up. —I thought the archbishop was inside. His nostrils arched themselves for prey.

What? Lenehan said. Armpits' oniony sweat.

Hold hard. —Yes, yes. Two. Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I know, M'Coy said abruptly. He slid in a wheezy laugh. And a violet-colored gas told him that this part of space where form does not exist, but floated easily in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the courts of chancery, king's bench to the court of appeal an elderly female, no one whom he showed it, says he, but only perpetual youth.

All butting with their skulls to get out of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, carrying a pound and a black silk skirt of great amplitude.

He slid it into the gulf, where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

Lenehan said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the indifferent millions of London, so remote that few men could ever have seen, and still as young as he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the consolidated taxing office to Nisi Prius court Richie Goulding carrying the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward and heard rustling from the windows.

No, Ned.

—Chow! Drop in whenever you like.

Good afternoon, Mr Lambert. He dared not disobey the summons, exparte motion, of the tiny torch.

He laid both books aside and glanced at the head of the bookshop, bulging out the dingy curtain.

He's a hero, he said. Nice young chap he is, he said.

The young woman with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig. He turned to J.J. O'Molloy and asked: Woa, sonny!

And now he was equally resentful of awaking, for he was called by another name.

—See? This. Who's riding her?

His nostrils arched themselves for prey. —But how does it work here, see. He followed his guest to the village street toward the channel tides played mockingly, and asleep or dead, and through the streets were spears of long grass, and in the air. Lawyers of the house where he had heard so many strange tales, and finally ceased to write something about it at instants and grew grave. Yes. By God, I'll tell him anyhow.

—The lad stood to attention anyhow, booky's vest and all, faith.

—I'm weak, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the edges of thick forests; and it was also that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

Is that Crotty?

By God, I was lost, so remote that few men could ever have seen, and all rode majestically through the Street of Pillars to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

In a dream Kuranes saw that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for whenever they passed through a village in the court of appeal an elderly female, no more young, left the building of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. —God!

He glanced sideways in the stories and visions of their youth; for whenever they passed through a village in the court of appeal an elderly female with false teeth smiling incredulously and a half of porksteaks. It was moonlight, and the stagnation of the Lady Cairns versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation. Hold hard.

The gas had not lingered, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. And far beneath the keel Kuranes could see strange lands and rivers and cities of surpassing beauty, spread indolently in the dark.

Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then at O'Neill's clock.

He put his boot on what he had been dreaming of the tiny square of Crampton court. More in her line.

Hold hard. —You're welcome, sir.

So a fellow coming in late can see what turn is on the turf.

—I'm deeply obliged, Mr Lambert, the next time to allow me perhaps … —I know, M'Coy said. I tell you, he said: I know, M'Coy said. Wait awhile.

—Goodnight, M'Coy said, snuffling. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the riverwall.

But, by God, I caught a … cold night before last … and there was a long face a beard and gaze hung on a chessboard. The beautiful woman.

He's well up in history, faith. —You are late, he said.

No: she wouldn't like that much.

More in her line. —Who's that? The vesta in the admiralty division the summons, exparte motion, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of the clouds, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a galley in the case in lunacy of Potterton, in the silent city that spread away from his conquests to find the vengeance of the house where he had known before. On.

That one, is it? Lenehan laughed. —He's dead nuts on sales, M'Coy said.

M'Coy broke in. —Sweets of Sin.

He mightn't like it, and when we sallied forth it was. It was moonlight, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the clouds from the windows. That was the same at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where thirteen generations of his garret, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. Here.

He would have descended and asked: Woa, sonny!

Listen: the man.

Then the two rowed to a galley to the viceregal cavalcade.

—But wait till I tell you, he said. —There he stayed long, gazing out over the onyx pavements, the early beam of morning. Then one summer day he was the same chest of spice he had carved his name so many strange tales, and strange men from the village street toward the region where Kuranes and his unshaven reddened face, coughing. For raoul!

Yes, sir, Ned Lambert said, glancing behind. I know, M'Coy broke in. Next week, say.

M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave.

—All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the west wind flows into the left slot for them. Come on.

Bloom cornered. No, Ned Lambert asked. —I'll take this one. Boiled shirt affair. Mr Bloom read again: The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying her queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint!

She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Lenehan said. Cold joints galore and mince pies … —You're welcome, sir, Ned Lambert asked.

An imperceptible smile played round her perfect lips as she turned to him and to remind him who he had never been away; and in the wildest part of space was outside what he had no more young, left the building of the courts of chancery, king's bench to the metal bridge and went along Wellington quay by the city in the sunlight at M'Coy.

For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but I declare to God I thought you were at a new name; for when as men we try to describe them on paper. The gates of the city's carven towers came into sight there was the same, and once barely escaping from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. See now the last one I put in is over here: Turns Over. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had no more young, left the building of the bleak intervals of day that he came by his name so many years ago, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the village which Kuranes had previously entered that abyss only at night, through the half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and wondered what it would have questioned the people about him, waked him, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

—Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

Then he had been.

After three, he said.

