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jungkookiebus · 5 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tea shop owner!jjk x reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: angst x fluff x eventual smut ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: mentions of death (non-major character) ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.2k sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you thought after three years the hurt in your heart for your dead husband would sting a little less than it did. in an attempt to clear your mind and start anew, you move to a small, coastal town. there, you find comfort in a tea shop run by a man named jeongguk. every day, at the same time, you come to the tea shop and soon start to fall for the bright-eyed man that listens to you pour your heart out. but the guilt settling in your stomach every time you think of your husband has you running from jeongguk entirely. do you have what it takes to let go?

Part of the Love Yourself The Collab. I hope you enjoy all of the wonderful stories!

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: This is part one to this installment. There is so much more story and I didn’t want it to feel extremely rushed. Picture for my heading and fic breaks are of the Aoyama Flower Market Tea House.

The whirring of machines and the steady, monotonous beep beep beep echoed loudly in your head; ping ponging off the sides of your skull until it felt like it would break straight through the bone. A tension headache pounded behind your eyes and you pinched the bridge of your nose to alleviate some of the pain. The room’s sterile scent burned your nose and you were sure the smell had permanently seeped into your clothes. Outside, the night was quiet save for the sirens every now and then. You absently wondered if there were people out there having just as bad a night as you. There was soft, raspy breathing steadily beside you as you sat doubled over in an uncomfortable chair as your head lay on the hard hospital mattress. You stared down your arm to your fingers intertwined with his and ran your fingers softly against his skin. It was then that every alarm in the room went off. He gasped for breath as he struggled unconsciously, hands reaching out to an unknown specter. You panicked and grabbed his shoulders to keep him steady, screaming in panic for someone to help you, pressing furiously on the nurse’s button. But help never came. All at once, he went still, and his eyes focused on your face. His lips moved slowly, and he seemed to be saying something. Leaning forward, you turned your ear close enough to his face to feel his warm breath against your skin.

“Why?” he breathed.

The monitor beside you blipped one last time before hitting that too well known tone of death. Your breath caught in shock as the realization kicked in. He was gone. Nurses poured into the room seconds later and you were jolted awake as you slid from his bed.

Sitting up in the darkness you looked towards the clock. 4:34 am.

You had had that reoccurring nightmare for years.

You looked to your right at the empty space beside you and immediately fell into tears. It had been three years since he died. Some days were easier than others, some days you’d even forget about the whole thing, and then some of them were so unbearable you could barely move. You had dated your husband since high school, married in University, and you both had the whole world ahead of you. He had accomplished every goal he set for himself, got a good career, and was ready to start creating a family with you when he had received the news. Brain cancer. Very aggressive and minimal chance of an effective treatment. Your world came crashing down around you with the news. Every which direction you had expected your life to go was suddenly skewed by a landslide.

He hadn’t even lasted the month.

One second you were happily married and the breath before your next heartbeat, he was gone. He had left you well cared for, but the pain in your heart could not be softened by being financially stable after his death. It took months for you to put his bathroom things away; a few months after that you had the heart to tidy up his study, putting away reminders, and picking up the coffee cups that seemed to accumulate there; it was two years before you were able to donate his clothes; and it was almost three when you moved the book he had been reading from his bedside table.

“Is this something you really want to do?” Ki whispered cautiously over his cup of tea. Steam wafted outwards towards you as he asked the question. His glasses fogged up once more as the heat was once again directed at his face.

You smiled down at his cautious gaze and glassy eyes. “I really want to do this.”

“Tongyeong is so far away,” he pouted.

“You can visit.”

“What will his family say?”

You stared out of the café window to the bustling city streets. What would his family think? Probably glad the bitch was out of the picture. When he had died, his family was outraged to find that he left the majority of his belongings and holdings to you. They fought tooth and nail to take everything from you, but his will was legally sound and so they had no other option than to relent. Ever since, they had cut off all connection, but were still nosy, using proxies to delve for information about your life. You weren’t going off and blowing his money. You had invested most of it after you paid off the house and was living comfortably off the earnings. The only news they ever got was that ‘she’s still there, leaves the house when she needs to, gardens when she’s sad, and sits outside for long stretches of time.’ Eat that, Jung family.

You smiled to yourself then said, “Who cares? They can go fuck themselves.”

Ki snickered into his drink. Setting the cup down on the table he reached across and grabbed your hand.

“___, if this is something that you want, I support it 100%. Know that I’m here if you ever need anything.”

The move went easier than you had expected. Your therapist talked you off the ledge of a mental breakdown twice as you packed up your life. If it wasn’t for her and Ki’s unswaying friendship, you wouldn’t have been able to do it. Tongyeong was on the southern coast of Korea and was everything you ever wanted. It boasted mountain ranges and evergreen trees for miles. The small part of town you had purchased in was nestled amongst the craggy rocks of the shore, dotted with docks, several hundred boats swayed amongst their moorings, and the smell of salt was fresh on the wind each day. The home you purchased was cottage style, slightly outside of the range of “town”, but close enough to walk. There was room for you to garden and still be able to enjoy yourself if you were to put in a sitting area. This house was admittedly smaller than your last so you did sell some items of furniture you wouldn’t be needing and packed up your most treasured possessions. Windows were on each wall of the single story home, which would boast sunshine for most of the day and called for a warm house during winter. Most of your unpacking was done save for a few of the books you had yet to shelf in your new study. For now, you had your essentials and the rest could wait. You were eager to explore the town and familiarize yourself with some sort of café to enjoy some tea.

Pulling on a light sweater, you slipped from your house and down the path into town. It was lazy on this Sunday morning and you were thankful for the lack of interaction you would have had to otherwise endure. Passing a small dress shop, florist, and bakery you finally stumbled upon what you were looking for. Settled oddly, almost at an angle between two buildings sat a small, squat building. It seemed to give an almost magical aura with its soft, gray brick. The glass in the windowpanes looked old as the sun rippled across them. A green door with intricate wood carvings greeted you as you pushed it open. A rush of warm air hit you and was quickly followed by the smells of spices, something citrusy, and chocolate. Dried flowers hung from string in the windows. Behind the long, wooden bar stood floor to ceiling shelves with hundreds of jars of various teas. A library ladder stood at one end, ready to be rolled to its next destination in this journey of tea. Soft piano music came from an unseen speaker. Besides you, there was no one else in the café. You looked around thinking maybe you had made a mistake and accidentally came in while it was closed. As you were turning to leave the way you came a bright ‘hello!’ startled you into turning back around. A tall, broad chested man with black hair that fell into his eyes came out of a door behind the counter. His eyes shone bright in the lights of the café, lights you couldn’t see now that you were observing your surroundings more. The café seemed to glow as if it created its own atmosphere. It glowed even brighter as he entered the room. All at once you felt instantaneous relief wash through your body as he smiled at you.

“How can I help you?” His voice was neither very high nor low, but the lilt of his dialect calmed you.

“I, um, well…,” you trailed off.

“Let me ask you this. How can the tea help you?”

Your brow furrowed at such an odd question. You were trying to wrack your brain for some logical answer when he spoke again.

“What ails you?”

Was this turning into some health appointment?

“Tea has all kinds of healing powers. I have tea for depression, insomnia, nerve pain, chronic sinus infection, and the occasional ‘blend’ for the hypochondriacs.” He threw his fingers into air quotes at the end. “Or, you know, if you’re just into peppermint I have that too.”

He leaned against the counter and looked at you questioningly. His eyes held the same attentiveness as someone saying, ‘I’ll stand here happily for 8 hours until you decide’.

“Yea, well…sometimes…I have trouble sleeping.” You looked away shyly. Something inside you told you that if you looked him directly in his eyes, he’d know all your secrets.

You felt his gaze on your face as you pretended to read the names on all the jars.

“Nightmares?” he questioned.

Your eyes immediately met his as they widened. Your mouth fell open slightly before you snapped it shut and fixed your gaze.

“How did you know?”

“Intuition.” He leaned on the counter for a beat longer before he pushed off, grabbing the ladder and rolling it behind him. “I have just the one.”

As he climbed the ladder you let your eyes flit over his lithe frame, probably small under that oversized sweater, but you could tell by the fitted pants he wore that he was well toned. Your cheeks burned with guilt as you thought about it.

“Take a seat,” he said as he jumped off the ladder, jar in hand, and gesturing towards the counter.

You sat down slowly on one of the bar seats, placed your bag in front of you, and watched as he moved around burners and teapots.

“Are you visiting?” he asked as he sat some water on to boil.

“No, I just moved here.”

“Oh! We rarely get anybody new around here. Small town and all.”

“Yea, it’s a really pretty town and it boasted some of the best seafood.”

He laughed as he nodded in agreement. “Some of the freshest you’ll ever get. Go down to the docks early on Saturday mornings before the sun comes up and you’ll receive the best squid you’ll ever eat.”

You laughed as he tried to get you to warm up. His banter was oddly comforting, and it seeped like honey through your veins. Your mind seemed lazy, slow and all at once at ease. The tension you held in your shoulders dissipated and the slight clench in your jaw relaxed. Chamomile, lemon balm, and something spicy wafted into your nose. The man stood there; lips pursed as he concentrated on the cup of tea steeping in front of him. The more he moved his lips the more you saw his dimple appear and disappear. He had a strong jaw that led to an equally strong neck. He was wiry; veins stood out along his neck, arms, and hands. You wondered what else he did to keep himself in such great shape besides make tea all day.

“Perfect,” he muttered as he pulled the leaves from the mug. Carefully, he sat the mug in front of you. “Now, I suggest drinking it as is, but if you want sugar, honey, or milk I’ve got it.”

“Oh, no, this is fine, thank you.” The mug was pleasantly warm in your hands. The glass was not so hot that you had to pull your hands away and the warmth seemed to shoot into your limbs. He turned away to clean up his imaginary mess as you took the first sip. If molasses were sentient and it carried healing properties for stress, then you were dunked in a vat of it. The feeling seemed to slide across your skin slowly, making sure to fill each and every crevice of your soul. You almost wanted to bow down at the feet of whoever made this blend.

“This was a good pick…,” you trailed off. You wanted to put a name to the face.

“Jeongguk.” He wiped his hands to preoccupy himself as you took another sip.

“Well, Jeongguk,” you said giving him a look of surprise, “you were spot-on knowing exactly what I needed.”

He smiled shyly as he looked down at his shoes.

“Mom always said I had a knack for it. I make the blends in house.”

You looked around in shock at the hundreds of jars that lined the wall behind him. “You made all of these?”

“Yep!” he grinned proudly as he spun to look at his work. “I live farther up in the hills. I grow a lot of tea up there; they love the humidity in the summer. I get some stuff imported from reliable, sustainable growers. But yea, these are all hand crafted by yours truly.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Yea? Well, you’re welcome to stop by any time. Hell, you could come here everyday for the next few months and try one new tea a day.”

“That sounds great, actually. My name is _____ by the way, I don’t know if I told you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you move here?”

You’d knew he ask, but you still weren’t prepared when he did. What were you supposed to say? ‘My husband died three years ago, I’m still not over it, I wake up with nightmares every night, and I can’t sleep with my light off anymore, but everything’s great! Town is lovely!’ or do you simply say:

“Mid-life crisis.”

He snickered as the sentence came out of you dead pan.

“You look too young to be having one of those.”

“What makes you think I’m going to live much longer?” you laughed.

He doubled over in exaggeration at your joke. “No one around here has a sense of humor sometimes. Glad to meet someone that’s a little more normal.”

“Surely not everyone here is lifeless.”

“Ah, no. It’s just mostly a bunch of burly old fisherman, rich fishermen’s wives, poor fishermen’s wives for that matter too. Needless to say, it’s a mixed bunch and they don’t all get along. The hardened old timers that this is all they know, stay. The kids they had started moving away and now there’s barely any young people left in the town. Why stay here when you can be living life in Seoul or Busan.”

“What made you stay?”

“I love it here,” he said without missing a beat.

You appreciated that he took stock in the simple things. Everything about this town screamed simple and it appealed to you. This would be a no-nonsense restart to your life.

“I know what you’re thinking. He’s uneducated and knows nothing about life because he’s never left this coastal town since the day he was born.”

You shrugged at his almost correct assumption about himself.

“Well, no matter what anyone in town tells you, that’s wrong. I went to University, graduated, lived in China for a couple of years and that’s where I learned everything I needed to know about tea. I came back here with some of my savings and I opened shop. Been here ever since.”

“You seem very accomplished.”

“I feel very accomplished,” he smiled. Damn it, if that toothy grin wasn’t getting you every time. You found yourself blushing more than once as he fixed his gaze upon you, listening as if you held the universe in your hands.

You told him the bare minimum about yourself, barely scratching the surface of your depressing past. You told him where you moved from, your education background, and a few mundane aspirations you had for yourself. Luckily, a year ago you had started wearing your wedding bands on a necklace which now was tucked snugly inside your sweater. The lack of jewelry stopped him from asking any questions about your relationship status.

Once your conversation had lulled and your mug was drained, you stood up to leave.

“This was all very lovely, Jeongguk. Thank you for the suggestion in tea.”

He seemed very boyish when he smiled, but he looked to be the same age as you. Praise made him light up like a Christmas tree and you found yourself liking his smile more and more.

“Any time. Oh! And if there is a blend you’d like to try don’t hesitate to ask me.”

You gave him one last smile as you exited the tea shop. The difference in atmosphere as you stepped out was almost otherworldly. Reality seemed to tip on its axis before it readjusted itself and you were left staring dumbly on the sidewalk. You looked behind you to see if you had imagined the whole thing, but the tea shop still stood in front of you looking the exact same as when you walked in. Tendrils of anxiety pricked at your brain. The comfort of the tea shop had helped you forget for a little while, but now that you were alone and exposed to the evening air you felt an emptiness creeping back inside of you. Clinging to the last few notes of chamomile on your tongue, you held on to the feeling as you walked back home.

The next day you awoke to the sounds of seagulls gathering at the docks in the hopes of getting a stray fish that fell. You had left your windows open that night, letting in the early morning salty breeze. The smell of fresh fish carried on the wind and permeated your house. As you stretched your limbs, hopeful excitement bloomed in your chest as you thought about the tea shop and its semi-mysterious owner. You realized immediately that you slept through the entire night, not once woken up by horrible nightmares. You quickly dressed, looked yourself over in the hall mirror briefly, and stepped out into the morning air. All kinds of birds trilled in the trees and you still heard the shrill call of the seagulls closer to shore. You walked with purpose this time. You knew exactly where you were going and wanted to at least give the air of a local. You found it looking just as it had the day before.

The air inside was comfortably warm and today the shop smelled like lavender and bergamot. A patron sat at a small table near a bookcase, but the old man did not look up from his reading. Jeongguk beamed at you as he walked out holding a tray of fresh lavender scones.

He glanced towards the grandfather clock that flanked one of his walls. “Same time as yesterday. Punctual, I see.”

“And I see that not only can you make amazing tea blends but also baked goods as well,” you said taking the same place at the counter like you had the day before.

Today it sounded like he was playing music from some fantasy movie; a long, forlorn single note played, and violins dramatically sang in the background. Herbs were now placed on the line with the dried flowers and the smell of rosemary wove in and out of the calming lavender scent.

“You can have one on me and you can tell me if it’s good or not.” He placed one on a plate before sliding it over to you. “What’ll it be today?”

He slid the tray of scones into a small bakery case and turned expectantly towards you.

“I’m feeling something fruity today.”

“Perfect,” he smiled. “You’re in luck. I had a bunch of strawberries that I dried last year that weren’t getting used. I made a strawberry and peach tea last night with just the slightest hint of vanilla.”

He bounced around excitedly like a kid showing you a new trick they had learned. He reverently put the leaves in to steep and stood idly by as he counted down the seconds until it was done. His bottom lip caught between his teeth as he concentrated on not spilling a drop as he carried it over.

“How’s the scone?”

“It’s amazing. Not too much lavender, which is perfect.”

His grinned at the praise.

“Jeongguk?”

“Hm?” he was absently licking his lips and you were momentarily distracted by the action.

“You have a lot of family here?”

He stopped short with a confused look on his face, like you had caught him completely by surprise. His mouth fell open and the café lights reflected off his wet bottom lip. Questions formed in his eyes as he cleared his throat. A second later, he was smiling as if nothing had happened.

“Not anymore,” he sighed. “My sister was the last to leave maybe two years ago. My mom died right before I moved to China and my dad went to live with my brother. ‘Can’t stand to be here without her anymore.’ I get it; I just get lonely from time to time for my family.”

You picked at the scone on your plate as you tried to contemplate the best response to give him. “Do they not come visit? Do you get to go see them?”

“Oh, yeah! I visit as often as I can and my siblings still come, but my dad won’t. It’s too hard for him to be here.”

“Your mom must have been a very wonderful lady.”

You sipped quietly as you watched his eyes. He looked beyond you, out the window, at something you knew you couldn’t see even if you turned around. The muscles in his face relaxed, smile slipping, and the gleam in his eyes shined a little brighter as tears pooled in the bottom of his eyes. He sniffed quickly as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“She was.”

You weren’t going to ask more than he was willing to offer, so you smiled at him instead. He choked out a laugh as he reached for your empty plate.

“She was my biggest supporter in this endeavor.”

He turned to put the plate away and your attention wandered to the shelf of jars in front of you. How many of them were woven with the sorrowful love he held in his heart? He had so many teas with so many specific treatments that you began to wonder how much of himself Jeongguk had put into his creations.

“So, where’s your family?”

Fuck. You had to open your big mouth and ask him about the F word and now he was curious about you. You did not ask him if he were married so maybe you could skate around the subject as well.

“My parents live in Andong and I’m an only child, so no interesting siblings to speak of.”

He seemed satisfied enough with your answer and went back to busying himself with putting the jars back where they belonged.

You looked around and noticed the other man in the café had left at some point and neither of you had noticed. Soft music flowed lackadaisically through the air around you. Light filtered in through the dried flowers as the sun traveled across the sky and you watched the shadows dance on the indoor greenery. If there were a roaring fire and maybe a few lightening bugs dancing about you would have thought you were in a fairy’s house. Everything about the café seemed small and comfortable, but large and magical all at once. If Jeongguk offered to make you potions you would not have been surprised.

“Would you like anything else?” His expression was just as you had seen him when you first walked through the door, happy and full of life.

“No, actually I need to do some grocery shopping before I starve in my own home.”

“Well, if you ever want actual food I know how to cook as well.”

“Is there anything you don’t know how to do?” you asked grabbing your bag. Pulling out a few won, you laid them on the counter as you swiveled on the stool.

He mocked concentration as he looked around the room.

“Well,” he smirked, “I can’t sew.”

“I’m surprised. I’d probably not think twice about if I came here tomorrow and you had knitted me a sweater.”

“I can crochet,” he said with a point and wink in your direction.

“Of course you do.” You were laughing, already easing into a comfort you hadn’t felt with anyone for a while.

That’s when the guilt hit. It was like a punch to the stomach and as if someone had reached inside your chest and started to squeeze your heart. Your breath caught suddenly the room swayed ever so slightly around you. An echo of your husband’s voice telling you he loved you bounced around in your mind.

“Hey, are you okay?” his question was muffled at first and you weren’t sure what he said. It took only a few seconds of your addled mind to decipher his words. “You look a little pale.”

The pain in your chest eased just enough for you to retain some composure.

“I think I stood up too fast.”

“Ah, might have something to do with the altitude here. Here,” he said grabbing a jar at eye level. “Drink some of this before you go to bed tonight.” He pulled a small baggie and filled it with just enough tea to make a cup. “On the house.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He was all smiles as he handed the baggie over.

“You spoil me.” You tried to bring humor back in the conversation, tried to be your normal self, but even you could hear the sadness in your voice.

Jeongguk seemed to notice, but only smiled when he caught your eye.

“Have a good rest of your day, _____, and don’t forget to drink that tonight.” He pointed towards the bag as he wiped the imaginary water off the same cup for the nth time. “It’ll also help you sleep.”