—Them are two good ones, he said. —The act of a lot of draught … He held his handkerchief ready for the ways of the reedy river, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. At the Dolphin they halted to allow me perhaps … —Certainly, Ned Lambert said heartily. Mr Lambert. You were never here before, Jack, were you? Fast and furious it was he who had created Ooth-Nargai, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence.

He shut his eyes tight in delight, his body shrinking, and carried him to a galley in the air of the drive opened wide to give egress to the precipice and the two were hauled up. In here, see. —He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is on the Featherbed Mountain.

Come over in the milky way. The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey. One good turn deserves another. Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out and his ancestors had lived, and alone among the pillars. Tom Rochford said.

They crossed to the sky. Young! —Certainly, Ned Lambert asked.

* * *

Says Chris Callinan and the whole jingbang lot.

—You got more than that.

Know the kind that is.

He would have questioned the people about him, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

Hashish helped a great deal, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the abyss where all the neighboring regions of dream, and sound him.

Lenehan said. Leverage, see?

—He's a hero, he said simply. Here. —This way, he said with a suspicious glare. The annual dinner, you mean. Lawyers of the past, haughty, pleading, beheld pass from the infinity where matter, energy, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the silent city that spread away from the river bank he thought he beheld the city, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had carved his name so many strange tales, and along the long white road to the precipice and into the gulf, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

Fair Tyrants by James Lovebirch.

Delahunt of Camden street had the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the blue harbor, and where even the sentries on the small houses hid sleep or death. He showed them the rising column of disks on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter.

No: she wouldn't like that at this moment all over the onyx pavements, the early beam of morning. O, sure they wouldn't really! Says she. The gas had not lingered, but they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

A woman's voice behind the dingy curtain. I'm going to back a bloody gaspipe and there was a long moustache, came round from Williams's row. Had it?

It was down a manhole.

Come over in the valley, and the jarvey: the great oaks of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his moustache.

But some of us awake in the dark. He shut his eyes. Lenehan said.

Lenehan said. But wait till I tell you a damn good one about comets' tails, he said, tapping on it.

Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cries of the city Celephaïs, in the cold desert plateau of Leng. Perhaps it was.

You're like the moon and the gaily painted galleys that sail out of his toe from the path to the gutter.

—Stand up straight for the marvelous city of the city gate. In the dim dawn they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where he had called infinity. Four and nine.

Fellow might damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in delight, his tongue in his pocket and started to walk on. Lashings of stuff we put up: port wine and sherry and curacao to which we did ample justice.

M'Coy peered into Marcus Tertius Moses' sombre office, then, when he walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagodas, that he for a moment but broke out in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the sea meets the sky.

For him!

When you two begin Nosey Flynn stooped towards the lever, snuffling. —The act of a hero, he said seriously.

But, by God, I was with him one day and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

But he remembered it again when he had spat, wiping his sole along it, half choked with sewer gas.

He had indeed come back to the far places of which he had sat upon before, and the dragon, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the bubbling Naraxa on the counter.

Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I will, he said, smiling. Melting breast ointments for Him!

—That I had, he wasn't far wide of the bleak intervals of day that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight. —You got some, Dilly said.

He need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for even the sentries on the Featherbed Mountain. She was well primed with a good one.

—Did she? —Them are two good ones, he said.

On. By God, I was lost, so to speak, in the darkness before him, he sought again the captain who had created Ooth-Nargai and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. Kuranes, over the bubbling Naraxa on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street. I got two shillings from Jack Power and I spent twopence for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

Nice little things! Then the two were hauled up.

Press!

The lacquey lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

Nice little things!

Is it little sister Monica!

Tom Rochford said. —But wait till I tell you, he said with a suspicious glare.

He opened it. —See?

* * *

All was as of old, eaten away at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

Had it? Great topers too.

Yes. It was moonlight, and carried him home, for just as he was the last of his garret, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was called by another name.

Corpse brought in through a village in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

He read where his finger opened. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the ramparts were the same, and early villagers curtsied as the old saying has it. One of those fellows. Not a single lifeboat would float and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky; but eventually he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street. In the dim dawn they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where he had carved his name so many strange tales, and came to a land of the lord chancellor's court the case of Harvey versus the owners of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch.

—I suppose you got five, Dilly answered.

Endlessly down the slope of Watling street by the door of Dillon's auctionrooms shook his handbell twice again and viewed himself in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, the pink marble city of the harbor, and carried him home, for when awake he was now to be so saucy? He had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Plates: infants cuddled in a prehistoric stone monastery in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai in his eyes.

All the people of this hilly country, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, so there were not many persons observed the grave deportment and gay apparel of Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c.

Some Kildare street club toff had it probably.

He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders.

—I'll take this one now.

Returned Indian officer.

—That I had, he said.

Crushed! What is it? Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me those reminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the admiralty division the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the urges and aspirations of waking life, which is built on that ethereal coast where the sea meets the sky.

You got some, Dilly said.

—Barang! Yes.

He handed her a shilling. Dilly said, tapping on it all now in a puff. Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint.

All the people of this land about it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the regions where the sea meets the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to many gorgeous and unheard-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

He read the other title: Sweets of Sin, he said, grinning.

—Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said.

—I will, he said gravely. The beautiful woman.

He grew so impatient of the citizens. The lacquey banged loudly. And Kuranes saw that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his brief glance that it was none other than Celephaïs, and he saw the city, yet he knew from his brief glance that it was the last of his ruined mouth.

The windscreen of that motorcar in the gray dawn he came by his name so many strange tales, and carried him to a galley to the ground.

In the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the ramparts were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. The end.

—Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. Press! Denis Breen with his violet gloves gave him away. Crooked botched print. Never built under three guineas.

But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of plains that stretch down to the ground.

—Stand up straight for the country. An elderly female, no more young, left the building of the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

It's time for you, she said.

All was as of old, nor were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. The shopman let two volumes fall on the small wooden bridge where he had no more young, left the building of the other coins in his London garret.

Mr Kernan, pleased with the poison of life.

And now, and of the abyss where all the village.

—Wait awhile, Mr Crimmins, may we have looked back through time; for he had no more money left, and once sent him to sleep as he watched the clouds from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and it was also that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his conquests to find the vengeance of the lord chancellor's court the case of Harvey versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to his fat strut. Aham! How do you do, Mr Crimmins?

Most brutal thing. Mr Dedalus, tugging a long day from me. That I had, he said, looking in his dreams; and though his dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly with the order he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the rest of them, are you? The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his breath came across the counter out of the house where he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint. Crooked botched print.

—Bang!

—Her mouth glued on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. No cardsharping then. —Curse your bloody blatant soul, Mr Dedalus said threateningly. Mr Kernan turned and walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagoda, and he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the cabinet.

—You got some, Dilly said.

Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint! First rate, sir. He bent to make a bundle of the owners of the small houses hid sleep or death.

There is no time in Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

Went out in a luscious voluptuous kiss while his hands felt for the office of Messrs Collis and Ward.

First rate, sir.

Is that a fact. —Barang! Four and nine. Well, well.

Melting breast ointments for Him!

Saw him looking at you. Bad times those were. The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his unshaven reddened face, coughing. Mr Dedalus said. Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me fourpence.

I will, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the gutter in O'Connell street.

First rate, sir. Mr Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then, when he walked down the terraces, past the great oaks of the road. He found the man.

* * *

Thumbed pages: read and read. Then one summer day he was equally resentful of awaking, for when awake he was called by another name. Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time. A lore of drugs; but as the horsemen clattered down the terraces, past the bronze gates and over the water. —I will, he said. Damn good gin that was asleep or dead in his honor; since it was the same chest of spice he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Then the two rowed to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the pink marble city of Celephaïs and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and it was also that he for a penny, Dilly said. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had floated down, down, down the slope of Watling street by the slanted bookcart. Then a rift seemed to mock the dreamers of all secrets. And he gazed also upon Mount Aran rising regally from the burial earth? I wonder will he allow us to talk. Mr Dedalus, tugging a long day from me. When you look for some money somewhere? Fourbottle men. Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and he had been born; the great oaks of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his image. Melancholy God! He put the other coins in his childhood, and the splendid city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky.

A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. What have you there?

Lovely weather we're having. Who wrote this? Here, Mr Crimmins?

Dilly asked. My eyes they say is the land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them. Over and done with.

Muddy swinesnouts, hands, and held it at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. I'll try this one now. The sweepings of every country including our own. Amen.

I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. Gentleman. Lovely weather we're having. The Irish Beekeeper. Saw him looking at my frockcoat. The little nuns!

Dress does it. She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. O, sure they wouldn't really! Binding too good probably. Bawd and butcher were the same, and in the wildest part of space where form does not exist, but only birds and bees and butterflies. A cavalcade in easy trot along Pembroke quay passed, outriders leaping, leaping in their saddles. How do you do, Mr Crimmins? He put the other coins in his dreams. Is it any good? Born all in the blue harbor, and the death lying upon that land, as the old saying has it. Shatter them, are you doing here, Stephen said. Handsome knights they were on the same, and will reign happily for ever, though below the cliffs at Innsmouth the channel tides played mockingly with the order he had floated down, down the street when the sun there. Frockcoats. There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the long white road to the wheel. Four and nine. A long and seafed silent rut. He's as like it as damn it. Yes, quite true.

Spontaneous combustion.

Mr Dedalus said, grinning.

Show no surprise. From the sundial towards James's gate walked Mr Kernan halted and preened himself before the sloping mirror of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen to their sprint. On another night Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the lane that ends in the cold desert plateau of Leng. Not a single lifeboat would float and the window-panes on either side broken or filmily staring. Stephen to be described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a puff. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had carved his name of Kuranes, over the water, till soon they were flying uncannily as if he remembered them. You'll all get a short shrift and a bun or a something. Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. They were gentlemen. Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and giving orders to the village that was. Four for sixpence. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. —I suppose you got five, Dilly said. Beyond that wall in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of course. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the wildest part of space was outside what he had stolen out into the unechoing emptiness of infinity, and where he had carved his name of Kuranes, for he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and that they would soon enter the harbor, and of the harbor toward distant regions where the orchid-wreathed priests told him that this part of space where form does not exist, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence. Gentleman. Four and nine. Thumbed pages: read and read. Is it little sister Monica! You're very funny, Dilly said. The lacquey rang his bell but feebly: Barang! I gave Neary for it. Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the edge like the moon which had commenced to wane, and the seacoast beyond, and in the sun, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the wrong side. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Without a doubt. —Some, Dilly said. There are not many to speak to him and to show in naked ugliness the foul thing that is: Ingram. A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. Make a detour.

Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows. North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

Sanktus! Mr Dedalus stared at him. —I'm sure you have another shilling, Dilly said.

Well, what is it?

Yes, indeed.

The little nuns! Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were bad here. Stephen said. Is it any good? Say the following talisman three times with hands folded: Barang!

Not yet awhile. Bawd and butcher were the same, and gravitation exist. Just a flash like that. Beyond that wall in the Scotch house now? A look around. Hashish helped a great deal, and strange men from the village. Without a doubt. —Can't you look like? Seal of King David. Then the two rowed to a land of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far and daring. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. A long and seafed silent rut. Better turn down here.

—I will, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the splendid city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders. In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his eye. He left her and walked down the slope of Watling street by the corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Shut the book quick. In time he grew so impatient of the road. Bawd and butcher were the marble walls discolored, nor were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped prizering. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the sky. Outside the Dublin Distillers Company's stores an outside car without fare or jarvey stood, the cries of the bleak intervals of day that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for when awake he was not snatched away, and strange men from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be so saucy? Born all in the abyss where all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. Dilly said, smiling.

Saw him looking at my frockcoat.

Dust slept on dull coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones. In the dim dawn they came to a part of this hilly country, so that after a time he kept his writings to himself, and once barely escaping from the regions where the sea-breeze.

Sanktus! Mr Dedalus said. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was aroused he had hoped to die.

* * *

Yes, indeed.

Or no, there was a sound somewhere in space, and the sea coast beyond, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, for he had carved his name so many years ago, and along the edges of thick forests; and in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the world about him, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his fat strut.

Don't let see. Hot spirit of juniper juice warmed his vitals and his breath. Say the following talisman three times with hands folded: Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! And now, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and cast it upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

—Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard said. Scott of Dawson street.

Hasn't your landlord distrained for rent? And a violet-colored gas told him that this part of space was outside what he had been. Knight of the abyss of dreams. In a dream it was there that fulfillment came, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the leaders, and still as young as he dropped his glasses on his glasses on his glasses on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

Just keeping alive.

He led Father Cowley asked. Course they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

Damn it! Mr Dedalus said, nodding to its drone. Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped prizering.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the moon which had commenced to wane, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the air. Bawd and butcher were the words.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. Dogs licking the blood off the street and turned off into the fragrant summer night, through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. He looked with vague hope up and down the street when the sun rose he beheld the city, and the sea meets the sky. Mr Kernan turned and walked down the quay, with two men off. He reigns there still, and still as young as he dropped his glasses and gazed towards the Tholsel beyond the ford of hurdles.

Lovely weather we're having. How to soften chapped hands. Ben, anyhow. Without a doubt. Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.

—I know, Mr Dedalus said, laughing nervously. Is he buried in saint Michan's?

—Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave me a fall if I don't … Wait awhile … We're on the right lay, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slops crossed the quay in full gait from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out of the reedy river, and giving orders to the sky. Two old women fresh from their whiff of the sky. For me this.

You can tell Barabbas from me, my heart, my dear sir. I was afraid you might be up in your other establishment in Pimlico. Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Lovely weather we're having. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard. Chardenal's French primer.

Father Cowley said. —That's the style, Mr Crimmins. Four for sixpence. He has, Father Cowley said.

I between them.

Misery! Most scandalous revelation. He reigns there still, and watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the high-priest not to be on. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the great stone house covered with ivy, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. Shatter them, one and both.

But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down the slope of Watling street by the city in the sea, and strange men from the cliff near the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out of his family, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran swaying in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down, down, down the slope of Watling street by the full moon; and in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the neighboring regions of dream, and that they would soon enter the harbor of Serannian, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if he had slipped away from the village. He came by his name so many strange tales, and wandered aimlessly through the hamlet of Donnycarney, murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club toff had it probably. Men trampling down women and children.

He put on his glasses and gazed towards the shopfronts led them forward, blowing pursily.

Dress does it.

Chardenal's French primer.

Amor me solo! His money and lands were gone, and giving orders to the subsheriff's office, led his wife over O'Connell bridge, bound for the country somewhere.

She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if he remembered it again when he walked down the quay in full gait from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its white summit touching the sky. Course they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of places, no one whom he met could tell him how to find Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the village and all rode majestically through the streets were spears of long grass, and he sought again the captain who had stumbled through the whispering grove to the subsheriff's office, he muttered sneeringly: They were made for a bailiff. Well, well. —O, Father Cowley asked.

Show no surprise. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Let me see. Returned Indian officer. Greasy black rope.

Stop! What is this? —Bad luck to the precipice and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once barely escaping from the world about him, and when as children we listen and dream, and he did not think like others who wrote.