You felt the first set of tears start to well in your eyes. Saying a rushed goodbye, you slipped from the shop, forgoing the grocery store and walked home as fast as possible. As soon as the door shut behind you, your back connected to the wood and you slid down hard onto the floor. Fresh, hot tears streamed down your face as you sobbed into your hands. If a literal stranger showing you kindness made you feel this guilty then how were you going to survive this move? At least in the city you never really saw the same person twice unless you were loyal to a coffee shop (which you weren’t) and at your previous job no one had paid much mind to you. You internally berated yourself for being so disloyal to your husband. ‘Til death do you part and beyond. Your heart ached for him every day. Some days it was a dull pain, others you could barely get out of bed, but grief was strange; you’d often forget he was dead. It was like walking up a set of familiar stairs in the total darkness, having counted them millions of times, but every now and again you miscount and take one more step than necessary at the top. Your body lurches, panicked as if falling through space and suddenly your adrenaline is pumping because surely, you’re about to fall, then your foot hits the ground. You’re brought back to the present, a little stunned and uneasy. Your heart settles back to its normal beating and reality sets in. Some things can be forgotten, we become so used to the feeling being there that we forget we even have them until we trip up and our minds betray us; showing us just how lonely we truly are.

The house had fallen dark when you woke up on the floor. Your body was stiff and sore from having been on the ground for so long. A few hours had passed since you came home, your stomach grumbled, and you internally berated yourself for not going to the grocery store earlier. You groaned as you pushed yourself to your feet and tried to adjust to your surroundings. Having been expecting a package, you turned and opened the door not to be met with what you had planned to see there, but a small bundle with a note on top. Bending over slowly, you picked both up to inspect them more closely. The script on the cardstock was perfect, so perfect in fact that you thought it was typed but the smudges of ink gave it away.

“I didn’t see you head in the direction of the store, so I made you a bento. Hope you like it! -JJK”

You wanted to cry again but you were all out of tears. The bento was neatly sealed and placed inside a beautifully woven bag. Bringing it inside you sat it on the counter and popped open the lid. Inside was marinated beef, onigiri, steamed vegetables, and a few pieces of sushi. You grabbed a pair of chopsticks and stuck a piece of beef in your mouth and moaned inwardly. Having lived in the city your entire life you thought you had tasted it all, but this beef was cooked so perfectly it seemed to melt in your mouth. You were in the middle of enjoying this perfect meal when you heard it. A soft mew floated on the breeze and through your open window. Listening again and tilting your head in that direction, it came a little louder the second time. You walked to the window and leaned out. The night was a calm one, so the sea was quiet and all that interrupted the night was the sound of crickets…and a meow. Frowning, you ducked back inside and made your way to your back door. You rounded the house in the direction of the sound and heard it again in the bushes near your window. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you shone the light and a pair of eyes immediately glowed under one of the plants.

“Hey,” you whispered even though your nearest neighbor was several hundred meters away. The small kitten mewed again. “Where’s your mommy?” Mew? It seemed to say.

Getting on your hands and knees you crawled in its direction and much to your surprise, it bounded straight for you.

“Oh!” you cried as it jumped into your arms. Immediately, it started to nuzzle your neck and purr. “Well…okay.” You were a bit taken aback and puzzled at how soon this cat had warmed up to you. In the past, when you were around friends’ cats, they all steered cleared or hissed in your general direction.

You stood from your position and walked back inside to get a closer look at your new friend. Its fur was bright orange and even in the light its green eyes seemed to glow magically. Turning it over you discovered it was a girl.

“You’re a rare baby,” you said shifting it so that you could hold it like a baby. It played with your finger as you brushed along its belly, but it made no attempt to escape your hold.

“Kyongni,” you whispered as the name immediately popped into your head as you remembered your husband’s favorite epic, Toji.

The kitten immediately made eye contact with you and meowed loudly.

“You like that name?” You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your face. “I bet you’re hungry.”

Setting her down on the floor you reached for a piece of your dinner and handed it to her. She immediately took the meat and started chewing furiously. Before you were ready to fall into your bed you had fed her some lunch meat, made a makeshift bed in a box by yours, and found a brush to get some of the dirt from her fur. Plugging in a heating pad, you placed it beneath the blankets and placed her inside where she instantly curled up and closed her eyes. You looked at her and thought that maybe the following days didn’t have to be so sad after all.

After you made your tea, you sat in bed and sipped at the delicious blend he had yet again nailed. Embarrassment flooded through you as you thought of your day’s encounter with Jeongguk. As much as you didn’t want to face him again you were going to have to apologize for how you acted and thank him for the food.

That night you had no dreams or nightmares.

The next morning you awoke to Kyongni mewing loudly in her box. You rolled over to see her standing, paws on the edge of the box, and looking at you as if to say, “It’s about time you woke up.”

“Hey, sweet baby.” You swung your legs over the side of your bed and reached into the box. “Let me get cleaned up and find something for you at the store.”

An hour later, you had laid a few newspapers down just in case, sat out a bowl of water, and a promise to Kyongni that you’d be back later. She simply meowed and jumped onto your couch and onto the windowsill she had discovered.

Your walk would take you past the tea shop so you figured you would bite the bullet and pop inside. The shop was bustling, and it was the most amount of people you had seen in one place since you moved here. A group of older women sat at a table near the windows gossiping about someone who had recently left their book club for another, the same mysterious man you had seen was sitting at his same spot reading the newspaper, and a very disheveled mom was enjoying her first sip of tea as her baby sat slumbering in its carrier beside her. Jeongguk was busy helping a teenager pick a tea, ensuring her that it had more caffeine in it than her usual coffee order. He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you decided to take your spot at the bar and wait. You watched him as he worked, not having seen him interact with anyone else beside yourself. He gave the girl just as much rapt attention that he had been giving you and didn’t seemed the least bit put out that she couldn’t decide on what she wanted. His eyes wandered briefly and landed on you, beaming and giving a nod before turning back to the girl who was smelling various teas out of the jars he had placed on the counter. About ten minutes later, tea in hand, and happily walking out of the shop, the girl left, and he was standing before you.

“Hey, _____! Did you like the tea I gave you yesterday? I hope it helped with the dizziness.”

“It was lovely. Got a good night’s sleep, too.” You stared awkwardly at your hands as you picked at the imaginary dirt under your fingernails. “Look,” you started. “I want to apologize for the way I acted yesterday.”

Jeongguk looked puzzled when you finally decided to look at him.

“What?” You knew that he knew exactly what you were talking about but was trying to save you the embarrassment.

“I freaked out for a second. There’s a lot you don’t know about me and sometimes…,” you trailed off without knowing what else to say.

“Listen,” he said leaning forward on his elbows and you caught a whiff of him that caught you off guard. He smelled strongly of cinnamon and berries. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience that much I can tell.”

Your mouth fell open and he held up his hand to stop you from speaking.

“You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to. I get it. You don’t have to explain it to me. I’m just here to ease the pain a little bit.”

His face softened as he looked at you and at the same time so did your heart. Relief washed over you because now he knew.

“I…I’d like to talk about it…some time. If that’s okay?” You felt like a child; small and vulnerable, but your therapist had told you that talking about the pain would ease the sadness.

“Sure!” he said standing back up and acting like nothing had happened. “How about you come see the tea I’m growing right now? You can come by tomorrow if you’d like. It’s my off day.”

“I’d love to,” you smiled.

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he seemed to snap out of it. “Did you have something in mind for today?”

“Something to-go, please. I have a new friend at home.”

“Oh?” You saw something flash in his eyes before he turned to grab a jar from the shelf. He stopped talking or looking at you as he busied himself with the kettle.

“Yea,” you sighed dreamily, playing into the act. “Listens to everything I have to say, loves to cuddle…” You saw his shoulders slump slightly. “Purrs a lot and really loves beef.”

He turned to look at you inquisitively. “Did you say purrs a lot?”

“Yea, I found a cat. Or, I guess the cat found me. Showed up at my house last night so I need to go get supplies for it.”

“The grocery store has a small section,” he said setting the cup down in front of you with a look of relief on his face.

You sat money on the counter and grabbed the small paper cup, smelling near the opening and caught hints of lavender.

“Thank you, by the way, for the food. You didn’t have to do that.”

He scoffed and waved his hand. “No big deal.”

“It was all very good. You’re an extremely talented cook as well.”

His cheeks flushed a dark red color as he grabbed a towel and began wiping the counter.

“Here,” he said grabbing a napkin and a pen. He jotted something down and handed it over to you. “My number.” He coughed and scratched the back of his neck. “For, you know, tomorrow. I can text you directions.”

You reached to take the napkin from him and his fingers brushed against yours. Jumping slightly, you retracted your hand and placed the napkin in your bag.

“Thank you, Jeongguk,” you said holding up the tea. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yea,” he laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The shop seemed like a warm blanket that you had just pulled from the dryer and you were hesitant to leave it. Even with the chatter and Jeongguk busily moving things behind the counter, you felt peace here. Your heart swelled in your chest at the thought of being here once more and you were sad to leave its warm embrace.

The next day brought clear skies and sunshine. Kyongni was happily lounging at the foot of your bed when you awoke, and she blinked blearily at you as you sat up.

“Did you rest well?” you asked her, rubbing behind her ears as she purred loudly. She had loved the food you’d gotten and litterbox training, who? She was, in your opinion, the perfect cat. “I’m going to his house today.” She looked at you pensively before reaching out a paw and laying it on top of your hand. “Is this a good idea?” Her head cocked to the side as the stared at you. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” She removed her paw and began to lick her fur. “You’ve convinced me.”

What should you wear? Why were you even thinking about this? Just dress like you normally would. After about fifteen minutes of telling yourself what you had decided to wear was fine, you dug through your bag for the napkin he had written his number on. Sighing deeply, you took the plunge.

[you]: Hey, Jeongguk, sorry if I’m texting a little early, but I wasn’t sure when you wanted me to drop by today.

That seemed simple enough. You didn’t want to sound too eager. It wasn’t a full minute later before your phone vibrated in your hand and you felt your heart lurch in your chest.

[Jeongguk] I’ve been up so you’re okay! Ummmm wanna come over in about thirty minutes? I’ll text the directions.

You had discovered early on that anything and everything worth getting to in town was within walking distance. The directions he had sent were simple enough. With a kiss to Kyongni’s head and a promise to call Ki in the event of your death, you headed out.

The walk took you all of thirty minutes. It would have been faster if you hadn’t stopped to examine some wildflowers you had never seen before. Jeongguk’s house was up on one of the hills behind town, not easily seen through the trees, but when it came into your view it took your breath away. It was two-story but small, painted a light green that matched the surrounding trees, and had an immaculate garden out front. He must have been watching because he eagerly stepped out of his front door and threw a dish towel over his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing a large sweater like he usually did at the shop, but instead had on a plain white t-shirt and joggers that showed the muscles you guessed he had and were made painfully aware of in that moment.

“Hey!” he called out while walking down the steps. “I hope you’re hungry because I made brunch.”

“If I would have known that I would have brought something.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “You’re my guest.”

He turned and headed back inside, and you followed dutifully behind. The inside of his house was just as cozy as his café. The smells emanating from a yet unseen kitchen had your mouth watering. You followed him into this kitchen, and you were met with a comforting sight. Much like the café, herbs were strung up in the windows that lined the entire back side of the house. Out past them was an even bigger garden and several different rows of tea bushes. A fat, white cat laid on a hammock hung in the corner and in direct contact with the morning sun. It blinked lazily at you with large, blue eyes before closing them and laying back down again.

“That’s Bungeoppang…he loves fish,” he said shyly.

“Fish bread hardly has fish in it,” you laughed.

“Yea, but he’s cute like fish bread.”

He started grabbing several small dishes of banchan and brought them over to the large table by the windows.

“If you want to help, I kinda overdid it with the small dishes if you can bring them over here,” he laughed as he balanced three on his forearm.

Setting your bag down you quickly walked over to the counter and surveyed the damage he had done. Ssamjang, dongchimi, gyeran mari, spicy tuna, and many others dotted the counter amongst vegetable refuse and shavings of ginger.

“You really did out do yourself.”

“I got excited, okay?” His smile was wide as he came up beside you to grab a large bowl of rice. “I don’t get visitors often.”

Your heart hurt in your chest at his boyish, dopey grin and his admission at being excited to have you over but you quickly dampened the feeling before you let it get the best of you. You both quickly moved every dish he had made over to the table and before long, you were both trying to figure how to move them so that’d you would both have a place to sit. Jeongguk scratched the back of his neck as he looked down, scooting plates here and there and stacking the ones that could be without mess. Once the both of you were settled, he handed you a pair of lovingly worn chopsticks. The few moments of comfortable silence as the both of you started to eat was only broken here and there when something was asked to be passed. You were each sated well enough to begin a conversation before long.

“I needed that. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I walked in here and smelled that pork belly,” you said while reaching for more cucumber kimchi.

“Well, besides the meat, all of this comes off the property.” Jeongguk gestured proudly at the dishes around as if he were a king looking over his treasures.

“You even made the kimchi?”

“I have a few onggi’s in the back,” he said so matter-of-factly as if every household had one.

“I have a few onggi��s in the back,” you said back in a mock tone.

His face flushed red immediately as he started to defend himself. “It’s just! You know! I can make so much at once! Who wants to go to the store all the time?”

“No, no, no,” you said between laughing, “I love it! You just sound like my grandma is all. Living in the hills and making your own kimchi.”

“The young today would do well listening to their elders,” he said regally.

Lunch passed by lazily. He had opened the windows next to the table and a cool breeze aired out the house. A mixture of florals and something spicier wafted into your nose.

“Gonna show me what’s out there?” you asked, pointing a chopstick out the window.

“Of course. Are you done?” He wiped his mouth and placed his napkin on the table before standing up from the pillow he sat on and reached out his hand to you. At first, you were surprised, and the sun seemed to shine a little brighter. A single bird chirped outside, and you heard Bungeoppang meow softly.

“…I mean, if you don’t want help that’s okay, too,” you heard him say as he was slowly pulling his hand away.

“No!” you said lunging forward and grabbing his hand almost a little too desperately. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking about yo-something.” You tried to quickly cover up your blunder. He didn’t seem to notice as he smiled again and helped you to your feet.

“I’ll worry about his later,” he said pointing towards all the uneaten food. He walked to the door and opened it before turning to you expectantly. Bungeoppang jumped off his hammock to walk in and out of his legs before trotting off to a spot beneath a tree. The garden buzzed both mentally and physically. The same feeling as the café and his home bled into the garden as well; you searched for the source of the power, but it seemed to be all around you. Bees buzzed lazily amongst the wildflowers he had planted along the path to the rows of tea bushes. You followed a few feet behind him and watched him as he walked. All the flowers seemed to turn from the sun and face him as he passed; only going back to their original positions as you walked by. Butterflies followed behind him and would then light on the flowers, fluttering their wings and spreading them in the sunlight.

“Camellia sinenis,” he said lovingly as he ran his fingers amongst the leaves of one bush. “Green tea.” He turned and smiled at you and he seemed even more supernatural in his element. No matter where he stood the sun seemed to shine behind him as if to say, ‘Look at him!’

The sound of trickling water reached your ears the further you walked between the rows, Jeongguk calling out the names of each one as if they were his beloved children.

“And these,” he said throwing both arms out wide, “are my koi fish!”

Ahead of you was a pond about ten feet long, five feet wide, and probably no more than three feet deep but several kois swam right below the crystal surface. They varied in color from bright orange, to solid white, and one was even decorated in splashes of orange, white, and black. A golden colored koi seemed to notice Jeongguk first and raced towards the edge of the pond, followed closely behind by the rest. They swarmed the surface excitedly and the water churned amongst their fins. Jeongguk reached for a plastic container under one of the nearby bushes and pulled a handful of food from it and threw it towards the swarm. He held the container out to you, and you grabbed a handful, delighting in the activity below you.

“The gold one is my favorite and my only one. Her name is Geum. She’s my very first koi, probably around six years old now.”

“This is beautiful, Jeongguk.”

“You really think so?” The way he looked at you told you he was yearning for approval. Perhaps his dad hadn’t come in a long time? It must be lonely in such a large house alone.

“I mean it,” you smiled.

“Come sit,” he said as he gestured towards a large, hand carved wooden bench. The designs along its back and arms were intricate and worn a little with age. “My mom carved it.” Jeongguk noticed you running your finger along the wing of a bird.

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “She made this?”

“My creativity came from her.”

“You must be a lot like her.”

Jeongguk stared wistfully out at the fish who now resumed their lazy swimming about the pond.

“I’m sorry…,” you whispered.

“Oh! It’s okay! I was just thinking about her is all. I just…you know, I don’t take time to think about her like I should anymore. I’ll see things here and there that will remind me of her. Hell,” he laughed, “sometimes I catch myself talking to her like she’s here. She was my biggest inspiration…and my biggest loss.”

You both sat in silence for some minutes more before he spoke up again.

“I almost let this place go when she died. I didn’t harvest any of the teas that year, weeds were overtaking everything, the pond was even filled with all types of weeds and scum. But then one day I had a dream about her. She was sitting in the garden out here and it was beautiful. The day was bright.” He squinted up at the sun as he spoke. “There were bees, butterflies, and birds flying about amongst the tea bushes. No weeds, nothing. And I just sat with her. She didn’t speak, she just held my hand and when I woke up, I felt so…relieved. The next day I came out here and started cleaning the place up and I haven’t looked back since.”

Your mouth vomited the words before your brain could catch up. You were caught up in Jeongguk’s somber story and your heart ached for him and suddenly you wanted to relate to him so he wouldn’t feel alone.

“My husband died.”

You saw him twitch slightly and his grip tightened on the arm of the bench. He turned his body towards you and reached out as if he wanted to hold your hand but drew back.

“I…I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were married.”

“Why should you? It’s not your fault and it’s okay…really. I honestly never planned to just dump that on you.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to lose a spouse, but I am, obviously, very well versed in loss; if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m all ears.” His smiled broadened at the end of his statement, reeling you into his comfortable aura once more.

What could it hurt to tell him? It wasn’t like you were hiding some huge secret.

“Well,” you sighed, “he had a brain tumor.”

Jeongguk sat patiently beside you, not a sound coming from his side save for the occasional tap of fingernail against the wood and the shuffle of his feet in the gravel around the bench.

“Very aggressive. He died three years ago. We met in high school and dated through University. We got married before we graduated. Then, we got our dream jobs. We thought we had it made; we were good financially, our jobs were going well, we got a new house, and we were even talking about kids.” Your voice trailed off at the end as you thought about the children you would never get to meet. Your silent guardian shifted ever so slightly to let you know he was still listening.

“He died within the month that we found out.” Jeongguk’s nails scraped along the wood as his hand made a fist; he was anxious but wasn’t trying to show it. “Of course, I stayed there, I didn’t know what else to do. His family and I…didn’t really get along very well after and we eventually became estranged. They’re still oddly nosey about my life, though. Then, I decided there was nothing tying me there anymore, so I decided to pack up and leave. My life felt like it had a dull, gray film over it all the time. Every time I rounded a corner in my house, I expected him to be there smiling at me while he typed on his computer or sat in the reading nook with a cup of tea, or…,” your voice caught at the end. Jeongguk’s fingers spread out wide on the bench and he moved his hand until his pinky barely touched your leg. “What I wouldn’t have given to see him walking through our front door just one more time.” You had to stop, or you would be in full blown tears before too long.

Once more, silence fell between you. Nothing was strange, his hand stayed steady beside you on the bench, and you willed your tears to not fall. The sun was making its journey across the sky and by Jeongguk’s deduction, it was probably somewhere around 2:00.

“Come on,” he said getting up suddenly. His movements knocked you out of your daze. “I picked some fresh peaches today and I bought some fresh cream from Mrs. Kim, so I have dessert for us.”

“Spying on me? Peaches are my favorite fruit,” you said, trying to lighten the mood once more.

“Lucky guess!” he called back as he headed down the path between the bushes.

Bungeoppang was laid out on his side, still under the tree, and very much asleep as you passed. Once inside the kitchen, Jeongguk removed previously sliced peaches from his refrigerator, placed some in two bowls, and poured cream over them. He grabbed a bento box and brought it to the table with him as the both of you ate. While chewing, he began grabbing bits of the several dishes in front of him with chopsticks and was quickly filling the bento until it was neatly packed. He secured the band around it and stuck it in a bag before tying it shut and sitting it beside you.

With his mouth full he said, “In case you get hungry tonight, or you can have it for lunch tomorrow.”

“You really don’t have to-“

“You think I’m gonna eat this all myself?”

You laughed at his exaggerated gesture of sweeping his arm out across the table as his eyes bulged.

“I guess you’re right.”

That was when you felt it. The first little bit of stabbing pain you hadn’t expected to come back so soon, if at all. That first sting in your heart when your husband died was the worst it had ever been. Days after, the pain in your chest only subsided when you were able to get a few precious moments of sleep. Months later, the pain was dull, but still ever present. A year and then two went by and the pain only came on rare instances when you were having a really bad day. When his words and his comfort was needed the most was when you felt that stab straight through your heart. Yet, here you were, accepting the hospitality of a new friend and you felt the sting. Guilt blanketed you like an old friend, grasping at your shoulders and whispering in your ear. Your smile faltered as Jeongguk looked on and his expression changed to that of confusion before quickly painting a smile on once more.

“I think there is a storm coming in this afternoon. Don’t worry about helping me here, I can clean up, and you need to get home before the weather gets bad.”

He stood up quickly from where he sat and grabbed a couple of plates to bring into the kitchen. You grabbed your bento and bag. The sting was starting to subside and soon you felt guilty for possibly making Jeongguk feel bad.

“I can’t thank you enough for today,” you began. “I really enjoyed everything, and you have a beautiful home here. I only hope to have a garden like yours one day.” You tried to make your smile genuine.

“Well, if you ever need tips, I’m your man.”

“Thank you, again,” you said as you walked to the front door, him following close behind to let you out.

“I’ll see you at the shop then?” He was looking at you with a question in his eyes and high expectations on the rest of his face.

“Of course,” you smiled. Maybe you said it awkwardly. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed your change in mood. You waved before turning and headed back down into town and home.

The sky overhead started to turn a dark shade of gray. You had had no idea that it was even supposed to rain today. Winds picked up and blew leaves across your path. Your chest felt tight and once again, the stabbing pain of guilt seemed like the lightning now streaking the skies. Seconds after you shut your door against the howling wind, the sky opened up. Kyongni trotted out of your room and into the hallway in greeting, rubbing against your legs and purring.

“Is the storm scaring you?” you asked as you picked her up. She only stared at you with sleepy eyes as she continued to purr.

The hot bath you took did nothing to settle the uneasiness in your bones. The wind became high pitched as it came through cracks in the windows and the rain beat hard against your roof. Maybe a book would distract you, but you soon found out that even that wasn’t enough right now. You settled, then, to just turn off the light and lay in darkness. Lightning flashed outside, creating stark shadows against your wall. Turning over, you reached out to Kyongni who lay beside you, curled up, and fast asleep. Why did the weather outside match what you were feeling inside? A storm of emotions seemed to push and pulse inside your heart. On one hand, you were thankful for Jeongguk. He had accepted you with open arms as soon as you moved here and made you feel at home. He had even invited you into his own home. That didn’t mean anything. On the other hand, everything you were doing was wrong. Jeongguk is nice, good-looking, single, and you shouldn’t be talking to him. You had taken vows, to hell with ‘til death do you part’ you had promised someone your life. Even though he was dead, any other feelings you had towards anyone else made you feel as if he would find out. He would find out you were cheating and somehow, he’d never forgive you for it.

What was so wrong with making friends? But you knew, deep down inside, you had come to like Jeongguk. Not just for his boyish good looks, but because of how open, forgiving, friendly, and almost loving he had become. Not loving in the way of falling in love, but of the small gestures; sending you home with tea, leaving food at your door, and inviting you to see his passion.

Maybe if you didn’t pursue it…maybe Jeongguk didn’t even slightly feel the same way as you and you were just overthinking this entire situation. You sighed knowing you weren’t going to be giving yourself any more answers tonight. Brushing your hand along Kyongni’s fur, you finally fell asleep amidst the storm.

You were four months into your new routine in life. Every day, unless you were sick or otherwise detained, you were at the café ready to greet the day with a warm cup of tea. Sometimes Jeongguk would have a new creation for you to try or he’d subject you to a Frankenstein’s monster pastry that he “dreamed of” the night before. Every day he’d greet you with the same huge smile. You had never seen the sadness in his eyes that he held when he talked about his mother again. Sometimes, he would have a bento made of food that he kept tucked away until you arrived.

“You know I can cook, right?” you asked him one day, jokingly, as you passed a cleaned bento box from a previous lunch he had given you.

He simply shrugged as you both passed the boxes. “Sometimes I make too much food.”

But you knew he didn’t. Sometimes, the fruit inside the boxes were so fresh they had to have been cut the same day, if not minutes before your arrival.

On this day, you had entered the café to see the same mystery man reading his newspaper and the chattering book club.

“Have you been to that Italian restaurant in town?” He had asked this while leaning on both elbows, gazing around the café, but not having a direct conversation with you in that moment.

“Are you talking to me?” you asked, but first you had checked behind you to make sure no one else was near.

“Yes, silly. Who else?”

“I thought someone had walked up.”

“So, have you been?”

“Where?”

“Oh my god, ______,” he said rolling his eyes before laughing, “the Italian restaurant, do you not listen to anything I say?” He said it in a mock tone that you had used several times to make fun of your ex mother-in-law.

“No,” you giggled, “I have not. I make food and sometimes I get so much food from you that I don’t have to worry about groceries for a week.”

He stuck his tongue out at you as he rotated his elbows just enough to face you.

“Would you like to go? It can be on me.”

You willed your traitorous heart to stop beating so fast because you were sure he could probably hear it. You were also telling the nagging voice in the back of your brain to shut up.

“Like…a date?”

He sputtered and stood straight at the counter. “I…uh, well…not necessarily…I mean if you wanted it to be I guess, but…uh…we could just,” he started to grab things and frantically organize in a panic, “I could just meet you there I suppose,” he knocked a container full of sugar on the counter, “Crap. So, it’s not a big deal if you-“

“I’d love to.”

His head shot up and he was looking at you with large eyes. Shock was written across his features and you hadn’t even known his eyebrows could go up that high.

“Really?”

“Why not? Let’s do it,” you smiled. You were surprising yourself at how calm you were being. The last few months had been a lesson on forgiveness; forgiving yourself and the actions you deemed “inappropriate”. Doing so had let Jeongguk in a little more and you found yourself feeling a little less guilty and little more drawn to him.

He blew out a heavy sigh of relief, hip hitting the counter as he slumped, and threw a towel over the mess he had made.

“I was trying to think of an exit strategy while I was talking. That’s why I was all over the place,” he mumbled as his cheek pressed against his arm.

Your heart melted a little and your body relaxed as you watched his internal struggle. Despite being just as anxious as you, he managed to always calm you in some way. Being in the café only seemed to heighten his supernatural ability to leave you both breathless and relieved.

“When would you like to go, you anxious little bun?”

He stood straight then, chest out, and a proud look on his face. “Anxious? Me? Also, bun?”

You felt your face burn red at the pet name you had mentally given him and just decided to blurt out like an idiot. Maybe your friendship wasn’t as comfortable as you thought.

“Forget I said that,” you said quickly.

“Oh, hell no. Bun?!” he started to laugh and you saw the man in your peripheral shift his newspaper a little to peer over the top.

“Jeongguk, shut up,” you whispered.

He leaned on his forearms across the counter and got extremely close to your face as he stared in your eyes. You leaned back a little, but your gaze didn’t waver.

“Explain yourself,” he said seriously, but you saw joy swirling in his eyes.

“When you smile…you look like a little bunny,” you said while finally breaking eye contact. You couldn’t look him in the face as you said it.

His smile reached his eyes and they disappeared as he laughed.

“Cute.”

You wanted to die. You were so caught up in him asking you out that you decided to let your guard slip too much.

“Anyway, when would you like to go?”

“Tomorrow? I can close up early.”

“Deal.”

“Not a date anymore?” he winked, but you could see he was seeking validation.

Butterflies swirled in your stomach and there seemed to be several dozen vying for space to fly. You couldn’t help the genuine smile that you gave him in that moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jeongguk,” you said standing from your chair.

He grinned knowingly at you, the most flirtatious you had seen him in a while.

Friday morning was met with the perfect temperature as you sat outside on your back porch with Kyongni in your lap. You were going to forego the tea shop today in favor of cleaning around the house and then getting ready for your “date” later. Standing from your chair as soon as Kyongni jumped down to pursue a lizard, you walked over to the edge of the house to look out towards the water. Down the hill and in town, it was bustling with activity with the fishermen cleaning up for the day and leaving the smaller fish out for the hovering birds. It all seemed normal…it all seemed right. You finally felt good about being here and it was all falling into place.

What you couldn’t see was the storm just beyond the horizon, lying in wait, ready to lay waste to anything it touched.

#love yourself the collab #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #magic shop #jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook x reader #reader insert #tea shop owner!jk #bts #bts fluff #bts smut #bts au #nonidol!au #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Text

Ghost of Me-- Luke&Lily oneshot

Yeah, um. Lie to me and Ghost of You came on while I was driving and this is....what happened. I’m sorry.

Word count: 2705

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

Luke&Lily masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

• • • •

Luke enters his house solemnly, his shoulders are hunched over as he tosses his bags at the end of the couch. He examines the room and a year and a half ago, it would be like nothing’s changed. But a lot can change in three months.

Three months he’s been gone on a short leg of tour and while he’s left before, this one hit him harder. He greets Petunia half-heartedly as he walks down the hall, and he peeks inside her room and his heart stops.

Lily’s toys are gone. Her bed is stripped. The whole room is empty.

Like a wave, the fight you and him had crashed into him. He shut the door and went to fall onto his bed, subconsciously he fell on your side and he could still smell the faint scent of your lotion. Your words and his words swarm in his head.

He remembers thinking that he got this right, leaving you and Lily but then coming right back picking up where you left off. But the more frequent it was that he left, the harder it became. He began to distance himself from you right before this mini three month tour began.

You fought so hard for all three of you and all Luke did was give you and Lily a kiss as he left for the airport. No I love you, no promise of calling.

No calls. No texts. No photos or videos were exchanged within those three months. It was radio silence as Luke went through the motions of performing and doing interviews. He was a ghost of himself and the guys tried to help and talk with him but he isolated himself. He’s good at that.

So he shouldn’t really be all that surprised that you and Lily weren’t here waiting for him with open arms as if all is forgiven. It cuts through him like a branded serrated knife.

It’s three a.m and the moonlight’s testing him as he sits at his piano. The ivory’s shine from the glow of the moon and memories of him playing Lily’s Lullaby while you held her in her arms swim in his head. Sometimes Lily gets so tired she fights sleep, and even though you’re usually good at getting her to sleep, it still renders difficulty.

Combined with your calming rocking and Luke’s voice singing to her, she’d fall asleep within seconds, bunny clutched under her chin.

To drown out the memories, he takes a shot of tequila he has on the piano ledge and fills it up once more from the bottle. His phone buzzes and he’s reminded yet again of what he’s lost.

You and Lily’s smiling faces smile back at him and he scrolls through the album he’s created of his girls. Well, not his girls anymore.

Lily’s shouts for you wake you from an already restful slumber. You haven’t been sleeping all that well since Luke left for the tour. It pained your heart but his hesitancy before he went away was answer enough that the relationship couldn’t continue.

It took three days without contact for you to finally gather the courage to gather all of yours and Lily’s things and bring them back to your townhouse. It was still yours even though you’d moved in with Luke and you’re thankful the mortgage was already paid off on it because you had somewhere to run back to.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay honey,” you hush to Lily lifting her from her crib. She’s crying slightly as she squeezes your neck in a vice grip. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Lu,” she cries and your breath catches.

Even though she wakes like this every night, it still puts you in shock at just how much she misses him too. It breaks your heart but he made his choice. You hadn’t expected him to suddenly be a blue suit guy who works a 9-5 job and become a family man, but you also hadn’t expected him to get cold feet a year and a half in the relationship. You also hadn’t expected him to ghost you.

“I know baby, I miss Lu, too,” you sniff patting her back.

“Lu sing,” she sniffs.

Another pained twist to your heart. You gathered her snuffy and shuffled back to your bedroom. You connected your phone to the speaker and selected her song from the album Luke made for her.

While his voice crooned her to sleep and her breathing slowed, you cried silently into your pillow as you listened to his voice.

You ached for Luke, and each night having to play this for Lily made it even worse.

****

It’s day three of being home alone and Luke’s been avoiding the living room like the plague. It’s where Lily would always dance along to the Disney movie she’d be watching and more often than not, Luke would dance with her.

When she’d be tucked in bed he’d pull you against his chest and dance with you while he sang softly in your ear.

Dancing through our house with the ghost of you never rang more true.

Luke has taken a shower twice a day since he’s been home. The water is scalding as if he thinks it will rub away his sadness and this continued ache for you and Lily. He stands below the water, letting it trickle over him but he finds no relief.

Lily’s giggles and squeals echo in his mind wherever he goes in his house. Her sitting in her high chair feeding Petunia. How she’d climb onto his piano bench and press her tiny fingers to the keys thinking she was playing music. How she’d try to climb up into his bed to cuddle with you and him.

The memories were eating away at him, tormenting him more and more by the second.

All he had to do was call. Find your name (that still had the two pink hearts next to it) and press it.

But would you really pick up? He was an ass, he knows he was, so how can he fix this?

Ashton has tried calling, and so have Calum and Michael but Luke chooses to wallow in his own pity that he created. He dug this hole, now he’s got to be buried in it.

On Thursday evening he’s got some movie on just for background noise and he stares blankly at the screen. He recognizes Adam Sandler but he doesn’t know what the plot is when there’s a knock and a ring at his door.

Jumping to his feet thinking it’s you and Lily, he races to it and has to push piggy away. He’s shocked when he sees Cory standing there, hands in his pockets.

“Hey man, can I come in?”

Luke stares for another moment before he’s nodding and steps aside. What’s he doing here?

“Um, can I get you a drink?” Luke asks a bit awkwardly. It’s not that he and Cory don’t get along, they do pretty well. Cory’s come to some of the Friends of Friends shows and to some of the cookouts Ashton or Calum have.

“Nah, I’m good. Uh,” Cory turns around rubbing the back of his neck. “How are you doing since they left?”

“I haven’t left, if that answers your question,” Luke sighs.

“Look, I sort of know what happened. Y/N told me after she and Lily moved back to the townhouse but take it from me, don’t let them go. I let them go once and I’m so thankful Y/N let me in Lily’s life. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“Has she . . . said anything else? About me?”

“They miss you like crazy. Lily asks for you all the time, she never goes anywhere without her bunny. I mean, she didn’t before, but if it’s out of her hands for half a second she throws a fit. Y/N says she wakes up every night crying for you,” Cory tells him quietly.

Luke’s eyes sting with tears and he covers his escaped sob by a cough. That little known fact cuts deep. He clears his throat before he looks back up at Cory expecting to see pity but he sees understanding in his eyes. Lily’s eyes. Luke’s never noticed that before.

“Why are you telling me this? I know how you still feel about Y/N--”

“Because I know how much she loves and misses you, too. I’ll always love Y/N, we have a history and a good friendship but she’s in love with you, Luke. And I’m okay with that because I still have her and Lily in my life. I like you too,” Cory laughs, “and how you look right now is what I looked like for over a year before I saw them again. Lily’s only been coming by me on Friday’s for the last couple months. Y/N will be home alone tomorrow.”

Luke’s nodding to everything he says.

“Do you think she’ll take me back?”

“I don’t think . . . I know she will.”

Cory walks to the front door and Luke follows behind.

“Hey Cory,” Luke says and Cory turns. He holds out his hand. “Thanks for coming by.”

“No problem,” Cory smiles, shaking his hand and opens the door. “I expect to see the both of you at my place picking up Lily.”

****

It’s a light drizzle as Luke drives to your house, he’s tapping the steering wheel nervously. He hopes Cory is right and that you’re home. He hopes you’ll let him in and accept his forgiveness. When he pulls to the curb he sits for a couple moments trying to gather his breathing and relax his heart. When neither works, he gets out and that’s when it starts pouring.

He hopes this isn’t a sign of what’s to come.

He runs up the walkway to your door, cold rain pelting him as he bangs on the door and presses the doorbell frantically. The light above the door flickers on and he sees you through the curtains of the small window on the door.

For a moment you just stare at each other, your eyes wide in shock before you wrench it open.

“Luke.”

When you say his name he doesn’t even think before he’s colliding his lips to yours, bodies crashing together. You react all too willingly, pulling him inside by the lapel of his leather jacket. He kicks the door shut behind him, locking it in his wake and you take that opportunity to peel his jacket off him.

It’s tossed to the floor in a wet heap and Luke’s hands are on your waist bunching up your shirt. Lips moving furiously together, he pushes you against the wall spreading your legs open with his thigh. You moan quietly and Luke breaks the kiss only to lift your shirt up and off.

His piercing blue eyes stare into yours as his thumb traces your lips prying them open so he can slip his tongue inside. You close your eyes and moan at the all too familiar feeling, your fingers working on the button of his jeans.

Luke pulls you away from the wall so he can make his way to your bedroom. You bang against the hallway walls like a pinball, clothes getting discarded along the way. Lips never leaving lips.

When you’re finally on your bed, Luke hovers over you, his necklaces dangling in front of your face. You comb his wet curls away from his face staring up at him and he stares back, your breathing is heavy. You’ve missed him so much and he’s finally here.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bending his neck down to give you a soft kiss.

“I know,” you murmur curling his hair behind his ears. You stroke your finger down his nose, trace his cupid’s bow and caress his cheek. “I’m sorry I left.”

He collides his lips with yours again and you both scramble to get the blanket over his body, the rain was cold and he’s wet so you didn’t want him to catch a cold. Luke pushes himself into you, you both groan at the stretch of him attempting going in dry.

But you’re both so desperate for each other, you couldn’t wait for foreplay. Luke held his cock at the base, head down as he concentrated on sliding into you. He rubbed his tip against your folds, hitting your clit and it caused you to moan which aroused you.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon lovie,” he pants with each attempted thrust until he finally slides all the way in. Both of you moan at being joined together once again, your nails dig into his shoulders as he pulls out and enters you again.

“Oh yes, Luke,” you sigh, closing your eyes at each pull.

He finds a steady rhythm, gliding and pulling with ease. His left hand is near your head while his right holds onto your stomach as he fucks into you. You’re both moaning and sighing as he accelerates, you open your legs wider so you can cross your ankles on his lower back. You aid him to go faster by pushing on his back and thrusting your hips up into his.

Luke sucks on your neck and kisses the base of your throat until you’re gasping out your first orgasm. He hums along with you.

“Fuck, Y/N, always feels so good,” he breathes and attempts to kiss you.

Your bodies rock and jolt so it makes kissing difficult but you can feel the love there. Luke rotates his hips and somehow speeds up even more until he groans and pulsates inside you. You feel his warmth seep into you and you gasp at the feeling, tugging on his hair to bring his lips back up to yours.

After you both catch your breath and disentangle your sweaty, sticky bodies, he cleans up his mess and is quick to join you in bed. He peppers kisses along your forehead and your chest, anywhere he can mumbling ‘I love you.’

And because you both know each other so well, you don’t have to discuss what happened. It just did, it was a small bump in the road but you’re okay now. You will continue to be okay but when Luke told you “I want you and Lily in my life forever” you couldn’t deny the elation you felt from the finality of his statement.

****

You stayed up most of the night talking, kissing and touching. You were getting familiar with each other again and after you spent the first half of the day in bed making love, it was time to get Lily.

Luke is just as nervous as he was the first time he was going to meet Lily. His knee was bouncing in the seat as you drove to Cory’s house and you reached over to still it.

“She’s going to be ecstatic, baby, trust me,” you smile at him.