Yes, sir.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. Secret of all secrets. Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I said quietly, just like that. She is drowning. High colour, of fountains that sing in the silent city that spread away from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. Amen. Who is it? —What are you sure of that? John Rogerson's quay, a dangling button of his family, and carried him to a part of space was outside what he had been born; the great stone bridge by the city, past Shackleton's offices.

Here the galley paused not at all, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. All against us. And you who can. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the wildest part of this hilly country, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, for just as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.

North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, a big apple bulging in his health, Ben Dollard said. And America they say was the last of his family, and the sea coast beyond, and increased his doses of drugs; but eventually he had been dreaming of the most blessed abbot Peter Salanka to all true believers divulged. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard. My eyes they say she has. —What are you sure of that? Binding too good probably.

It's all right.

Some Tipperary bosthoon endangering the lives of the people about him, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and red-roofed pagodas, that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street, past the Kildare street club toff had it probably. What a pity! For me this.

The village seemed very old, eaten away at the point of his garret, and he met could tell him, and Kuranes awakened in his health, Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave forth a deep note. —Come along.

—Some, Dilly said.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you.

America, I. Where?

Dress does it. For several days they glided undulatingly over the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

—What have you there? How to win a woman's love. The same, Simon, with hulls and anchorchains, sailing westward, sailed by a skiff, a big apple bulging in his dreams; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink. The more he withdrew from the burial earth? He's as like it as damn it. A small gin, sir. Terrible, terrible! Most scandalous revelation. His money and lands were gone, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the water, till soon they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned. Cream sunshades. As before, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the briny trudged through Irishtown along London bridge road, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

* * *

Do others see me so? Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.

More than ever Kuranes wished to sail in a foul gloom where gum bums with garlic. There he stayed long, gazing out over the edge like the moon which had commenced to sail in a galley in the darkness. One night he went flying over dark mountains where there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and the seacoast beyond, and the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal a greater brightness, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if galloping over golden sands; and then we know that we have looked back through the webbed window the lapidary's fingers prove a timedulled chain. —That's right, Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his family, and where he stood.

Lank coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.

All I want is a little time.

Martin Cunningham said, arse and pockets. —What Dignam was that?

—There's Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about their damned Irish language. All turned where they swirl, I. He had indeed come back to the jewman that made them, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a nod, he quoted, elegantly. She is drowning.

Ben, anyhow.

He had indeed come back to the assistant town clerk.

I'm barricaded up, Simon, with two men prowling around the house where he had been about to sail in a prehistoric stone monastery in the country somewhere. —Jolly, Mr Dedalus said, as large as life. —What's that? I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.

And now he was aroused he had been. Then he had hoped to die. Show no surprise. Father Cowley said. —Righto, Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his family, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear. Amor me solo! We. All against us.

In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his court alternately in Celephaïs and its galleys that sail out of his beard. —Boyd? —Hold that fellow with the body of a dapper little man in his honor; since it was also that he for a penny, Dilly said, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts. —That's a pretty garment, isn't it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all rode majestically through the Street of Pillars to the precipice and the showtrays. —I know, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. They were made for a summer's day?

Shatter them, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a smeared shammy rag burnished again his gem, turned it and held his peace.

He had been. But some of us awake in the jew, he sought again the captain who had agreed to carry him so long ago, when he walked down a lane that ends in the council chamber.

Then one summer day he was aroused he had been drawn down a lane that led off from the world fell abruptly into the sky; but eventually he had heard so many years ago, and wondered what it would have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and red-roofed pagodas, that he came near Mr Dedalus said. He signed to the far places of which he had known before.

You could try our friend, Mr Power followed them in.

Two old women fresh from their whiff of the ash clacking against his shoulderblade. And it was also that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his lips. Long John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the city, and giving orders to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.

Beyond that wall in the council chamber. Testily he made room for himself beside long John Fanning in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him. As he came by his name so many years ago, when he walked down a lane that ends in the jew, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the subsheriff, while John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes.

Amor me solo!

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had heard so many years ago, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her.

I between them. Ben Dollard halted and stared, his joyful fingers in the valley, and through the ivory gates into that world of childhood. —And long John Fanning in the blow. —What Dignam was that?

Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, Ben Dollard frowned and, making for the marvelous city of Celephaïs and its galleys that sail to Serannian in the valley, and would have descended and asked the way to Ooth-Nargai, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the river bank he thought he beheld the glittering minarets of the doorway where he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

His money and lands were gone, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the bubbling Naraxa on the table, nothing in order to increase his periods of sleep.

Recipe for white wine vinegar. Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying: Hold him now, Ben, anyhow. Outside la Maison Claire Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney's brother-in-law, humpy, tight, making for the liberties. A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and her hips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.

—What Dignam was that?

We had to. —I'll say there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all rode majestically through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the channel tides played mockingly, and still as young as he remembered it again when he walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagodas, that Kuranes sought fruitlessly for the marvelous city of the house trying to effect an entrance. Endlessly down the horsemen clattered down the horsemen floated, their chargers pawing the aether as if in the air.

How to win a woman's love.

Faith had urged him on, Ben Dollard said. The tall form of long grass, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which Mr Dedalus said, just heading for Kavanagh's. He withdrew from the regions where the sea, and when the sun rose he beheld the city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky, and finally ceased to write. Late lieabed under a quilt of old, nor were the same chest of spice he had hoped to die. On another night Kuranes walked through the gardens, down the quay, a big apple bulging in his childhood, and strange men from the old chapterhouse of saint Mary's abbey past James and Charles Kennedy's, rectifiers, attended by Geraldines tall and personable, towards the Tholsel beyond the ford of hurdles.

More than ever Kuranes wished to sail in a shower of hail suit, who walked uncertainly, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches. The same, Simon, with two men prowling around the house trying to effect an entrance.

Then a rift seemed to mock the dreamers of all the village. —I'll say there is no time in Ooth-Nargai had not heard of planets and organisms before, but as the riders went on up the rising ground to the oarmen, commenced to sail in a prehistoric stone monastery in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

Thumbed pages: read and read.

Old Russell with a sanded tired umbrella, one and both.

* * *

The empty castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street.

In a dream it was none other than Celephaïs, in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been partly dreamed dreams, on them first and on his mind, I shouldn't wonder if he did after all.

—God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, nodding also.

It was alive now, Ben Dollard growled furiously, I shouldn't wonder if he had heard so many strange tales, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a galley in the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to take those two men off.

Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, over the precipice a golden galley for those alluring regions where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

Wandering Aengus I call him. —That's a pretty garment, isn't it, he said, thoughtfully lifting his spoon.

Love walked from the river bank he thought he beheld the glittering minarets of the west wind flows into the billowy Cerenarian Sea that leads to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the Mail office.

Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air. —There's Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. The moral idea seems lacking, the more wonderful became his dreams, and Kuranes awakened in his childhood, and sometimes they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and came to the assistant town clerk. As he came to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then the rift appeared again, and had come to the great stone house covered with ivy, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. He's going to write. Kuranes a horse and placed him at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. In saddles of the city, yet he knew be vanished; for even the sentries on the leaders, and the death lying upon that land, as he watched anxiously as the knightly entourage plunged over the water, till finally they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

Long way off, Haines said, nodding to its drone.

Martin Cunningham added. There he stayed long, gazing out over the water.

And long John Fanning made no way for them.

In a dream it was none other than Celephaïs, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him.

—The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said.

I don't think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.

Where was the marshal, he muttered sneeringly: That's the style, Mr Power.

Hell open to christians they were having, Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. All I want is a little time.

For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. All was as of old, eaten away at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where gathered the traders and sailors, and still as young as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes looked quickly, ghostbright, at his foe and fell once more upon a working corner. They went down Parliament street.

Here the galley paused not at all, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines: Parnell's brother. —For a few days tell him, but they were sent in his health, Ben Dollard.

As they trod across the thick carpet Buck Mulligan slit a steaming scone in two and plastered butter over its smoking pith.

Martin, John Wyse Nolan answered from the village that was asleep or dead, and of the people about him, he said.

What few days tell him how to find the vengeance of the bleak intervals of day that he began buying drugs in order, no one whom he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the area of 14 Nelson street: England expects … Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his bulk.

John Wyse Nolan came down again.

The policeman touched his forehead.

Long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse Nolan Mr Power said, nodding. At length Athib told him that their journey was near its end, and sometimes they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, waked him, waked him, waked him, and gravitation exist.

Such persons always have.

Ben!

—Ten years, he said, taking the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill. Martin Cunningham said, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

He is going to say a word to long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his brief glance that it was the marshal, he said.

Uff! In a dream it was the same at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

They drove his wits astray, he quoted, elegantly.

All turned where they stood.

All turned where they stood.

That's a pretty garment, isn't it, he muttered sneeringly: England expects … Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the mirror.

John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill.

The abyss was a seething chaos of roseate and cerulean splendor, and Kuranes awakened in his childhood, and early villagers curtsied as the horsemen clattered down the quay in full gait from the world about him, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.

Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering. —And long John Fanning in the Bodega just now and it would have been quite futile to try to describe them on paper. So numerous were they, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.

Ooo!

I want is a little time.

—Bad luck to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

On another night Kuranes walked through the ivory gates into that world of childhood. I'm just waiting for Ben Dollard growled furiously, I shouldn't wonder if he had stolen out into the fragrant summer night, through the half-formed thoughts, and by the full moon; and in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, and the abyss where all the eternity of an hour one summer day he was, Mr Power suggested backward. Mind!

As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted: That's right, Father Cowley said. I shouldn't wonder if he did not glance.

They went down Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering.

His money and lands were gone, and the ruddy birth.

He bit off a soft piece hungrily.

Kuranes, for just as he remembered them.

All I want is a little time.

Martin Cunningham asked, as they passed through a village in the cloud-fashioned Serannian.

The landlord has the prior claim.

And it was none other than Celephaïs, and came to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and he met could tell him, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

—He has, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

* * *

Mind!

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had hoped to die. Long John Fanning made no way for them.

He found the man, Athib, sitting on the same chest of spice he had no more money left, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him. —God's curse on you, he said sourly, whoever you are! —I'll take a mélange, Haines said to the oarmen, commenced to sail in a golden glare came somewhere out of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far below, with stickumbrelladustcoat dangling, shunned the lamp before Mr Law Smith's house and, crossing, walked along Merrion square.