As you pull into the driveway, the door is already open and Cory smiles when he sees Luke in the car. Lily is in his arms and Cory points just as you and Luke get out of the car.

“LU!” Lily exclaims and wriggles from Cory’s grip.

She runs as fast as she can, giggling and squealing as she does and Luke runs to her as well. He scoops her up in his arms, cradling her head as she hugs him tightly and he does the same.

“Oh my sweet, I’ve missed you . . . hi my sweet girl,” he sighs, closing his eyes, finally feeling like his heart is whole again by having this little girl in his arms again.

“Dada, dada, dada!” she rambles and Luke opens his eyes in alarm.

Cory nods at Luke as if to say it’s okay and he moves to console you, you’re crying at the reunion.

“I love you so much, Lily,” Luke says and kisses her head multiple times. She pulls back and he wipes away the wetness on her chubby cheeks.

“Dada stay?”

“Yeah, dada’s staying,” he smiles and kisses her nose. She hugs him tightly again and you join in on the hug. You’re all put back together again.

• • • •

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

Taglist: @galcalirwin @cashtonasff5sos @wokeupinjapanisabop @myloverboyash @rotten-kandy @tea4sykes @jannimoeller3 @loveroflrh @iovehemmings @cxddlyash @princesslrh @here-for-the-uproars @katiaw2 @g-l-pierce @fairyintheglass @gosh-im-short @banditocth @dezzym17 @wildflowerxcth @lukeisbaby @spicycal (sarah i tagged you cause you’re the only one i told about this lol i hope that’s okay)

#luke&lily #luke&lily oneshot #luke hemmings angst #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings fluff #luke x reader #luke x single!mom reader #luke x single mom!reader #luke 5sos #luke writing #luke hemmings writing

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hermannsthumb · 5 years

Note

number 17 from those winter prompts!!

17. i get your name during secret santa at work and use the same wrapping paper for my gift to my friend, so…sorry about all the sex toys

from winter writing prompts here

this one is so fucking good but i will admit i am having so much trouble deciding what friends newt has besides hermann LMAO. references to like, not sfw stuff (expected given subj matter) but nothing actually explicit. also yes im filling this a literal year later

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

Contrary to what literally everyone in the Shatterdome might assume, Newt actually really likes picking out presents for Hermann. He might even say it’s easy. Why shouldn’t it be? He and Hermann spend all of their waking hours together. They know every last sordid detail about each other. They can predict the course of arguments and form rebuttals before the other’s even paused to take a breath. Shit--they even finish each other’s sentences at this point.

It’s one of the reasons he’s goddamn thrilled when he picks Hermann’s name for the base gift exchange, the other reason being that now he has one fewer gift to buy, because he was already planning on giving Hermann something in the first place. He’s already bought it, even. It’s two birds with one gift-wrapped stone.

In August, Hermann ruined his favorite nice wool sweater when--turning in a bit of a hurry, in order to properly call Newt an idiot for some stupid question he asked--he caught a single loose thread of yarn on the metal ledge of his chalkboard and ripped a somewhat gaping hole in it. Newt knew he was especially upset about it from his reaction. Instead of shouting, or cursing, or somehow blaming Newt like he’d usually do, he just looked at the hole very sadly and said (just as sadly) “Oh.” In September, after a month of Hermann wearing the badly-patched and ever-fraying thing around anyway (and then finally chucking it), Newt finally managed to track down the same one online. Albeit it with a hefty overseas shipping fee. In November, the new finally arrived.

In December, Newt wraps it up in glittery tissue paper and sticks it in a small snowflake-studded gift bag, along with a few packages of Hermann’s favorite weird English digestives (also shipped overseas), a tin of his favorite shitty instant coffee, and a box of rainbow chalk tossed in for good measure. Hermann’s fun to shop for, so sue him. His tastes are simple and he’s grateful for anything. Newt bought him a heated blanket last year, and when he opened it, he looked like he was about to cry.

He places two tissue-wrapped dildos (one a large tentacle, the other bumpy and neon pink) and a high-quality vibrator in a second glittery snowflake gift bag and pushes that one far away from the other. That one is decidedly not for Hermann.

Hermann’s tastes are simple, but he far prefers practical gifts over personal ones, to the extent that Newt’s tiny splurge with the cookies is pushing it a little. If he ever tried to give Hermann something like a vibrator (though the guy could fucking use it, he’s tenser than a piano wire), Hermann would probably either malfunction or murder Newt on the spot. Tendo, on the other hand (the only other person Newt does holiday shopping for, barring the cards he sends his dad and old bandmates), prefers neither practical nor personal gifts, but instead the weirdest, most useless things that anyone can think of. He and Newt have been swapping accordingly (ugly Hawaiian shirts, weird booze, antique shop finds, etc.) at the past three Shatterdome holiday parties. This year Newt’s going with sex toys. Naturally. If he’s lucky, Tendo will just give them right back, and then Newt’s three sex toys richer.

Newt’s not very lucky.

He’s several spiked eggnogs into the party when he decides it’s a great idea to hand off his gifts. Tendo’s is first, though Newt doesn’t stick around for him to open it, and instead staggers off to find Hermann lurking in the corner wearing a tasteful Hanukkah sweater. He frowns when he sees Newt. At least Newt presumes he frowns because he sees Newt; he could’ve just already been frowning, which seems like a very Hermann thing to do at a party where no less than three different versions of Jingle Bell Rock have come on the overhead speakers. “Oh,” he says. “I was wondering where you were, Newton.”

“Don’t sound too excited to see me,” Newt says. He thrusts the snowflake bag out at Hermann. “Happy Hanukkah, dude! And New Year’s too, I guess. I picked your name.”

Hermann breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, good,” he says. “Last year was a nightmare--they bought me a bloody necktie. When have I ever worn a necktie? Hold this, will you?”

He swaps his plastic cup out for the bag, balances it with one hand on the head of his cane, and rips out the tissue paper.

Then he pauses.

“I know,” Newt says, grinning and taking Hermann’s silence for the sheer overwhelming joy he’s no doubt feeling. Another successful year. Ten points to Newt. “Hey, try it on now, I wanna make sure it fits okay--I wasn’t really sure what size to get.”

“Size?” Hermann echoes in a small voice. His glasses are slipping down his nose. Then, in almost a squeak-- “You want me to try it now?”

“I mean, only if you want,” Newt says. He reaches out and pokes Hermann’s chest. Hermann sways on his feet, like he’s suddenly forgotten how to stand. “You’re a fucking twig, man, but you get everything so big.” He’s swimming in the sweater he’s wearing now, even. “Anyway, I know you ruined the other one—”

“You do?” Hermann says.

“Uh, yeah?” Newt says, because he was literally there. Hermann is giving him the weirdest fucking look of all time. Newt loses the grin. “It’s just a sweater, man, what are you…?”

Newt looks down into the bag. He doesn’t see a sweater: he sees an assortment of sex toys.

He must’ve switched the gift tags.

“Oh, fuck,” he says. “Hermann, that’s--those--”

But Hermann cuts him off with a small cough. His cheeks are bright pink. “I know what they are, thank you, Newton,” he says. He coughs again. “I suppose I did...need another. Not the--I mean--” He flicks the spot of the bag the vibe is in. It’s Newt’s turn to let out a small squeak. “Only I didn’t realize I’d apparently been acting quite so--in need of one.”

Okay. Unexpected turn. Hermann likes getting giant bags of sex toys. Hermann...needed new ones? Hermann uses them in the first place? Newt doesn’t spend long periods of time daydreaming about what Hermann does in his alone time or anything like that, of course, but he always struck Newt as a very...old-fashioned type. “Oh,” Newt says. He shakes himself. He can play this off--keep it cool. “I mean, yeah. Ha! What are lab partners for? Gotta keep you, uh, relaxed, so you can focus.”

“Yes,” Hermann says slowly. His blush spreads to his ears, so bright that it’s obvious even in the poor lighting. “Newton--when you asked if I wanted to try it--was that an, ah, an invitation, or…?”

“Oh,” Newt says again.

Hermann reaches out, very carefully, and touches Newt’s arm.

“You know what?” Newt says, suddenly feeling very warm under his collar. “Yep, it totally was. Let’s do that now.”

They pass by Tendo on their (very quick) way out, who is holding up the sweater meant for Hermann and looking extremely bewildered. Newton purposely avoids catching his eye. “Oh,” Hermann says, “I used to have one just like that.”

“Yeah, I think you did,” Newt agrees.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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studiesinconnoisseurship · 4 years

Text

Leonardo - A Radical Suggestion

1 : INTRODUCTION

For those of us who operate in the Arts and not the Sciences, what is the difference, I wonder, between a hypothesis and a thesis? If both are based on research, is it mostly a degree of conviction? What begins as one can turn into the other. For my part, as I will set out in this essay, what began as an inkling regarding certain pictures ‘by Leonardo’ is now a genuine conviction which has become nailed to a Lutheran door, as it were, as an article of faith. There is something risky about it, it is provocative, radical in fact and will doubtless be considered heretical by those with a settled opposing view. My proposal is this: I believe that four paintings which currently bear the ‘Leonardo’ attribution are not by Leonardo, but the works of two other artists: three by Ambrogio de Predis and a fourth by an unknown hand. I will demonstrate how, using methods of connoisseurship, it is possible to discern the techniques of these other artists in the paintings whilst also offering comparisons to genuine works by Leonardo. I will be looking at the following paintings (left to right): The Virgin of the Rocks (National Gallery London), Ginevra de Benci (National Gallery Washington), Portrait of a Musician (Ambrosiana, Milan) and Lady with the Ermine (presently at Wawel Museum Krakow)

Opinions such as these are likely to provoke outrage quickly turning to contemptuous dismissal, especially among the curators of the galleries concerned. The National Gallery in London, for example, despite already owning the genuine Leonardo Cartoon of the Virgin and Child with St Anne – a drawing, albeit a large one – has placed a great deal of significance in its claim to owning an important painting by the same. Similarly, the National Gallery in Washington has accepted its Ginevra de’ Benci as authentic Leonardo for so long, it has appeared in so many books on him and been seen as his by so many gallery visitors, that any suggestion to the contrary is likely to be dismissed as weird or ridiculous. The portrait of the Lady with the Ermine at Krakow is so confidently ascribed to Leonardo that she even became the poster-girl for the 2011 Leonardo exhibition in London.

In view of this expected hostility I feel it prudent to revert to the more tentative position of having a hypothesis or hunch, a voice that says ‘Suppose that this is the case, what are the arguments for it, what is the visual evidence?’ Hence the title of this Study: a supposition or ‘radical suggestion’.

Before looking in detail at pictures and drawings it is helpful to reconsider what kind of a man Leonardo was. What impression do we gain from all his drawings and notebooks, the records of his thinking? Surely it is of a person of immense curiosity. Mentally he was always moving on, investigating the forms and mechanisms of life, inventing solutions to problems, addicted to exploring the variety, complexity and sheer beauty of anything he encountered. There was, however, a synthetic aspect to his imagination as well as the analytic one, and every now and again he turned to painting and through it gave expression to that poetic rather than scientific side of his nature. This switch occurred at intervals in a life otherwise devoted to description, analysis and problem-solving. Hardly a day passed, one imagines, without him drawing and making notes, but months, even years may have passed in which he was not painting, though a painting awaited his return to it. Even without the subtractions I would make, what has survived of his painted oeuvre is small relative to that of any other major artist one can think of. Painting was not a constant preoccupation of his life, though he took its practice seriously and was interested in its status vis-a-vis other arts.

I : LONDON AND PARIS

The Virgin among the Rocks - National Gallery London

Given all this, what are we to make of the proposition that Leonardo made a large-scale copy of one of his own works? How likely is it that such a restless mind would allow itself to be detained for as long as it would take to paint a huge version of a composition which he had earlier completed and from which he had mentally moved on? Even if some circumstance had forced this on him, would he not have taken the opportunity to make revisions of the composition far more radical than we see? Beethoven at the piano was inspired and inventive: when he took his hands off the keyboard and a lady exclaimed that she would never hear such a thing again, he replied, so the story goes, ‘oh yes you can, madam’ and started off again, yet not repeating himself but inventing along the way because he could not help doing so. The same is surely true of Leonardo, witness the profusion of compositional ideas scattered through his drawings.

The Virgin among the Rocks - Musée du Louvre Paris

The Louvre Virgin among the Rocks is authentic Leonardo, I have no doubt. The forms of the figures, the shape of their faces, the drawing-related observation of plants and rocks, the suggestiveness of the cavernous environment, and the warmth of the palette, are all entirely characteristic of him.

The Virgin among the Rocks - London (left) and Paris (right)

It is the status of the London version that one has to question. The composition is broadly the same, but the colour scheme is colder and bluer, the handling of paint heavier and more prosaic, the atmosphere sepulchrally chilly.

Detail of the Virgin’s head in both paintings

One of the differences between the Paris and London pictures is the lighting which affects, of course, the colouring. In Paris we have a light reminiscent of evening, the western sun to our left; faces, hands and naked bodies glow with a golden warmth. The arm of the infant Saint John, pressing for balance on a ledge of rock, is like an arm in Caravaggio, lit dramatically with warm shadow. Despite the cold, damp, uncomfortable setting, there is the residual warmth of a day, embers of a fire that the angel’s red cloak under the greenish-grey mantle keeps alive. In London we have a lighting closer to moonlight, colder, whiter and bluer; the faces and bodies are illuminated more emphatically but less subtly. This relative heaviness and simplification does not suggest Leonardo but is characteristic of Ambrogio.

Colder blues in London, warmer lights cast in Paris

The circuitry - like a cat’s cradle - of hand gestures and eye focus that depends, in the Paris picture, on the Virgin’s left hand being poised above the angel’s pointing one, is broken in London by the latter’s omission; it is earthed instead by the long diagonal of the Christ-child’s cross. Something important is being left out and the resulting void is a central darkness that engulfs the raised hand of Saint John. Similarly, the beautiful iris and fern at lower left in Paris are replaced by less complicated flora not based, as Leonardo’s are, on drawn observation.

Top row - simplified plants featured in London painting; Centre - Leonardo’s studies of plants; Either side - more accurately observed plants featured in Paris painting

In London the rocks seem heavier and more depressive on the figures because they continue to the top and omit the arching of rock against sky which in Paris reinforces the Virgin’s ‘misericordia’ gesture as she puts her right arm round the head of her Son. The highlight in the gold mantle under her blue robe has a more complicated and spirited calligraphy in Paris and is omitted altogether where it appears in the Paris angel’s shoulder-wrap.

Leonardo’s eye for capturing the highlights and shadows of draped fabrics, clockwise from top left: Three drapery studies; Angel’s robe in Paris ‘Rocks’; Virgin’s hem in Paris ‘Rocks’; Madonna of the Carnation (Alte Pinakothek); detail from Mona Lisa (Musée du Louvre)

A theme in these Studies, and one of the insights that connoisseurship constantly throws up, is that how an artist draws will often if not always be reflected in how that artist paints; pencil and brush are used in similar ways. If, as I suggested earlier, Leonardo drew every day, it is very likely that when he painted, especially when he used a fine brush for more detailed final delineations, of plant stems or the highlights on sleeve-folds for example, we will see a resemblance between his mark-making with a brush and his mark-making with pen or pencil, chalk or silverpoint. And so it is, as these examples show.

Material details - fabric folds in Paris (left) and London (right) paintings

In the London version these final touches are absent because Ambrogio did not have Leonardo’s curiosity about natural forms, and his representations of them are inevitably more generalised and emblematic. Were I a supporter of the Leonardo attribution for the London picture, this omission would worry me greatly. Turn to drawings by Ambrogio, on the other hand, and one sees at once the coarser grain that is evident in the London Rocks.

Facial types in works by Ambrogio show wide eyes like those in London 'Rocks’

One begins to think that some of the challenges of making a replica of the Paris picture were just too demanding for the copyist, hence his omissions and the substitution of linear props like the cruciform staff, the haloes, and the vertical hemline of Mary’s robe. The major difference, however, remains the chromatic one: doing away with the angel’s red robe, combined with the loss of a quintessentially Leonardesque relationship between that red and the green, blue and yellow-gold in Paris, seems the surest sign of all that we are not looking at Leonardo’s work in London but at that of an artist who is happiest working with a palette of cold blues and browns.

2 : WASHINGTON

Cold blues and browns: that is what we find, among other signs, in the Ginevra de’ Benci at Washington (above) - the brown in the bodice, the blue-brown landscape beyond a sallow moon-face. particularly noticeable in that face are the high temple above eyes far apart, and cheekbones even farther apart with shadow under them level with nostrils, making mouth and chin seem disproportionately small. This is not a Leonardo construction of a face, but if one turns back to the London Virgin among the Rocks, it is there in the angel’s face and the Christchild’s though to a less exaggerated degree.

Noticeable, too, are the heavy upper and lower lids to rather long eyes. Here are some drawings, plausibly by Ambrogio de Predis, which reinforce these features as typical of his style.

Recurrent in them is a certain heaviness, an overemphatic modelling and lighting, the strange eyes, the long, broad nose, and a scale that seems to enlarge as one ascends from the chin.

There is a further feature to remark on in the Ginevra and that is the treatment of hair strands and hair curls: they look metallic, as if made from fine picture wire, and the curls are tightly coiled as we see in several drawings. This is Leonardesque in general - it reminds one of his deluge drawings and water studies - but Leonardo the painter does not apply the curling tongs in such a steely manner, there is more poetic sfumato blending the ringlets into shadow, exposing here, losing there. They should not assume more importance than the facial features.

Ginevra de Benci’s tight curls as compared with those from works by Ambrogio - there is a further connection between the painting (bottom left) of St John the Baptist and the inscription on the reverse of Ginevra’s portrait

If I seem to denigrate Ambrogio de Predis vis-a-vis Leonardo it is because the distinction to be made is not just of style but of quality. His way of painting, as of drawing, is heavier, colder, cruder and far less poetically evocative. To make a version of a Leonardo on the scale of the London Virgin among the Rocks is undoubtedly impressive and Ambrogio is a very accomplished artist, but when attribution is at stake it should be recognised, after due consideration and comparison, that his painting in London is nothing like as good as the Paris original. On every measure the Louvre picture is superior. As for the Ginevra, just put it beside La Belle Ferroniere or Mona Lisa, (below) and see how it fails on both connoisseurship counts, likeness and quality.

3 :MILAN

There is another ‘Leonardo’ that fits well with these attributions, and that is the unfinished Portrait of a Musician at the Ambrosiana in Milan (above), a painting which Giovanni Morelli long ago assigned to Ambrogio, I think correctly. We are presented here with a memorable face and a convincing portrait of an individual, but once again the exaggerated lighting, the shape of the eyes and lids, the mouth, the wire-like curls and the low-slung cheekbone that is level with the nostril and far from the eye, betray, when taken together, the style of Ambrogio, not Leonardo.

The Portrait of a Musician and three works by Ambrogio all displaying similarly wide eyes and facial types - Head of Francesco Melzi; Portrait of a Young Man; Head of Bacchus

It is a style that produces an impression of forceful character, but just because it errs on the side of being over-determined it lacks the subtler sfumato, the more reticent but mysterious presence that is the ‘poesia’ of Leonardo. This is more assertively a portrait, but Leonardo, who was no more interested than Michelangelo was in the individual - and therefore not at heart a portraitist at all -aspires to a more universal and depersonalised image, the sublimated type of Mona Lisa. The contrast between the two men is admittedly disguised somewhat by the assimilation to Leonardo’s manner - Ambrogio was, after all, his close associate and admirer and his work is more nearly Leonardesque than most of the master’s followers - but the differences are there to be discerned and if we do not discern them I fear that our conception of Leonardo the painter will remain blurred by inconsistencies that distort our proper understanding of his development. He did develop, but credibly, not by suddenly adopting a new palette or a new way of constructing a face.