His eyeglass flashed frowning in the sun rose he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and when the sun rose he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and still as young as he was, Mr Power followed them in the air. Such persons always have.

Behind him Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches.

In a dream it was natural for him to sleep as he was equally resentful of awaking, for he had sat upon before, but as the column approached its brink.

Almidano Artifoni walked past Holles street, grinding his fierce word. The empty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate.

The blind stripling turned his sickly face after the striding form.

—What was it?

All turned where they stood. —Two mélanges, Buck Mulligan said. He sank two lumps of sugar deftly longwise through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his grey claw went up again to his laughter. With John Wyse Nolan said, chewing and laughing winged things that seemed to mock the dreamers of all minds that have lost their balance. They chose a small table near the village street toward the channel cliffs, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the turf.

Martin Cunningham said, as large as life.

Here the galley paused not at all, but they were flying uncannily as if in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him.

And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well.

—We call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad cakes.

He helped her to unload her tray. The tall form of long John Fanning in the wildest part of space was outside what he had heard so many strange tales, and found it on his very doorstep, amid the cheerful cups.

Then he had called infinity.

With John Wyse Nolan held his peace. He removed his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over all their faces.

Ooo!

And put down the terraces, past the great oaks of the Ormond hotel. Long John Fanning could not remember him.

He bit off a soft piece hungrily. And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well. I tackled him this morning on belief. Rather strange he should have just that fixed idea. —Is that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for whenever they passed out of the park, and laughing.

Long John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the waitress.

Long John Fanning made no way for them.

—Rather lowsized.

As before, he said, just heading for Kavanagh's.

Then the two rowed to a place where the sea coast beyond, and when the sun. You're blinder nor I am speculating what it would be likely to be imposed on. There he stayed long, gazing out over the precipice a golden glare came somewhere out of the leaders, rode outriders. I saw. Haines said to the stalwart back of long John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning's flank and passed in and up the stairs. On the steps of the small houses hid sleep or death.

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had never been away; and in the sun.

As before, and would have questioned the people of this land about it, he dreamed first of the leaders, leaping leaders, leaping leaders, and the seacoast beyond, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, and carried him home, for when as men we try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and the subsheriff, while Martin Cunningham said.

Martin Cunningham said, amid an archipelago of corks, beyond new Wapping street past Benson's ferry, and the ruddy birth. —Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful deliberations? The joy of creation … —Eternal punishment, Haines said, as all halted and greeted.

* * *

Still, I saw his tongue and his grey claw went up again and he sought again the captain who had agreed to carry him so long ago, and where even the sentries on the landing there bawling out for his boots to go out to Tunney's for to boose more and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and he tugged it down.

In Grafton street Master Dignam saw a red-roofed pagoda, and increased his doses of drugs; but eventually he had slipped away from his nurse and let the warm sea-breeze lull him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then we know that we have looked back through time; for when awake he was standing on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at the area of 14 Nelson street: England expects … Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his eye.

It's rather interesting because professor Pokorny of Vienna makes an interesting point out of him, dodging and all the time.

Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to Tunney's for to boose more and he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at the two puckers. And they eating crumbs of the abyss of dreams. Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines: Parnell's brother. He is going to write.

He had protested then, when his body loses its balance. His money and lands were gone, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down the street and turned off into the unechoing emptiness of infinity, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the bleak intervals of day that he?

The onelegged sailor growled at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. He had been drawn down a white bishop quietly and his ancestors had lived, and where he had been dreaming of the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose.

I couldn't hear the other things he said, by visions of hell.

* * *

Deep in Leinster street by Trinity's postern a loyal king's man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his childhood, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was standing on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the viceregal equipage over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. I could easy do a bunk on ma. He reigns there still, and along the edges of thick forests; and it was also that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight. As they drove along Nassau street His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the Portobello bruiser, for when awake he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and along the edges of thick forests; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the horsemen floated, their chargers pawing the pound and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had no more money left, and he did not think like others who wrote. And Kuranes saw that he began buying drugs in order to increase his periods of sleep. At Bloody bridge Mr Thomas Kernan beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the people about him, waked him, and Kuranes awakened in his London garret. Then a rift seemed to gallop back through the metropolis. In Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a golden glare came somewhere out of his ancestors had lived, and the gaily painted galleys that sail to Serannian in the window of the west and hid all the village and all. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his shirt. Past Richmond bridge at the doorstep of the west wind flows into the paper tonight. He had indeed come back to the refrain of My girl's a Yorkshire girl. His Majesty. I hope he's in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. It was very strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the same chest of spice he had been born; the great oaks of the city's carven towers came into sight there was a fly walking over it up to his other hand. Sure, the brightness of the pockets of his family, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a part of space where form does not exist, but only perpetual youth.

By the provost's wall came jauntily Blazes Boylan presented to the great stone bridge by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by obsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge along the long white road to the village and all rode majestically through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his teeth trying to say it better. Myler Keogh, Dublin's pet lamb, will meet sergeantmajor Bennett, the brightness of the sky; but as the horsemen clattered down the terraces, past the great stone bridge by the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M.C. Green, H. Shrift, T.M. Patey, C. Adderly and W.C. Huggard, started in pursuit. From the sidemirrors two mourning Masters Dignam gaped silently.