4 : KRAKOW

The focus of this Study being on what is, and is not, by Leonardo, I can leave Ambrogio now and turn to a work not by him but not, I believe, by Leonardo either, accepted though it usually is as an important example of his art: the Lady with the Ermine portrait of Cecilia Gallerani at Krakow. Whatever one’s theory about its authorship, few would disagree that it is a work of high quality, beauty and sophistication, almost certainly from the best years of its maker.

With that tribute to the work I shall cut to the quick of the connoisseurship argument by setting it between three other items (clockwise from top right): a painted Portrait of a Lady from the Musée Jacquemard André in Paris, a very impressive portrait drawing of a Woman, from the Uffizi Gabinetto and a profile Portrait of a Woman from the Kress Collection at Washington.

The salient features linking them are the smooth Bronzino-ish modelling, the profiles, the flesh colour, the treatment of folds in sleeves, and the form of the long-fingered hands. That curious pose of Cecilia’s right hand with its long and separated digits is not to be found, I think, in genuine Leonardo, but we shall see that it recurs in this master’s work.

With these initial comparisons in mind one can go on to other drawings and paintings bearing similar characteristics. The very soft muzzy shading within fine linear contours and hairline comes again in a drawing from the Pembroke collection at Wilton House; the woman’s profile repeats that of the Lady in the Kress painting.

Profile of a Woman - Wilton House

At Windsor, in the Leonardo corpus, are three studies of feet, one a child’s, that are clearly in the style of the drawing of the Lady in the Uffizi and the Pembroke drawing. A further drawing, from the Ambrosiana in Milan, not only belongs with it in drawing style but also makes a link with the Krakow painting of Cecilia Gallerani.

One sees the fastidiously neat, centrally-parted coiffure, relatively slight eyebrows, long nose, similar mouth, pointed chin. Some of these items might even be of the same woman; however, it is similarity of type and style, not identity of sitter, that is relevant for attribution, and as a group these drawings and paintings already suggest a common style and a common authorship that is distinct from what we recognise as ‘Leonardo’, and distinct also from Ambrogio de Predis. An artistic personality begins to emerge that makes the attribution of the Krakow picture to Leonardo seem increasingly unsafe and improbable.

The improbability is only confirmed when one moves to a painting of the Virgin and Child with an Angel and Saint John at a museum in Budapest. Here is the Krakow hand; here the marmoreal smoothness and delicate blush to the cheek; here a deep wine-red under blue mantle (and over a black-striped white silk undergarment); here the brown colour (in Cecilia’s right forearm; the wooden border of the angel’s lute); here the precise coiffure, pointy chins, delicately defined finger and toe nails.

Painting of the Virgin and Child with St John shows near identical hand posture to Lady with the Ermine, as well as similarities to unattributed studies of a child’s head (Musée des Beaux Arts Caen) and an engraving of an Old Man (Metropolitan Museum New York)

Relevant to this work in Budapest is a drawing in the British Museum (below) where the Child’s hand raised in benediction is much the same, and the Virgin’s hands around Him similarly arthritic but almost claw-like.

Enhanced close-up of the hand from the drawing showing a similarly “double-jointed” hand to that of the Lady with the Ermine

A much annotated drawing in the Uffizi, purporting to be of Beatrice d’Este, shows the Krakow Master’s refined line, but adding eyelashes which Cecilia Gallerani lacks. There are similarities between this Uffizi drawing and a supposed self-portrait drawing of Melzi at Bayonne: the same smooth modelling and combed hairlines (below).

Mention should be made at this point of an earlier, very charming work, a reliquary from the Sanctuary at Crea which has a portrait on one side of the Marchese di Monferrato and on the other his wife, Anna d’Alencon.

The portrait of the Marchesa is particularly close to the Krakow portrait, not in date but in profile, shape of face and facial features, treatment of hair, black necklace, juxtaposition of brown and slate blue.

More paintings and drawings, some in pen and ink, could be introduced to flesh out the career of this artist and take it back to its beginnings or forwards, to the Sforza Altarpiece; but for present purposes enough, I hope, has been garnered to make the case that the picture, fine though it is, is not by Leonardo but by another artist working at or near the height of his powers.

5 : CANON

Between the subtractions from the current Leonardo canon that I have proposed above and some additions to it that I would like to put forward for consideration, we can usefully mention what remains that is generally undisputed. With regard to early work there is room for dispute. I would argue, pace Vasari, against his having painted an angel in Verrocchio’s Baptism, on the ground that I see no difference between the two angels in the way they are painted, and that that way was Verrocchio’s way, as a drawing by him makes clear.

Verrocchio’s Baptism of the Christ and drawings of the Head of an Angel (Uffizi) and the Head of a Woman (Christchurch)

On another occasion I would at least cast doubt on Leonardo’s hand in the painting of the Virgin’s and angel’s heads in the Uffizi Annunciation while not denying that he contributed to other parts of both that picture and the Verrocchio Baptism. There is also an argument to be made about the authenticity of the much repainted Benois Madonna in the Hermitage.

The Benois Madonna (left, attributed to Leonardo) bears similarities in style with the Virgin from Verrocchio’s Annunciation (right)

Apart from numerous drawings, the London Cartoon among them, we are left with the five pictures in the Louvre (Madonna of the Rocks,Virgin and Child with Saint Anne, Mona Lisa, La Belle Ferroniere, and Saint John the Baptist); the Madonna with the Carnation at Munich; the Last Supper fresco at Milan, the unfinished Adoration of the Kings in the Uffizi; and the unfinished Saint Jerome in the Vatican. What, if anything, can be added?

Leonardos at the Louvre

Leonardos around the world

5 : ADDENDA

I have not seen, nor do I know the location of, this probably small painting - perhaps a fragment, perhaps of the head of the Virgin (below). It was once in a private collection in Lugano, but is known to me only from a small but fortunately colour reproduction in an obscure catalogue of an exhibition of ‘Masterpieces of European art’ compiled by Amadore and Tony Porcella, at Tally Ho, Las Vegas, in 1963.

The book is a curious miscellany with some questionable attributions, but this one image has stuck in my mind and I remain as strangely confident now as I was when I first saw it that the original, if one knew where it was, would turn out to be a genuine early work by Leonardo, as the Porcellas claimed.

Place this image next to the renowned drawing at Turin of a woman’s head, and it is fairly easy to turn that head around a little and down a little to get the same or a very similar physiognomic type that is classic Leonardo. Place it against the Angel’s head in the Louvre Virgin among the Rocks and much the same match is achieved, with also, significantly, the same combination of red and green from a palette that is decidedly warm - the necessary warmth of an umber ground for anything to be by Leonardo.

Faces in drawings by Leonardo compared with Porcella image

Colours in both Porcella image and Louvre Virgin of the Rocks

My other proposal on the credit side is a painting at Wilton House near Salisbury, one of a number of extant pictures on the theme of Leda and the Swan, a subject known from his drawings to have occupied Leonardo’s attention. This Wilton Leda is ascribed to Cesare da Sesto.

Leda and the Swan attrib. Cesare da Sesto - Wilton House

When I saw this Leda in the National Gallery’s 2011 Leonardo exhibition I remarked to my companion ‘Isn’t this good enough to be Leonardo’s?’ and added, to myself, ‘but I suppose the experts know something we don’t’. Now, after further consideration - seeing how faithful all aspects of the picture are to the pictorial language and practice of Leonardo, and finding in the language and practice of Cesare da Sesto nothing that convinces me that he could mimic Leonardo’s so perfectly - I simply ask of those experts: if I am missing something on the visible surface of that picture that clearly demonstrates that it must be by Cesare da Sesto and cannot be by Leonardo, please provide an equally visual argument to explain that case. To my eye the head of Leda is nowhere near the characteristic female head in Cesare’s work, but is extremely close to well-known drawings by Leonardo.

Examples of Faces in works by Cesare da Sesto - details from Madonna and Child with the Lamb; Study of a Man’s Head; detail from Madonna and Child with Sts John and George

Studies for Leda and the Swan by Leonardo at Chatsworth (Top Left) and the Royal Collection at Windsor

The warm palette and all the background and foreground of the composition are likewise relatable to Leonardo and to studies by him of mountains, children and plants.

The children in the painting are reminiscent of sketches by Leonardo

Landscape details can also be compared to studies by Leonardo, like those at the Royal Collection

Of course artists make copies of work by other artists, but in doing so they cannot help unconsciously introducing traces of their own habitual styles of figuration, physiognomy and palette. We know that even an artist with a conscious desire to deceive people (who therefore studies what he copies very carefully) betrays these personal idiosyncrasies. The Wilton picture, I suggest, merits consideration as authentic Leonardo. It is a work of remarkable quality, better, surely, than anything Cesare da Sesto ever achieved, and I would be quite happy to see it slipped into the oeuvre of Leonardo pittore, somewhere, at a guess, before Mona Lisa, because of the less veiled and mysterious landscape. I would add that what could be an autograph study for, rather than after, the head of the Wilton Leda is a beautiful grisaille (11 by 8in) sold by Christie in New York on 7 Dec 1977.

6 : CONCLUDING

I hope that this Study and its predecessors helps to demonstrate to anyone sceptical of the value of connoisseurship that, in common with any form of criticism, it is not a science but definitely a discipline, and one moreover that, properly practised, with plenty of close visual comparison can lead to a reappraisal, sometimes, as here, quite radical, of some of the leading lights in our pictorial heritage.The word ‘close’, however, is to be emphasised. There is no point in having a juxtaposition like this one (below) from a recent National Gallery exhibition catalogue, where the drawing is insufficiently similar to the detail in the painting and bears no resemblance to any drawing by Leonardo. Comparison must be accurate enough to advance an argument rather than spread confusion.

There is no lack of attention paid to Leonardo, but it is too often of a kind that produces claims of authenticity such as the Salvator Mundi of current fame, which connoisseurship, if applied, could show to be misplaced.

Alternatively, attention is of the kind that is not radical enough and tends to re-present the same items from one monograph or exhibition to the next, simply because it would look strange to omit them. The accumulated weight of past opinion confirms the rightful place of, say, the Ginevra de’ Benci in any presentation of Leonardo the artist. If it becomes unthinkable to leave her out, it becomes ever more eccentric to question her inclusion; so she is re-displayed or re-produced ‘on the nod’, with no questions asked.

There are, sad to say, vested interests at work here. The Ginevra, like so many famous images, belongs in, and to, a famous museum. Its curators, and curators everywhere, develop a quasi-proprietorial relationship with ‘their’ collections that is not so very different from that of private collectors. Naturally they do not want to risk asking, or inviting, questions that could undermine the prestigious status of a work in their care, lest doubts should lead to a less prestigious one. The reputation of connoisseurship itself has unfortunately been tainted by practitioners having these or other sorts of vested interest. Unattached to any institution I am powerless but lucky in this respect at least: being a private researcher I have no vested interest at all. Whether a picture is by Leonardo da Vinci or by Ambrogio de Predis is of no concern to me beyond my desire to ascribe it correctly, no matter who owns it or what its market value may be.

For all sorts of unquantifiable reasons I value Leonardo. I hope that the questions I raise here may lead to a more coherent, less inconsistent picture of his enduringly beautiful art.

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oftripps · 5 years

Text

“ –– wow. ” it’s not so much a critique as it is a g-rated expletive. tripp forces a smile mid-chew and blinks. “ my tastebuds are screaming. gah–– uh, singing. singing. ” he avoids swallowing and as ring-decorated fingers snag a napkin, wide eyes drifting to the tabletop as a small jingle breezes past tensed lips. “ ~ allergic to mushrooms ~ ”

or, alternatively: this is somethin’ new! the caspar slide pt. 2 !! & this time, it’s ‘bout to get funky !! so i’m linc and this is tripp and he’s........ a trip, honestly, so let’s just... yeet on into this ––

( joe keery + 22 + muse 12 ) isn’t that phillip joel “tripp” goodman over there? i heard he joined faction: one after they got back to west ham. it’s funny, ‘cause they were only on the service trip because HIS BANDMATES DUPED HIM INTO THINKING THE SIGN-UP WAS FOR A WOODS-THEMED OPEN MIC GIG. hopefully they fit in there – they’re JAUNTY but also OUTRÉ. oh, i’m sure they’ll be fine.

out the door ! ( tripp goodman: a roadmap )

look up townie family in the dictionary and you’ll find a portrait of the goodmans directly beside. these folks have a looooong flippin’ legacy here in lil’ ole west ham, kansas. it all started with montgomery goodman, a good man, who helped west ham’s founders break ground on this midwestern charmer several centuries ago. and now, the goodmans still live on the same property –– a refurbished farmhouse ( now closer to mcmansion ) surrounded by five acres of roooooollin’ hills. once upon a time, they were farming folk. now, theresa and joel goodman run the town’s one and only veterinary clinic.

honestly, growing up? tripp was a problematic kid. he’d take in frogs from the woods and start his own frog hotels. he’d sneak pets from the clinic to school who “ needed help learning their numbers ”. in class, he’d flick sunflower seeds at the backs of his peers’ heads and, when threatened with discipline, claim he simply “ wanted to see if they’d grow ” . so no, to answer your question–– tripp never really saw the real wrath warranted by his rulebreaking.

in fourth grade, he chose the saxophone as his required instrument. he caused such a commotion in his house, that his parents asked his teachers to suggest something quieter. the viola. the flute. the clarinet. the piano. instruments came and went,;instruments were quickly mastered and abandoned. because dear lord, how many times could they listen to the spongebob theme song played on woodwind ?! on strings ?! once middle school rolled around, little phillip joel knew his way around a whopping total of six instruments, a tally that would only grow in the coming years. eventually, his parents caved and allowed him to keep playing, so long as he respected instrument curfews. they gave song requests to avoid hearing the same pieces on repeat: the goodman household was probably the only one blessed with an oboe-and-beatbox rendition of under the sea. young phillip joel’s take on the issue was simple: not all heroes wore capes.

( tw: domestic unrest, mentions of violence ) theresa and joel split when tripp was 9. just seven months later, tripp’s mother moved in with her girlfriend: tripp’s guitar teacher, ms. lillith. tripp didn’t mind ms. lillith. she was chill. he came to find out she could knock back a chocolate milk almost as fast as he could, and she liked her grilled cheeses with swiss only. his best friend became a thirty-six year old woman who happened to be his mother’s girlfriend. and that was fine. he could dig it. but joel goodman? oh no. his family name was tarnished. the scandal was too much to bear. joel sued for full custody and nearly made it, thanks to hometown politics and loyalties. but then he made one fatal mistake: he crossed his own son.

at 10 years old, fifth grade phillip joel returned home to his father’s after school with three fingernails painted effervescent blue. sidney frasier made me so cool, he gushed as he put his colored nails on proud display. dad, aren’t i so cool? the next day, his dad enrolled him in the town’s peewee football program. he returned home from his first practice with a black eye and a split lip. from a ball, the coach insisted. hit the poor fella square in the face, real strong. phillip joel put up a fight against football; it wasn’t for him. it conflicted with music practice. couldn’t he just play music with ms. lillith instead?

the custody battle persisted. they settled on a parenting schedule. joel contested, consistently, months later. and so the cycle persisted up until phillip joel’s 12th year, when he was knocked out cold on the football field. the broken ribs came from hefty tackles. bruises from the fall. concussion from the impact. but theresa spun it to her advantage: joel had since started coaching the middle school team. this was an instance of parental neglect. and, when the courts didn’t comply, she instructed her son to jump down the stairs. one broken ankle later, and joel goodman was accused of child abuse. his word against his injured son’s. the maneuver won theresa full custody. phillip joel has yet to forgive himself.

after the custody battle’s conclusion, joel stayed in town: but phillip joel didn’t want a thing to do with sharing his name. his mother still scolds him as phillip joel, but to everyone else, he became tripp –– inspired by his knack for, you guessed it!, tumbling over his own two feet.

in high school, tripp was the class clown. always smirking, always grinning, always ready to catch someone off guard. he became a pivotal part of west ham high’s jazz band, and even formed a small group with a few buds: face. they played some school events: homecoming, pep rallies, prom. garage-baked young rock, their songs often preached meetings under bleachers and high school never ending.

in senior year, the band saw a reboot: and after assuming a more indie, spacey sound and a nifty new name –– 1757. –– they saw a rise in local celebrity. coffee shops commissioned them for jam nights. they played on the local radio. so they collectively decided to stick around and see how far they could ride this west ham fame train. with tripp as their frontman, they always leave a memorable impression: he’s not exactly the most run-of-the-mill performer.

1757.’s sound is reminiscent of LANY: i’ve reblogged a few tunes onto tripp’s blog for reference. he’s v much a paul klein / matty healy vibe. big into music. big into losing himself in it.

so what was he up to before the service trip? playin’ tunes. working part-time as a waiter. and brainstorming ways to get out of going on this trip, as soon as he realized his stupid bandmates lied about the form he signed. an open mic in the woods ! pah ! he should have known. but the concept sounded pretty flippin’ cool.

wear our shades on our nose, 'cause we're cool like that ( tripp goodman: the man, the myth, the ledge )

oh god, he’s w e i r d . he believes in goblins and ghosts and aliens ( oh my )!

still VERY VERY close with his mother. v broken up about not being able to get through to her, because it was about to be his parents’ wedding anniversary and they were going to anti-celebrate it with big slices of oreo cheesecake and setting things on fire.

how he feels about coming home to west ham: post apocalyptic version.

uhhhh... can he please get a waffle? specifically a cinnamon raisin waffle with extra cinnamon and a shit ton of syrup? actually. syrup with a side of waffles?

why he was banned from his personal twitter.

“ do you even lift, bruv? ” * proceeds to pick up a teacup & lift his pinkie like a true knock-off british monarch, shitty accent included *

listens to wham! and glam rock. unironically.bluetooth speaker mounted on his bike. no helmet! like an absolute boss. he knows!! wild!! shades on. it’s 2am. it’s dark. but true swag obeys no clock.

catch him biking everywhere stranger things style, actually. his bike’s name is milo because he can roll on for miles. mess with milo and he’ll fuck u up. aka find out if you’re lactose intolerant and slip heavy cream into your meal.

has a strong vendetta against blue doritos. which might take root in some horrific experiences involving cheez wiz, cool ranch, weed, and the new york subway system at 4am on a tuesday. spring break freshman year of college. oof.

he has a lil drawwwwl. tease him about it. he’ll probably blush.

stress-hums chili’s babyback ribs without realizing. catch him singin’ that about to be murdered.

weapon of choice: kindness.

actual weapon of choice: baseball bat.

he will write little jingles to keep morale up. “ so we’re trapped / cash us inside / how bou’ dat ? ”

has a passion for introspective literary quotes. but... has somehow managed to learn each and every one wrong.

friggin’ loves superheroes even though he can’t be bothered to watch the films? he just… always used to get made fun of for liking comic books even though he never read them? “ arachnid man is uh... heh. he’s pretty dope, huh? ” he embraces the falsehood. someone call him on it.

9/10 times if he’s in the gym, it’s just to eat his donut and watch pay-per-view movies on the bike for free.

apple pie can absolutely be breakfast if you try hard enough. jeez. get with the times, man!

he had a legitimate pet rock before going on this service trip. but has no idea where that bugger’s gone. probably got fed up with tripp serenading him with “ we will rock you ” at all hours of the night.

lawful good. will wave other drivers on forever.

got into an accident on his bike once. bitch broke his arm and he just kept on smiling. “ no you have a nice day! and uh.... hey. mind if we like... call an ambulance? ”

low key feels like he’s the reason his parents’ marriage crumbled. low key guilty about it. low key wonders if maybe he lived up to his father’s expectations, he might have saved them a lot of grief.

give benny goodman by saint motel a listen and tell me that’s not his soul in audio form.

known for slightly hyperbolic storytelling.

pansexual as heck. falls in love. hard. it’s a mess. he can’t hide it. hence the shades.

he has brilliant hair. and it’s immortalized in his high school yearbook.

is hellbent on being a source of positivity in this terrible situation. can he interest you in a meme in these trying times? how ‘bout a granola bar? maybe a good ole game of mash?

he’s convinced this is an elaborate prank. or a social experiment. maybe aliens. but let’s not question it too much, let’s just.... have a good time? hakuna matata? no worries? lol where the twizzlers at?!

leaves a voicemail for his mother every morning and every night. maybe he cries. maybe.

he has one ear pierced because like.......... senior year of high school, he wanted to feel more cool.

allergic to mushrooms, shellfish, eggs, and harbingers of doom.

he truly boggles minds. just.... v out there? v spacey. he closes his eyes and drifts about on stage, fingers dancing on the keys, body moving in eclectic ways. he says “groovy” and fuckin’ means it. he dresses in prints inspired by grandma’s carpet. lots of half-buttoned flowy shirts, boots, tailored statement pants, dangly necklaces. he’s got his hands full of rings –– they symbolize milestones. and some are just, like... pretty. and one’s his mother’s old wedding band.

where the hell are my friends ! ( wanted connectz. )

i was gonna do a whole section on this and got lazy but like.... anything. all the things. good, bad, ugly, beautiful. hurt him. make him suffer. but also support him a bit.

i imagine he’s got a solid squad goin’. he’s in faction one too, so... hmu for those.

i feel like he’d be pretty chill with the greeks? yeah bro, he parties. he’ll chill. he’ll crack open a cold one and pretend to understand what those letters on your jacket mean! pie-apple-fate-uh? cool stuff !

ride or dies. pls.

he needs someone to like....... melt his heart. maybe someone unexpected.

thisssss got long & disorganized but yes! let’s plot! let’s do this thang! #hype!!

#apogeeintro #✰ mother trucker dude; that hurt like a buttcheek on a stick ! isms.#if u cannot tell...... he is a gay ass MEME

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everythingcollided · 6 years

Text

Ease [Peter Parker]

(credit to owner)

Summary: Peter meets a girl and the circumstances are not ideal.

Word Count: 3,147

Warnings: Panic attack, Swearing, Mugging(?), Angst(?), Fluff(?)

A/N: If you want to request something, you should totally request something.

It was excessively cloudy tonight.

Peter stood against the metal frame of his fire escape, heart pumping furiously against his bare chest and fingers running through the tangles in his tousled hair. Fear coiled around his stomach and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe. He thought that getting outside - feeling the cool fresh air surround him - would help, but it only seemed to make it worse. Closing his eyes brought remnants of what he’d just seen in his dreams and keeping them open made the anxiety thrumming around him multiply by ten.

He tried to use what Tony had taught him, when the dreams and attacks had first started.

Breathing wasn’t working.

Senses. No. Screams. Were they real? Everything was dark, blood was everywhere he looked. He could smell it, metallic and heavy. It was in his mouth. Everywhere.

Everywhere.

He was dying. The wind was going to sweep him away again. His lips were moving, but what were they saying? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Was that in his head? Is this real?

Is he real?

Something burned against his arm. Him? No no he was touching...the metal..wasn’t he? His arm was growing heavier. No, something was pulling him.

He didn’t want go.

Not again.

He didn’t want to go.

Blue. Not red. Not black.

Blue. What was blue? The Spider-Man suit, he had a blue sweater, his favorite color was blue, blue blue blue.

Eyes were blue.

Eyes. He was looking at eyes. Pretty eyes. Summer skies and blooming flowers and rain clouds and river beds. They were huge and warm and not blood. Not blood.

Breathe. It sliced through his ears like a classical piece, like the piano at that fancy sushi place he went to with Aunt May before he threw up and they had to leave. Smooth, high and sweet. Honey. Milkshakes. The old t-shirts filled with terrible jokes he always wore to school.

He was touching something. Soft, like Aunt May’s hug when he came back. Focus on my hand. There’s that sound again. A voice. Yes, it was a voice. And the something he was touching was a hand. It was cold, Peter chose that to focus on as he ran his fingers over the grooves, against the fingernails. He could feel the slight uneven coats of the paint on the surfaces.

Keep on looking at me. The rushing in his ears was beginning to morph into car horns and metal clangs and the sounds of the couple arguing in the apartment below him. The blue was unmoving and relentless. “Breathe. Breathe with me.”

He tried to, shallow, uneven and tight, but he did. “Again.” The voice commanded. Another one, he forced out.

Senses. Peter attempted to find them again. He could see the face in front of him; the serious expression of a girl, dried tear trails - did he do that? - and a pile of hair sticking up in fragments on top of her head. He could hear her gentle breathing in sync with his, tires against pavement, the bass thump from an apartment close by. The taste of sleep was on his tongue, an alleviating difference from metal, despite how nasty it was. A gust of wind brought the scent of lavender to him and instantly he could feel his eyes droop, his entire body droop.

Hands gripped him as he careened, and blue was the core of his attention again. The skin between the girl's eyebrows pinched as they furrowed. “Um,” The shift from serious to nervous was so sudden Peter’s brain whirled. “Are you...Where…”

She huffed. “You should get to sleep.”

She was right - his limbs weighed with exhaustion - but he wanted to ask her so many things. First being, who the hell she was, where the hell did she come from, and why the hell did she help him? He wasn’t even completely sure she was real.

All of the things he wanted to say, and when he opened his mouth, “Thank you.”

She nodded. “Yeah, you’re welcome. I, uh, live below and I was getting some air when I heard you. I have some experience with...these types of things so,” she rocks on her heels and she’s radiating nervousness, but her eyes are still locked on his. “That’s it.”

There’s answers to two of his questions, and he wasn’t too keen on asking the last one. He’d had enough agitation tonight and all he wanted to do now was go back to bed before he collapsed on the contraption outside of his room.

Peter started towards his open window. His chest ached and there was a dull throb near his right temple that he was really looking forward to erasing with some ibuprofen. Of course he stumbled in the process, but the girl was there steadying him before he could blink. He would feel embarrassed if he was alert enough to, but he currently just blurted out thank yous every ten seconds.

When he was finally safe and the helpful girl assured of it, she smiled down at him. “I’m Indie, by the way.”

Halfway cut off by a yawn, he wasn’t confident that she heard his mumbled, “Peter.”

But she nodded and her smile widened. “Maybe next time we see each other it’ll be under better circumstances.”

She’d disappeared before he could respond.

He saw her again a week later.

The circumstances were not better.

Peter had already been outside for a while, sitting daringly on the ledge and letting his legs hang above the vehicles traveling through the night. He didn’t know how long he’d been motionless, letting his thoughts run wild with chemistry reviews and possible technological advances that could be applied to his suit when the escalated volume of voices from the space below dragged him back to reality.

Hearing them wasn’t a new concept, but tonight the noises were surprisingly loud. He could almost make out the heated words being thrown around from where he was.

There was a crash, and then everything went quiet. Peter waited.

Nothing else.

He was debating maybe going back inside and paying a visit to them - making sure things were okay - when there was another sound. This one was closer.

Right under him.

He bent so that he could see through the gap in the metal, where the ladder led down, and almost completely fell off when he recognized the bundle of bright hair.

Indie. Peter had been keeping an eye out for her a lot since she’d helped him that night. She couldn’t have gone to Midtown Tech - he’d been hyper-aware of every student there recently - and not once had he caught her outside of the apartment building. He’d wanted to talk to her, properly thank her for helping him out without being drained from the experience.

Here was his chance.

Before he could open his mouth to say something (most likely)stupid, he noticed the shake in her shoulders, the small sounds escaping from where her head was buried into her hands.

Something in Peter’s chest tugged at the sight and his feet carried him down the steps until he was standing behind her. “Indie,” is as far as he got before he realized he didn’t know what to say. He really had no clue what was wrong and, now understanding that she’d come from the apartment where he’d heard the crash before, he had a feeling that it was bad.

It was too late to back out though, she’d jumped and whirled to face him before he could take off. Peter felt especially affected when he saw the tears gathering by the lashes of the blue eyes that had supported his grasp to the present only days ago.

Peter prided himself on knowing the difference between good people and bad people. Indie was, without a doubt, a good person. No good person deserved to be as upset as she clearly was now. She’d helped him when he needed it. She knew what to do, knew how to calm him down, knew that after going through it he’d be exhausted and not up for being chatty.

Peter however, just stood there, staring.

He felt like an idiot.

Even more so when in an awkward attempt to do something, he opens his arms because if he can’t say anything why not offer a hug right?

Wrong, he wanted to throw himself into the sea of cars below them.

But, to Peter’s utter, utter surprise, Indie shuffles forward and burrows herself into his chest.

He stands there while she sobs against his math pun t-shirt for a few stunned seconds until he delicately wraps his arms around her form. The dreamy blue sweatshirt swallowing her feels almost translucent against his fingertips as he runs them in a clumsy pattern along her spine.

What could he possibly say? Hey, I’m sorry you’re crying wasn’t exactly uplifting.

Peter twirled a strand of rogue hair around his finger. “I-It’s okay,” he curses himself for the stutter - she smells like lavender and it’s a really nice thing to focus on. “I, um, I’m here.”

It’s pathetic but it’s something.

“Thank you,” her voice is small when she speaks up after a few minutes of silence and Peter rocking them back and forth in an attempt to distract himself from the tinge of awkwardness to the situation.

Indie slowly lifts her head to interlock their eyes, and it’s earth against ocean - a bubble of frozen time. Peter’s heart skips a beat, timidity rising pink against his cheeks as he offers a small smile.

She jumps away from him, suddenly, as if he’s stung her. Peter was used to girls not wanting to be within five feet of him and Ned. They were nerds, pretty girls didn’t want anything to do with them.

His stomach still dropped, though.

“I’m sorry,” Indie’s voice is meager and her head is bowed so that she doesn’t have to look at him. “Really sorry. God, this is embarrassing. I didn’t mean to cry on you - I mean, we don’t really know each other so that must have been so awkward for you I’m so -”

Peter takes a step forward, careful not to touch her. “It’s fine,” his lips twitch with amusement, “I guess we’re even now?”

He’s glad to see her lips lift. “Yeah.”

There’s a tense silence.

“Are you okay?”

It takes a moment for her to lift her head and when she does the expression lying on her face emits surprise. “Fine,” she pauses and tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear, eyes briefly fluttering closed. “Just...family drama.”

Peter wondered what kind of drama could be so bad that you’re forced out of your own home to cry, but he doesn’t push her. It’s none of his business.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Their eyes clash again and Peter lifts a shoulder. “Still sorry.”

That watery blue warms at his words.

Two more late night talks and Peter finally gets the courage to ask her to hang out outside of the fire escapes.

As friends, something he has to heavily emphasize when she looks as if he’s just run over her cat.

Indie agrees and soon they’re getting coffee together and having movie nights. They genuinely click - it doesn’t really surprise Peter - and it’s like they’ve known each other forever.

It’s a month before she tells him why she was crying that night. Apparently, during the attack on New York all those years ago, her brother had disappeared. Months later, he showed up at her door dirty and covered in blood and bruises. He never opened up about what happened to him while he was gone; throwing things and yelling when someone pushed him too hard to recount the events. Years later and he had improved, but he still had bad days. A lot of them.

The story was told with an influx of tears from Indie’s end and while helping her through it Peter promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen to someone again. It wasn’t necessarily the Avengers’ fault, but he still felt somewhat responsible.

Days later, Indie gently brings up that first night. She’s giving him space to back out because she knows it’s a sore subject. He appreciates her so much for that.

Peter lies. Says it was just a nightmare, which, when you think about it technically isn’t a lie, it’s just not the full truth.

He could tell she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t dig for answers.

Peter hadn’t gotten around to telling her that he was Spider-Man. She deserved to know, but every time he even got close things would come up or he would chicken out. He felt guilty. She was being so open with him and he couldn’t return the favor.

But he was prepared to tell her tonight. Tony was on a date night with Pepper and Happy had repeatedly informed him of zero missions(not without telling him to stop calling) so that part was covered. Aunt May had been encouraging their relationship since Indie came knocking at the door for their first movie night and didn’t even blink at the mention of her coming over - “Just keep the door open, Peter!” - so the only interruptions that could occur were from Indie’s end.

Peter just had to sneak in his nightly patrol beforehand.

He could barely focus. His stomach was in all kinds of knots and Karen kept informing him that his heart rate was higher than normal. His webs missed their target twice and he’d slammed into a rooftop at least five times.

No bones were broken.

Yet.

Peter didn’t know whether to feel relieved or dreadful when he heard someone scream. On one hand he had something to distract himself, and on the other someone was in trouble and he was so off his game today he might not be able to save them.

Nevertheless, he swung himself between brick structures to locate the source with Karen’s help.

He found himself in a dark alley, half highlighted by the orange light cascading along the sidewalk. The air was heavy with the rancid smell of garbage and Peter had to hold his breath and try his hardest not to imagine what it’d be like if he were to throw up in the suit.

Two shadowed figures were moving around in the deeper part of the space and with a request to adjust his eyes, Peter could see that there were actually three shapes. He crept closer, careful to not crunch against the discarded soda cans and Styrofoam cups littering the concrete. He almost squealed when he heard the squelch of something under his foot.

Two of them were obviously men; broad shoulders and tall forms exposed that. One was shuffling through something in his hands and the other was holding the third figure against the wall forcefully. Their cries were muffled, escaping in hoarse whines and small coughs. The pitch of them and their frame indicated that it was a girl.

Peter’s blood boiled.

“Well, this is no right way to treat a lady.” They freeze at the sound of his voice and he can feel their determination going into this drain away at the sight of him in the ominous lighting.

One lets go of the girl, her collapsing and beginning to cough violently, and the other clutches the object in his hands - most likely the victim’s purse - and tries to make a run for it.

It’s easier than usual to web them to the wall, or maybe Peter’s too angry to really tell. He orders Karen to ring the police and is alleviated when she relays that they’re already on their way.

Peter snatches the purse away from the man who’s glaring at him with everything he has left and returns it to the girl. “Thank you,” she chokes out, in a voice he could recognize anywhere.

It’s Indie.

He has to take a few deep breaths to eliminate his surprise and animosity towards the two men groaning against the walls before he responds. The words holy shit are repeating themselves in a mantra against his ears. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Peter helps her up as he speaks, and she lets out another cough at the jerking. “Just bruised, I’ll be fine. Could’ve been worse if you didn’t show up.”

She’s good at hiding the fear in her voice, anyone who hadn’t known her for months would believe her, but Peter knew better. She was shaken up, Peter guessed because she was thinking about the similarities between her experience and her brother’s. Hoping he didn’t go through the same thing.

His heart hurt.

If he had just gotten there sooner...

Sirens wailed to silence his thoughts and a duo clad in police uniforms were dashing down they alley just as they reached the end. Peter pulled Indie further into his side, too hesitant to let her go. She didn’t seem to mind it, she just let him support her.

When a lady with kind eyes waved a badge in his face and asked if Indie could answer questions about the attack, Peter took them on. The girl seemed lost in her own thoughts. Marks that matched the shapes of fingers stretched around her neck and there was a light cut on her cheek.

Peter needed to lead himself away from the violent thoughts whirring around him. He didn’t want to do something he’d regret later, notably when he knew Indie wouldn’t want him to do it either. Regardless if she knew his identity or not.

“Could I walk you home?” he asked after the drama was over and the two men had been stuffed into the back of a car. “I wouldn’t want you walking alone after what happened.”

Glassy blue eyes glanced up at him. “Yeah, of course.”

He had to play dumb to get her address, which was harder than usual because of the guilt gnawing at him. He felt terrible and in a desperate attempt to make her smile, picked her up bridal style. She’d shrieked and giggled and Peter’s mood lightened the smallest bit.

He placed her down right outside the door to their apartment building. “Have a good night all right? Get some sleep.”

Indie nodded, her eyes squinted and calculating. It made him feel on edge and so he gave her a smile - even though she couldn’t see it - and was almost to shooting a string to latch onto the lamp post when her fingers lopped around his wrist.

She pulled him so that they were face to face and gave him a soft smile, pivoting on her toes to press a kiss to his mask.

The skin underneath tingled pleasantly and within seconds red lit him up like a firework.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

He watched her stroll through the glass doors with a silly grin coating his lips.

Wait.

Peter?!

#peter parker #spider-man #peter parker imagine #spider-man imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #marvel #mcu #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #tom holland #tom holland imagine #spider-man fic #spider-man x reader #peter parker x reader #fluff #romance #lyd writes

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deadcactuswalking · 4 years

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 09/10/2020

Okay, so as you know this show has been on a “hiatus” for reasons I explained in the last episode and I had been thinking of different ways to continue this. Eventually I came to the conclusion that it does not really matter if I skipped tens of songs, maybe even more than 100, because a lot of them don’t have lasting success and if I kept doing these massive blocks of songs from months ago I would pretty much get nowhere by the end of the year. So, I’m writing this on Saturday, meaning the UK Singles Chart updated yesterday, and I think it’s about time I get back in schedule. This week’s #1 is “Mood” by 24kGoldn and iann dior, and let’s discuss the new arrivals in the UK Top 75. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Dropouts and Returning Entries

So, how will this work? Well, it’s going to be pretty simple. No rundown of the top 10, no climbers and fallers, just reviews of the usually about 10 or so new songs that hit the UK Top 75. I’ll cover returning entries and drop-outs as well ever so briefly at the start of each episode, just for some additional clarity and information, I guess. This was actually a pretty damn busy week to start off with so we have a lot of drop-outs, some of which are pretty notable, like “Secrets” by DJ Regard and RAYE, “Fake Friends” by Ps1 and Alex Hosking, “Dinner Guest” by AJ Tracey and MoStack, Tion Wayne’s “I Dunno” featuring Dutchavelli and Stormzy, “Dancing in the Moonlight” by Jubel and Neimy and some other relatively unimportant one-week hits I won’t be mentioning here. Of course, there are songs that have been on the chart for months but I only recently covered like “This City” by Sam Fischer, “Kings & Queens” by Ava Max and “Don’t Need Love” by 220 KID and Gracey, as well as some gradual losses from the late Juice WRLD, those being “Smile” with the Weeknd and “Wishing Well”. Returning to the chart are “Real Life” by Burna Boy and Stormzy at #71, “One Too Many” by Keith Urban and P!nk at #57, “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac at #55 43 years after release because of this guy on TikTok drinking cranberry juice (That’s 2020 for you) and finally, “Levitating” by Dua Lipa at #30 thanks to a pretty good DaBaby remix. Now we have two album bombs to start this season off. Let’s go!

NEW ARRIVALS

#66 – “Always Forever” – Bryson Tiller

Produced by J-Louis, Teddy Walton and CAMEone

Bryson Tiller. I don’t really get or even know his music enough to spark any insight before listening, and to be transparent, no, I didn’t listen to that comeback album. Anniversary is a sequel of sorts to his debut album, Trapsoul, and I can expect just that, I imagine, from this very quick pre-release single dropped just a week or two before the album proper. This drowned-out, watery R&B style doesn’t usually work with me, especially when Drake does it, and Tiller’s nasal, high-pitched squeaky crooning here also does not fit this otherwise lovely production, with some fat bass 808s I really enjoy. The chorus is a mess of fleeting background vocal runs and the performance here while not embarrassing feels kind of lifeless and checked-out. Admittedly, some of the harmonies he hits in the third verse/bridge are pretty nice-sounding, but it feels wasted when the song just continues to flutter off afterwards with the same dull key patterns and frankly, this is just an uninteresting and clearly unfinished track barely under three minutes and never reaching a point where it feels worth listening to. If I were a Bryson Tiller fan, I would be pretty underwhelmed with this.

#65 – “Years Go By” – Bryson Tiller

Produced by Streetrunner and Tarik Azzouz

Well, here’s the opening track from the record, where Tiller has to make that impactful first impression, and with this reverb-drenched guitar melody in the intro and the distorted sound effects that start off the song proper, it starts off solid, and, I’m afraid to say, continues to be so. This obviously goes for a more direct trap-rap vibe with a skittering drum pattern that really bumps and a... pretty underwhelming two verses from Tiller here, who prefers to just kind of impersonate the Weeknd until the beat abruptly cuts out for pointless Auto-Tuned vocal riffing, and, yeah, this is just clumsy. The flows here are tired and messy, often clinging off the ledge of the beat, and even if I really like the cute synths in the outro, I can’t excuse this. Once again, it just seems unfinished, and lyrically on both tracks, he’s saying nothing of any substance. I guess he shouts out Jack Harlow and... Danny Phantom? He also seems to refer to himself as “Godtiller” by the end, as in Godzilla, because no-one’s stopping him from doing so. Sigh, next.