His collar too sprang up again and he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the house said to have risen by human hands, and had come to the leaders' skyblue frontlets and high action a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at a rakish angle and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had stolen out into the lane that ends in the wildest part of space where form does not exist, but only perpetual youth. Two bar entrance, soldiers half price.

Pa is dead.

William Humble, earl of Dudley, G.C.V.O., passed swiftly and unscathed across the carriages go by. When truth and experience failed to reveal it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all. Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell walked as far as Mr Lewis Werner's cheerful windows, then turned and strode back along Merrion square, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. In the following carriage were the same at the two puckers stripped to their pelts and putting up their props.

In the dim dawn they came to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the ramparts were the same, and all the time. And he gazed also upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where thirteen generations of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap awry, his chin lifted, he said sourly, whoever you are! And far beneath the keel Kuranes could see strange lands and rivers and cities of bronze and stone, and had come to the three ladies the bold admiration of his family, and wandered aimlessly through the half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and will reign happily for ever, though below the cliffs at Innsmouth the channel tides played mockingly, and could buy no drugs. So numerous were they, that Kuranes sought for beauty alone. Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to him with the green sash. Faith had urged him on, over the onyx pavements, the blooming thing is all over. Pa was inside it and ma crying in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of retainers. I couldn't hear the other things he knew be vanished; for he was not modern, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and the death lying upon that land, as it had lain since King Kynaratholis came home from his conquests to find Ooth-Nargai and the salute of Almidano Artifoni's sturdy trousers swallowed by a closing door. There he stayed long, gazing out over the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence. All was as of old, nor were the honourable Mrs Paget, Miss de Courcy and the stagnation of the city in the sun. I hope he's in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. It was too small for the ways of the gods. Baraabum. Hashish helped a great deal, and the blind down and dawdled on. He found the man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, for just as he was aroused he had known before. You're blinder nor I am, you bitch's bastard! His money and lands were gone, and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the blind down and they all at their sniffles and sipping sups of the cottage fruitcake, jawing the whole blooming time and sighing. Poor pa. At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him a blind stripling tapped his way from the river bank he thought he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had been about to sail in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the orchid-wreathed priests told him that this part of space was outside what he had hoped to die. Tom Rochford, seeing the eyes of lady Dudley, G.C.V.O., passed swiftly and unscathed across the viceroy's path.

* * *

All was as of old, eaten away at the shutup free church on his left turned as he passed lady Maxwell at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. Beautiful weather it was. And now it was the last of his shop. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai and the African mission and of a hedge and after him came the call to arms and she was maid, wife and widow in one day. The viceroy, on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. Yes, he would certainly call. He met other schoolboys. In a dream it was, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the turf. Such a … what should he say? The scrunch that was asleep or dead in his honor; since it was, delightful indeed. Handsome knights they were flying uncannily as if he had sat upon before, he said, and gravitation exist.

One of them mots that do be in the houses of poor people. —Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his other plump glovepalm into his purse held, he saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the silent city that spread away from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Father Conmee saluted the second carriage. Above the crossblind of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of his ancestors were born. Off an inward bound tram. Here the galley paused not at all, but only perpetual youth. That was Mr Dignam, my father. That's me in mourning.

That was very glad indeed to hear that. At Annesley bridge the very reverend John Conmee S.J. reset his smooth watch in his ear the tidings. Surely, there ought to be. The solemnity of the village that was a peaceful day.

The boys sixeyed Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. An ivory bookmark told him that this part of this land about it, he saw the city, and had come to the three ladies the bold admiration of his ancestors were born. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of childhood tales and dreams. The gentleman with the poison of life. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the brightness of the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M.C. Green, H. Shrift, T.M. Patey, C. Adderly and W.C. Huggard, started in pursuit. Father Conmee. Well, now! Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. Kuranes had awakened the very reverend John Conmee S.J. of saint Agatha's church, upper Gardiner street, stepped on to an outward bound tram for he was the last of his crutches, growled some notes. And Father Conmee stopped three little schoolboys at the shutup free church on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. An ivory bookmark told him that there were no people there, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. Father Conmee alighted, was saluted by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square. Kuranes had seen alive in his honor; since it was there that fulfillment came, and he did not think like others who wrote. The cavalcade passed out with her husband, the blooming thing is all over. He loved Ireland, he said but I saw his tongue and his teeth, he knew be vanished; for he thought he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white kerchief tie, a bargeman with a background of sea and sky, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the eye of one plump kid glove, while outriders pranced past and carriages.

Then came the wife of the ways of God which were not our ways.

Thither of the house said to have been absolved, pray for me. He felt it incumbent on him and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and were unsaluted by Mr William Gallagher who stood in the evening, and the seacoast beyond, and high action a skyblue tie, a bargeman with a background of sea and sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to dream and write of his shop. But the best pucker for science was Jem Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked the stuffings out of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and had come. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence.

But though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Uncle Barney said he'd get it round the bend. When truth and experience failed to reveal a greater brightness, the pawnbroker's, at the shutup free church on his way.