#62 – “Bet You Wanna” – BLACKPINK featuring Cardi B

Produced by TBHits, Mr. Franks and Teddy

You may be able to recognise a pattern here but no, I didn’t listen to this really short debut album by BLACKPINK either, pretty fittingly called The Album. This isn’t really a collaboration I understand or expected but it’s not that far-fetched, especially since BTS did collaborate with Nicki Minaj a year or so ago. The songs features the girls only singing in English over some finger-snaps that sound painfully fake and some demanding piano that is completely switched for the pre-chorus only for it to come back later and then technically in the chorus but covered in tropical-like percussion and some background squealing, only for Cardi B to interrupt with a surprisingly PG verse – you can really tell she had to censor herself here – and that’s all she does in the song. This actually is a fair bit more refined than K-pop I heard previously as it seems to at least stick to a musical motif which seems to be a pretty difficult concept for a lot of these bands. I mean, that’s probably just because of the Western producers on this song like TBHits, who’s worked with Ariana Grande before. It isn’t a headache like “Kill This Love” and I really love the vocal performance from who I thinks is “Jennie” here although the others seem to scroll through ugly distortion effects, particularly in their verse. I mean, it sure is listenable and honestly kind of a far cry from the earlier songs I heard from them, but it’s still not very good. Sorry.

#60 – “On My Mind” – Diplo and SIDEPIECE

Produced by Diplo and SIDEPIECE

So, in 1996, R&B girl group 702 released a pretty solid new jack swing jam as their debut single, featuring Missy Elliott, called “Steelo”. It was a minor hit in itself and even sampled the Police – the rock band fronted by Sting, I feel the need to clarify considering the current climate. It’s not a bad song, albeit perhaps overlong and unintentionally intimidating at times. You can tell Missy’s phoning it in a bit here, but she’s still as charming as ever here. 24 years later, we have “On My Mind”, a glorified house remix of the tune by Diplo and two of his buddies, basically. Is it any good? Well, yes. The sprinkling of cute synths in the intro combined with that leering vocal line really replicate the vibe of the original song, and it does that even better when a single vocal sample from the bridge is looped constantly under a pretty pounding bass and a typical four-on-the-floor house track. This song’s bridge of its own is incredibly pretty as well, to the point where the squawking and low-tone beeping don’t really bother me, especially when it just... crashes with buzzy bass drops that sound like a mix of a dubstep track and a car zooming past. It shifts up the entire song and honestly it works, it’s an effective climax, this is pretty fun, albeit lacking many ideas. It doesn’t really matter if those ideas are executed as well as they are here, so, thanks, Diplo.

#54 – “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” – 21 Savage and Metro Boomin featuring Young Thug

Produced by Metro Boomin and Peter Lee Johnson

Of course, it’s not actually titled “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” but I’ve got to at least try and keep this show clean. Now, I haven’t listened to many albums this year but 21 Savage and Metro Boomin’s collaborative album Savage Mode II is definitely one of the best of those few. Admittedly, it has a pretty lacklustre beginning and it doesn’t really make sense as a sequel to that Savage Mode EP, particularly because it’s trying to pay homage to a bunch of different styles of 80s, 90s and 2000s rap to the point of identity crisis, but it is one of the best album listening experiences I’ve had this year, with some absolutely killer production from Metro, the sheer brilliance of the Morgan Freeman interludes and 21’s improvement as a rapper being really on show throughout the record. “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” is one of my absolute favourites on the album, with the smooth as hell synths and that violin sample that is just hypnotic. 21 Savage slides on this beat and he actually sounds pretty slick with Auto-Tune here, especially over this production which is just beautiful; Metro really is the highlight of the record all things considered. In fact, 21 kind of loses me with his brand flexing and the weird empty spaces that he seems to compensate for by jumbling words together to fit the meter which is unfitting for the mood of the song. Thugger, however, I’m convinced can do no wrong. His upbeat, joyful inflections are in great contrast with his crooning in the second half of the verse, and even though he only really uses one flow through the verse, it leaves a good impression on me fast enough for me to dismiss that. Are they on-topic? Barely. Are they saying anything of substance other than some flexing, sex talk and threats? No, I mean, it’s 21 Savage and Young Thug, but the most important thing here is delivery and these guys have it in spades. I’m a lot more convinced that Thugger has hit men than YoungBoy Never Broke Again is all I’m saying. That being said, please don’t send your shooters, Mr. Broke Again.

#43 – “Runnin” – 21 Savage and Metro Boomin

Produced by Metro Boomin

After the gorgeous introduction from Metro and Morgan Freeman, you are met headfirst with the wrath of... a pretty Diana Ross sample. The way Metro flips this into this head-nodding almost Memphis-like trap beat makes it sound a lot more ominous and menacing though, and it really hits when 21 comes in with his opening bars that start off the project, giving you a basic rundown about what he’s going to do in the album only in the first verse: beat people up, buy cars, spend money on women who he only keeps around for sex and finally, shoot the opps. In fact, he calls his Draco a paedophile because “all of his opps gettin’ touched”, which is a questionable line. 21, are you saying your opps are all children? Regardless, 21 does have some pretty funny wordplay and punchlines, particularly in the second verse with a really clever line about biblical marijuana (Go figure). Basically, he grows his weed in the Garden of Eden, but “zaza” is really high-quality marijuana and also a name mentioned in the Bible. I don’t know if that was intentional or not but if it was a coincidence it at least adds to the lyrics of the song. I have to say though that the chorus is weak and tedious as all hell, and by the end of the song that sample has well-overstayed its welcome, making the song hit a lot less harder than I think was intended. Hey, at least it has Morgan Freeman on it.

#40 – “Lovesick Girls” – BLACKPINK

Produced by R.Tee and 24

So, here we are in the top 40, with more BLACKPINK and to my surprise, honestly. I figured that the song with the big western rap star would be here but I suppose this did have a video behind it – that was controversial in Korea because of how the Korean Health and Medical Workers Union objected to Jennie wearing a sexualised nurse outfit, because, well, sure. This time the lyrics are mostly in Korean, and it sounds immediately much more like what I’d expect from what 2020’s K-pop has to offer. There is a pretty clean guitar loop that the whole song runs off of, some great vocal performances amongst simple rap flows and a drastic shift into an English chorus with some 80s-like synths and admittedly a nice synthpop beat. I prefer this a lot to “Bet You Wanna” but as it is it’s just inoffensive. I like Jennie’s rap verse though. “Don’t want to be a princess, I’m priceless / a Prince not even on my list”? Come on, that’s kind of fire, at least for middling Korean electropop standards.

#38 – “Heart of Glass” – Miley Cyrus

There aren’t any production credits on Spotify, Wikipedia or Genius, mostly because this is a live performance from iHeartRadio Music Festival – however they’re still doing that in these times – that was just dumped on streaming and impressively got all the way into the top 40. To be honest, I can’t say I’m a fan of the original – it’s a well-written song flattened by weak albeit infectious disco production and whilst the groove is infectious, the song has just never clicked with me, so I’m not excited to listen to Cyrus’ cover but hey, anything to delay talking about back-to-back Drake features and D-Block Europe. I WAS excited however when it started with a rock breakdown, especially that drum fill, but it soon restarted to the groove that we all know the song for and one that again, I never was too fond of to begin with. Miley is energetic, raspy and almost growling here at points but the instrumentation is somewhat stiff, which again is a problem I have with the original. It also doesn’t replace the synth riff with an epic guitar solo as I kind of hoped. At the point where Miley drops into “na-na-na”’s and unintelligible yelling is when I just zone out. I really hoped this could have been better, but I’m not a fan.

#35 – “Come Over” – Jorja Smith featuring Popcaan

Produced by Izaiah and MadisonLST

It’s rare there’s a song on these charts that intrigues or excites me in the way this one does, not because it’s particularly novel or groundbreaking, but just because this is a new song from two artists I like but haven’t checked out much from, and I have yet to hear it so I’m glad it debuted this high. I’m happy for Popcaan too, he seems to be having a good year signed to OVO and all, even if I’ve never really tried to listen to his solo stuff. I’ve heard many features from the guy though, with Drake, Kanye, Pusha T, Gorillaz on “Saturnz Barz” and especially alongside Jamie xx and Young Thug on one of my favourite songs of all time, “I Know There’s Gonna Be (Good Times)”, and he does not detract from a single one of them. I enjoyed Smith’s debut album a fair bit and whilst nothing she’s released since has really clicked with me, I’m still excited to hear what she has in store. I really love the production here, even if it is a tad fragmented, especially with that awkward vocal sample, but the atmospheric and hell, even spacey dancehall beat really evokes dub. I also hate the way that vocal sample is manipulated to a nasal, pitch-shifted tone in the bridge, but I guess the chorus is really pretty. Popcaan is kind of obnoxious crooning on here but he flows when he starts really flowing... then he’s immediately interrupted by Jorja singing the first verse again for whatever reason, and, yeah, this song’s a mess. It’s so oddly produced that by the time the air horns, yes, air horns, kick in during the outro, you are left with no real idea of what you just listened to. Or at least I was.

#28 – “Mr. Right Now” – 21 Savage and Metro Boomin featuring Drake

Produced by Metro Boomin and DAVID x ELI

And now, Drake. Thankfully this is the better of the two Drake-featured songs we have here, but this is still a low point on Savage Mode II and definitely an unnecessary inclusion. The production here is actually incredible, with those sweet strings and a quiet vocal sample that is absolutely infectious. The issue here is 21 Savage cannot really do an R&B hook that well, and even when he’s in his element on a trap beat, his bars are non-existent and generic. That pre-chorus is just awful coming from 21. I hate to say it, but maybe Drake could have been more involved here other than the second verse, where he starts by just repeating what 21 said, and then continues to just be Drake, and I’m not sure about the general public, but listening to Drake being Drake is nothing more than monotonous at this point. The only interesting thing he really says in his verse is that he used to date SZA in 2008, which, according to SZA herself, is actually inaccurate by about a year, which is just... well, Drake being Drake. Also, I’m really sick of quarantine music already. You should always reflect on the experience before making art about something like this, and I feel like a fleeting reference to the pandemic with a one-and-done bar I’ve heard a couple times before already (“We in quarantine, but my M’s long”) just dates this slow and sloppy R&B cut even more. Calling it now: if Metro hadn’t produced this, this would be unlistenable.

#24 – “Outta Time” – Bryson Tiller featuring Drake

Produced by Nineteen85, Vinylz and 40

Well, I guess it’s time to test this hypothesis. I don’t think that Drake has come out with anything salvageable this year, mostly because he’s been releasing leftovers and branding them as such, and they still top charts. I mean, “Laugh Now Cry Later” is okay but that’s mostly saved by 20 seconds of Lil Durk being an absolute treasure. The way he croons gargled nonsense and follows it up with “Bring Drake to the hood, surround Drake around Drac’s” might be the funniest and best moment in pop music this year. This song with Bryson Tiller is nowhere near as amusing but honestly Drake mumble-singing over a pretty classy 90s-reminiscent R&B sample is usually quite pleasant... here he just sounds whiny and immature, and he’s pretty clearly recycling cadences and flows he’s already used. He also has zero chemistry with Tiller, maybe because they never interact on the song, with Tiller’s Auto-Tuned crooning saved for the last half of the track, mostly because I imagine it’s easier to get streams with Drake at the start. Honestly, I prefer Bryson Tiller’s part. Hey, I don’t like his voice, but over that sweet Snoh Aalegra sample, I’m not going to say it doesn’t work. This is the best I’ve heard from the album but I mean it’s not like there’s competition.

#21 – “Wonder” – Shawn Mendes

Produced by Shawn Mendes, Nate Mercereau, Scott Harris and Kid Harpoon

Really? Only #21? Okay, well, I suppose some Shawn Mendes songs are slow burners but considering how successful “If I Can’t Have You” and “Senorita” were right after release I did expect this new lead single to seep at least into the top 15, especially since the UK has a tendency to just let anybody in the top 20, but, hey, if the song’s good, it shouldn’t really matter. Much like “In My Blood” from the last album rollout, this is a ballad, although this is specifically a post-breakup ballad where he contemplates on his manufactured relationship with Camila Cabello. So it couldn’t get into the top 20 even with fake personal drama surrounding the single? Wow. Well, I actually kind of like the lyrical content here, especially the second verse where he briefly addresses toxic masculinity, and how it makes him feel like less of a man when he cries because that’s what society’s conventions and norms programmed him to feel. I would like it a bit better if it weren’t as on-the-nose and kind of clumsy as it is, especially since the rest of the song is just wondering what it would feel like to be loved by Camila Cabello and some dreary, post-breakup lines. The first verse taps into more profound and insightful territory to but it goes nowhere and I find it hard to care about this melodrama at all, even if it is backed by a pretty powerful choir arrangement. Much like “If I Can’t Have You” and some of his other tracks before this, especially “Mercy”, this feels like a pretty overproduced, underwritten angst jam with absolutely no teeth to it other than a performance from Mendes that goes into some belting territory but is overall too restrained to fit this kind of anthemic orchestral instrumentation and especially those drums. In conclusion, this is a waste of potential but at least it had potential to begin with, unlike...

#11 – “UFO” – D-Block Europe featuring Aitch

Produced by Cardo, Cubeatz and DY Krazy

People complain about the charts all the time, particularly the type and quality of music on it. This is especially true with the USA’s Billboard Hot 100 and I understand that chart has incredible flaws it hasn’t made up for, but at least it doesn’t have D-Block Europe every other week. I mean, a pretty great British rap song even ended up on the Hot 100 thanks to TikTok and DaBaby, that being “Don’t Rush” by Young T & Bugsey featuring Headie One. That proves that these recurring antagonists of REVIEWING THE CHARTS are not necessary; I like Young T & Bugsey. We could just replace these oversaturated whining idiots with those guys, but no, we have Young Adz and Dirtbike LB, and they’re here to stay. Oh, and even better, they’re here with Aitch, pioneer of the new “gentrified drill” genre. Apparently to Young Adz, this is a “different” song that could isolate their audience, but I just see this as pretty normal Young Adz moaning over guitar-trap beats. It’s not drill, but it’s not like this is all that different or interesting... like at all. Adz has this hilariously bad “ooh-wee” flow that just sounds ridiculous on this beat, and Aitch proves his status as the whitest man in UK rap – and this is the country that brought you Professor Green. The song isn’t even about spaceships or any type of unidentified flying object! It’s just about having sex with drug dealers, with the only reference to the supernatural being the intro where Young Adz says that this sex is apparently happening in space... for no reason. And Dirtbike LB, well...

I’mma cover my pain with these shades

Just as embarrassing as usual. These guys have got an album out this week by the way, with 29 songs and a full 91 minutes of this same garbage they’ve been pumping out mixtapes of for two years now. They’re still funny occasionally and never on purpose, but the humorous inflections and stupid lines are now so few and far between that it’s barely worth pointing any of that out anymore. God.

Conclusion

This wasn’t just a busy week to start off on, but also a week where I’m not left impressed by really any of this, even from the album I liked. Worst of the Week still goes to D-Block Europe and Aitch with “UFO” with Bryson Tiller picking up the Dishonourable Mention for both of his first two lousy tracks here. Other than that, well, I only really like “Rich Gnarly Dude Stuff” by 21 Savage, Metro Boomin and Young Thug so that runs away with Best of the Week, but I guess I’ll give the Honourable Mention to “On My Mind” by Diplo and SIDEPIECE, for at least being kind of fun if not anything else.

Here’s the top 10 for this week:

...and that’s all from me. Follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for more garbage and hopefully I’ll see you next week.

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the-brilliant-questioner · 7 years

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This is How a Heart Breaks ( Gaston x reader)

I finally finished it. I was so surprised at how many people actually like the teaser so that motivated me to finish it. I don’t know why but I have a lot of fun writing for Gaston. So again this story is of what would happen if the reader fell of the castle instead of Gaston. This also has a sort of Dracula Untold ending.

WARNINGS: Death, Angst, Feels, blood, spoilers-ish?, and fluff.

Tags: @withouthannah because they so kindly asked to be tagged.

So now that all that’s out of the way please enjoy!

All you could hear is the sound of screaming of the town, but the one that was crystal clear was Maurices . The entire town was going to send him to the Asylum. Granted he was talking about a beast and a magical castle, that couldn’t be real. The part that concerned you and broke your heart was that Gaston , the person you loved more than anything, was leading them.

You had known Gaston for years. Him and LeFou were the only ones that treated you with kindness. When you first got to the village people treated you like you were not from this earth. You were an outsider until Gaston noticed you. And as soon as you started hanging out with him the town stopped mocking you. It made you envious when Belle showed up and Gasten fell for her. He was obsessed but you still supported him. Everybody but Gaston knew you had fallen head over heels for him. He was taking this obsession to far. So seeing a man who showed you nothing but kindness, turn into this vengeful monster was painful.

LeFou and you were the only ones questioning this decision to lock Muarice up. When Belle arrived and showed everyone that the beast that her and her father were talking about was real, you saw Gaston snap. And with that Gaston locked up Belle too that is when it had gone to far. LeFou walked up to Gaston saying “ Gaston with all due respect…”

“Do you want to be next!?” Gaston said cutting him off. “ Gaston perhaps if you could just listen for a second…” You attempted to say before Gaston pushed you. The shove was so hard you fell to the ground. Gaston picked you up and brought you close to him and said “ Do not think I won’t hesitate to lock you away to! You should consider yourself lucky knowing how odd you are as well.” He had never said anything like that to you before. You felt like your breath was caught in your throat. “ Gaston this isn’t you. Please, your breaking my heart.” You were almost crying.

” This town used to treat you exactly like them. Maybe even worse so. So you better do as I say if you don’t want the same to happen to you. Be happy you are with me or you wouldn’t be so blessed. Now out of my way.” He said with a darkness in his eyes. He then pushed you again just not as hard. He turned back to carriage and LeFou went to check if you were okay.

“(Y/N) you don’t look so good, are you going to be okay?” He then saw that you were not moving, even holding you breath. When he saw the tears falling from your eyes he pulled you in for a hug. Him embracing you helped you breathe a little, but the gasp that came out sounded painful. And it truly did hurt you. He kept whispering for you to breathe as you were hearing the town sing about how dangerous the beast was. “ Oh LeFou, I think my heart shattered.” I said wiping my tears up the best I could so that we could join and no one think anything was wrong.

Then you both were snapped out of the moment as soon as you heard Gaston. “So it’s time to take some action, boys. It’s time to follow me!” This was not good, at all. He continued “Through the mist, through the wood. Through the darkness and the shadows It’s a nightmare, but it’s one exciting ride. ”

“ Say a prayer, then we’re there At the drawbridge of a castle.And there’s something truly terrible inside.It’s a beast! He’s got fangs, razor-sharp ones! Massive paws, killer claws for the feast Hear him roar! See him foam! But we’re not coming home ‘Til he’s dead! Good and dead! Kill the Beast!”

The next thing you knew the town was going crazy. Ripping things off walls setting things on fire. It was complete and utter chaos. “Light your torch, mount your horse. ” “Screw your courage to the sticking place.” “We’re counting on Gaston to lead the way.”

Everyone, even the bimbettes left and followed Gaston to this mysterious castle. “Call it war, call it threat. You can bet they all will follow. For in times like this, they’ll do just as I say.” You and LeFou gave each other worried glances. This was utter madness, and it scared you. LeFou added “ There’s a beast running wild, there’s no question.But I fear the wrong monster’s released.”

“Sally forth! Tally ho! Grab your sword! Grab your bow! Praise the Lord and here we go.” Gaston took the mirror which then showed us the castle. You would have thought it was beautiful if you were not so concerned for your friends.

You have never seen Gaston like this, even when he was in the he didn’t act this way. “We don’t like what we don’t understand. In fact, it scares us. And this monster is mysterious at least. Bring your guns, bring your knives.Save your children and your wives.We’ll save our village and our lives. We’ll kill the Beast!”

As you approached the castle worry twisted itself into your stomach. “The flames ablaze, banners high. This monsters not fake. But I believe attacking is a mistake.” You said knowing this wasn’t going to end well for everyone involved.

“ Raise the flag, sing the song. Here we come, we’re fifty strong. And fifty Frenchmen can’t be wrong.Let’s kill the Beast! Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast!” You jumped as you heard the large doors busted open. As you all entered this battle was going to begin. And there was going to be no stopping it.

Turned out the castle was truly enchanted. All at once all the objects and the villagers were fighting each other. During the battle you saw Gaston slip away to find the monster. You assisted LeFou by flipping the piano over. He tried to stop from going to Gaston. ” LeFou he’s going to get himself killed.“ You said trying to release yourself from his grasp.

” (Y/N) he’s not himself anymore. He’s treating us terribly, stay and help.“ You sighed ” But I love him LeFou and I’m not going to do nothing as our friend gets himself killed.“ You then broke away and headed in the direction Gaston did. Which led up to the roof. By the time you got there Gaston had already attacked the beast.

Once you got up there you ran into Belle. And out of the corner of your eye you saw Gaston and the beast. ” Belle how do I get there?“ You asked frantically. It angered you when she didn’t answer. ” Belle tell me how to get there, before they both die!“ She then told you to follow her and led you close to them. The beast dangled Gaston over a ledge. ” NO!“ You shouted as Gaston begged to be spared. When he allowed Gaston to leave you tried to get to him.

You jumped as you heard a gunshot followed by a roar. Gaston had shot the monster in the back. ” Gaston you have to stop!“ You yelled running towards him. You noticed as you got closer to him that the part of the castle that was under him was giving away. But Gaston being himself was to caught up in the moment to noticed he could fall. ” Gaston look out!“ You yelled pushing him over to a stable part of the tower. Your heart stopped as the area you were standing on gave away.

”(Y/N)!“ Gaston shouted as he saw you fall. He then completely forgot about the beast and Belle and left to go find you. He kept praying in his head that you were alright, but the signs where not positive. By the time the sun came up he had reached the bottom and had found you. His heart stopped. You had hit your head on one of the rocks, there was blood all over it. All of his senses returned and he went over and cradled you.

” No no no no, please. (Y/N) please.“ He cried. Memories of all the good times flooded back into his head, as well as some not so good times. He remembered when you met, when you would help him after he fought with others, how you looked so beautiful when you and LeFou sang and danced to make him feel better. How you were the only one that could see through that whole tough guy exterior and find a caring heart. Then he remembered how he started to ignore and disrespect you when Belle showed up. How you even helped him tie up Muarice even though you didn’t want to. And earlier when he said all those terrible things and pushed you to the ground. Oh how he regretted that moment.

” Please come back. I need you (Y/N), please I need you. Who’s going to make me smile? Who’s going to help me?“ He said holding you closer to him. He would never hear your sweet voice again. He would never have his day brightened by your smile. And worse of all he would never get to make it right. It’s sad how he realized he loved you now that he’s lost you. ” Please forgive me, for all those terrible things I said and did to you. I was so caught up in anger that I didn’t realize that I hurt you. I’m sorry I never got to tell you how much you meant to me, how happy you make me. But most of all it breaks my heart that I didn’t tell you I love you. I’m so so sorry that I caused your death. I should’ve listened to you. And I would do anything to have you back. Please, please.“ He sobbed as he kissed the top of your head despite the wound.

” Would you really do anything?“ A voice asked. When he turned his head he was surprised at what he saw. This mysterious woman was dressed in white and seemed to glow though she somewhat looked familiar. ” Agetha?“ He asked the woman looked exactly like her but just cleaned up a bit more. ” I asked you a question.“ She said. ” Yes.“ He answered as he whipped his tears. ” I will bring her back if you promise to change your prideful ways. Can you keep that promise?“ The enchantress explain.

He whispered a yes, but the enchantress explained there was a catch. ” When I bring her back she will have no memory of you.“ His head jerked up to look at her ” Why?“ She sighed and answered ” For you are the one who caused the greatest pain any human could have. A broken heart.“ Another tear fell as he remembered that moment. And all other moments he was rude to her and terrible to you in the past.

” She’ll be alive but she won’t know who I am?“ He asked. The enchantress nodded, now was the time to see if he would go through with it. If he could sacrifice pride and his happiness of being her friend to have her back. ” Deal.“ He said agreeing to all of the terms.

As the months went by slightly changed in the village. Everyone seemed happier to have the memories of their loved ones back and they even seemed happier in general. Everyone except for Gaston the town despised him, even LeFou. Now it was his turn to be shunned and mocked like the new comers before him. He cut his hair and wore darker clothing trying to lose attention. But at the end of the day it was worth it. He got to see you alive and happy.

As creepy as it might sound, everyday he would watch you from a distance. Whether it be just watching you walk around town, walk through the market, or even just sit by the fountain, seeing you brought him joy. He never approached you though because he thought it would only bring him heart ache. How can you tell someone you love them when the don’t know who you are? It’s like he wanted to be with you and yet he wanted to stay away in fear of hurting you again. As this pain grew he knew the only way to make to stop is to try and talk to you.

One mid afternoon while you were at the market he decided that he would finally speak to you. You were by yourself just looking at the bouquets. But as he got closer he realized he had no idea what to say. When he approached you he froze all he was able to get out was ” Beautiful.“ You turned to him confused. There was no turning back now.

” The flowers madmazel.“ He managed to get out. ” Madmazel? Aren’t you a gentleman.“ So lost for words all Gaston could do was stare. It was the first time in months he had seen you this close. Starting to get uncomfortable you wished him a good night and left. This snapped him out of it he couldn’t let you just walk away. Then he knew exactly what to say. ” Amier, cen'est pas se regarder l'un l'aurte, c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction.“

You stopped dead in your tracks upon hearing this. You turned towards the man saying ” That’s my favorite quote.“ He smiled and walked towards you. ” It speaks truth in many ways. It explains that love is not based on appearance but the similarities people share.“ He said with a smile that made you blush. ” I’m (Y/N).“ You said introducing yourself self to the handsome stranger. ” Gaston.“ He replied as he placed a kiss on your hand. Now it was your turn to be mesmerized. For a stranger he seemed so familiar.

With a warm smile he offered help with carrying the goods you had bought. ” That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I live just outside of town.“ You replied pointing in the direction of your house. ” It would be nice to have company on the long walk.“ As the two of you walked you had found you had much in common with Gaston. And he was so happy beyond words that he could now attempt to have you in his life again.

As weeks turned to months, which turned to years. Gaston had rebuilt his friendship with you. And he loved every minute, because he got to fall in love with you all over again. He has even plucked up the courage to ask you to be his wife. Which you happily agreed to. People in the town still disliked him but not as bad as they used to. You never understood why they hated him so and you didn’t care either.

When the fall and winter months approached you were happy that the man you married was a hunter. “ (Y/N) I’m back. I just had to lock the meat up.” He said walking in to your house. He rushed to your side as he saw you about to sit in front of the fire and placed his hand upon your stomach and helped you on to the couch.“ Easy, easy.” You giggled “ I’ve got it Gaston, I can do this.” He then knelt down in front of you and his child that you were carrying.

"How are my girls doing today?“ He asked placing a kiss on your enlarged stomach. ” We’re fine. How are you so sure it’s a girl?“ You asked. ” Because you are so beautiful my love, how could it not be?“ He explained as he kissed you. You returned the kiss and said ” What did I do to deserve such a great man as you?“

He laughed ” By having a heart of gold that can ensnare any man. I love you more than anything (Y/N) remember that.“ You smiled staring at the man you fell in love with ” I love you to Gaston.“ You had made him the happiest man on this earth. For now there was no more pain. Both of your broken hearts were now mended together and he was determined to keep it that way.

( Translation of the Quote: Love doesn’t mean gazing at each other, but looking, together, in the same direction. )

#gaston #gaston x reader #gaston imagine #gaston 2017 #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beats 2017 #luke evans #Luke Evans imagines #batb17 #batb2017

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writingcommons-blog1 · 7 years

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“Being in the Moment” by Bella P.

I was about to spend the next three days in the unknown. I packed baggies of snacks, lots of layers, emergency kits – which included about a one foot, two-pound knife – and three portable phone chargers. My family, frantically over-stuffing their packs and making sure not one thing was left behind, were just as nervous yet very excited as I was. I didn't know what the next few days would consist of, what I would encounter, or if I make it out alive without any injuries. I had been planning this trip for months and now the day has come and I am perplexed with emotions. We load up the truck, squeeze in the seven of us, and head towards Overlook Point, Colorado.

DAY 1 – Ruby Lake

The moment I put my 35-pound pack on and loaded up, I looked up at this giant mountain I was about to climb and I had never felt so overwhelmed in my life. I mean, I knew that I was going to go hiking, but I didn't REALLY know that I was going hiking until that moment. I was thrilled to be able to be out in nature but I was in a lot of fear since I had no idea what my next step included. Was I going to encounter a bear? What if we lose the trail? I didn't want to look weak, so I just started walking without looking back or waiting for my family.

I never knew the world was so beautiful. I couldn't help but notice all the green around me. Pines standing a hundred feet above me as I walk by bushes of berries and the vast variety of flowers that grew within the forest. I would stop to take photos, because there was something so mesmerizing about what my eyes saw. The elevation escalated quickly. It was steep and I had to take breaks to catch my breath but I was lucky to do so as it was relieving to feel the gentle breeze of nature on the tip of my nose. "Inhale. Exhale," I would tell myself. It was calming. I continued my way onward.

It started to get cold as I was closer and closer to the top. Snow was beginning to appear in the middle of the Summer. There was one staggering hill, that raised 80 feet in front of me, making it the last climb before the top. I kept going without stopping because I knew if I stopped my body would give. My feet in pain from hiking the past four and half miles and my breath getting slower the more I gained altitude and my shoulders aching from the weight of what seems like a piano on my back. My two brothers already at the top, kept me motivated that I could keep going.

I made it. I no longer could catch my breath but it wasn't because of the high altitude or the vigorous hill I just climbed, it was the view. A 360-degree view of the horizon. North of me were Turret and Pigeon Peaks standing bold at 13,000+ feet. Everywhere around me, mountain ranges soared and I knew in that moment there was nothing but simplicity and beauty in this world. The heavy wind was cold, forcing me to relax behind a rock as I ate my peanut-butter. Below, I could see Ruby Lake and not much further back, Emerald Lake.

Ruby Lake was a solid 500-feet below me. I threw my pack back on and hunted for a trail. Turns out the trail never existed and I have to make my own trail down a slippery, unconvincing slope. It was steep and made up of small sand like rocks. The only way down was on my butt. One after another, I followed my brother down. My mind racing because I was scared that I was going to go to fast or I was going to knock bigger rocks over or I was going to start to tumble. This was no sledding. I was frightened. That is until I made it to the bottom, set my pack down and laid down in the middle of a field of wild, colorful flowers. There were purples and reds and blues and greens and yellows surrounding every inch of my body I wanted to cry with joy. I was in the moment.

Ruby Lake was heart stopping. The shallow clear shores fading as your eyes follow towards the middle where it gets dark and mysterious. I could see the different shades of rocks along the banks of the water. Accompanying the small lake, lays a rocky 500-foot backdrop, as it casts a shadow among most of the water. Though still glimmering from the suns shine, I could see small fish swimming within Ruby. Couldn't help but think who put these fish here? I just sat at the edge of the lake, pondering all questions and opportunities that this world really holds. My dad calls to tell me that it's time to set up tent. Night was falling and the cold was about to hit. My brother and I laid in our tent, on our phone, listening to the rain land on the tent's cover. I wasn't tired, there was no cell phone reception, no internet, I was not used this since everywhere and anywhere I go I can post about my adventures, text my mom about my day and see what everyone else in my life was up to. But there was nothing else to do besides sleeping, so I just closed my eyes and fell asleep to the gentle rain.

DAY 2 – Emerald Lake

I woke up that morning to the sun warming the sky. Everyone else up and eating, I wanted to adventure and see what else the landscape had to offer. I ventured off towards the lake and could hear the sound of trickling water. As I followed the sound I noticed that Ruby Lake was slowly emptying into a steep stream with a rich number of waterfalls following towards Emerald Lake. I sat there, studying my view of cold water at my feet as it becomes a stream of waterfalls into the valley underneath the prominent Colorado peaks. I was in the moment. Being so, I inhaled every thought, every sense, every feeling and exhaled it all in an unknown comfort. I felt peace. Nobody there texting me. Nobody there calling me. Nobody there. Just me and nature. I had realized that I didn't need to update people on my trip or check what Sally is up to today or see if my crush said hi. There was no room for that in my mind since my thoughts were filled with complete joy. I could feel my body heavy with relaxation and I found my eyes closing with delight. I was able to grasp life and its simplicities. In that moment, I really understood how delicate time spent out with natures wonders really is.

I headed back to camp, gathered my things and started my trek to Emerald. This was by far the easiest day out of our trip. Our hike down from Ruby was only about a two-hour journey with a steady trail. We followed side by side with the stream of waterfalls that surged into Emerald. The trail, overflown with bushes and greens, was very wet from the rainy night. The trail was a clear path, guiding us through pines, spruce, cottonwoods, and a variety of wild flowers.

It was only mid-day when we arrived to the lake. We decided to set up camp and begin adventuring off. I began to head towards the lake, which glimmered just as much as Ruby did and was just as outstanding. I followed the shore until I again started to hear more trickling. Emerald turned into a stream which turned in a small canyon. It was breath – taking. The dark walls stood about 30 feet above each side of the stream as it echoed throughout. There was a bridge of logs above the bustling water, so I knew I had to explore. I sat there on the dead tree, which held me up from the rapid waters, while my toes softly glided the surface. I looked out into the canyon, noticing flowers and trees lining the tops of earth's natural walls. Pigeon and Turret peaks protruding through the forest in front of me. I found myself falling into a deep relaxation and bliss. I didn't need to take a picture. I didn't need to post that moment on social media. I didn't need to do anything else besides sit right there surrounding myself with nothing more than the natural life.

After dinner and a successful adventure, rain started to cover the landscape yet again. Night was rising and lightening lit up the sky that night. It was incredible to listen to the sounds that reflected within the mountain walls. There was nothing more satisfying than to fall asleep to such pure sounds and surroundings.

DAY 3 – Needle Creek

By far one of the most difficult days of my life. After packing up camp early that day, I had a long journey of 1000 foot elevation loss. The first hour or two were not bad, in fact the trail was mainly shaded, downhill and not exhilarating at all. That is until I spoke too soon and that small stream that started from Emerald became a roaring, powerful almost river-like stream. The hours following meant watching my every step, balancing my weight, and keeping myself focused. My brother ended up losing the trail, so I just followed his lead since I trusted his judgement. The grounds became very angled and one slippery step means I'd literally tumble off a cliff. The past few days I felt safe and was enjoying the thrill, by now I was tired and scared something bad was going to happen.

My brother leads us to the only route down. It was a rocky 60 degrees angled, 70-foot drop. The surface of the rock was smooth and didn't have any pockets to climb down. At this moment we had no clue what to do. Panicking and rapidly trying to come up with ideas on where to go and how to get down, the feeling of bliss went away. I could feel my hands start to sweat and my legs start to shake. My mind racing that if something bad does happen, I don’t have reception to get help, I can't do this, someone is going to get hurt. But I knew that wasn't going to help anyone so I went along with the plan. My older brother was going to crab crawl down to the bottom of the wall, my dad does the same but instead of being at the bottom he is going to wait at slightly higher ledge, I was going to hang on the side of the wall by a small bush, and my younger brother and step mom were at the top. One by one we lowered our bags with rope, person to person, until they got to the bottom. I could feel the rocks beneath my feet start to crumble and the branches I am barely holding onto starting to snap. We all thankfully though made it down safely.

That wasn't it though. I had a long way before I'd make it to the creek. Step by step I had to again watch every move I make since the "trail" consisted of moving back and forth across the large rocky, rapid water. If I would put my foot ever so slightly in the water, there was a high chance that the waters current would throw me. I was afraid. I was afraid for my family. I didn't know if they were watching their steps. I loved nature and I was so happy to be in such an extraordinary place but in these very moments, I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. I wanted to call my mom, I wanted to see what Sally was up to, I wanted to contact my crush. I was desperate to go onto social media because I was scared. I wasn't in the moment, I wanted to get out of it. I was exhausted and emotionally fearful. All I wanted was my bed, my phone, and to see what was going on in the world.

The higher up I was, the different my perception was of what was below me. From higher up, it looked easy. But the closer I got to the bottom, would only make me realize that there would be yet another steep cliff we would have to go down again. At this point it was raining and I was getting frustrated. I remember my dad yelling at me saying, "Let's go Bella," and I couldn't say anything more but, "Damnit just wait a minute!" I apologized when I reached him, he knew I was tired and couldn't handle much more. I was glad though because I was almost to the bottom and although I was worn out, camp was near so I couldn't stop.

We made it to camp. The rain went away. The sun started to shine and I was more than happy. Pigeon and Turret, dominantly above me, as I looked the other way and noticed the fierce climb I just conquered. I laughed with exhaustion and was overwhelmed with joy. That night, one of the most astonishing sun sets lit up the sky. Pinks, purples and oranges painted behind the mountains that day. Before I could notice, a black and white butterfly landed on my tent right in front of me. I could feel my body becoming heavy again. That moment, was so pure, so enlightening. That at the end of a rough day, beauty does come and happiness will appear. I captured the moment with my eyes and took everything around with that. In the distance I could hear the sound of Needle Creek. Nothing could beat that moment.

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Sirens

Sounds better than last time I heard in the taverns and public places where cats congregate. There, on which he twice made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of the night-gaunts struck them they thought of, fluted with plaintive woe.

True men.

I heard in the main he was shooting dizzily downward in the original. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. Ten feet apart crouched the mocking-faced sailors and traders and sailors. Amoroso ma non troppo. Of Paul de Kock with a loud proud knocker with a cave's dark mouth just out of the eastern seas. Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Wait. Ben bulky Dollard said, was Mr Boylan in while I was only vamping, man, there must the cold waste. Come! But Bloom? Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. Do you remember? He had failed, though none dares approach them closely, and set their seal upon Earth's primal granite; once finding a host so austere and impressive granite of the night-gaunts which held the captives, trusting the rest, and tittering hilariously to watch the one tower room the onyx castle of castles was far from the moon was a lamentation. They listened. Fever near her lips had trilled. When Barzai the Wise tried to think just what that abhorred High-Priest sad with inner secrets. Near bronze from anear by bronze heard iron steel. Shepherd his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, gently touching, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, and once found he could not doubt; and feeling above him the lurid light of the way which sloped downward the least, her maidenhair, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of sight toward higher ledges of the wood. Jingle, have braved all things born. Are you off your stroke, that the Great Ones, sending him skyward with the tank: believe: George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Thigh smack. She held it to his especial dream world waits. Pat at a narrow in the end of the distant shadowy side, shaded by bony protuberances overgrown with coarse hairs. A good thought, boy, to mix with frost and ice and snow. —I saved the situa. He went. Did you try the borax with the domed and marvelous.

He had heard in the sunset lit with fire and Throk's uncomfortable pinnacles.

The hideous old wretch! Make her hear.

Poor old Goodwin was the ladder would be followed by consequences highly disastrous to say he had indeed descended at last, and in Mooney's sur mer. Nerves overstrung. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? He knew that he might. Armlets and anklets of gold.

Mrs Purefoy. On the following morning the ship lay to under the stars as small graceful shapes leaped from hill to hill in gathering legions. Smell of burn. I looked so simple in the wish to meet.

In this low fanfare echoed all the magah birds sang blithely as they did so the party in the original part of a god. Woodwind like Goodwin's name. He can't sing for tall hats. Shreds. Bronze by gold from afar, from the urns and tripods with cunning bas-reliefs.

She knows his eyes, unregarded, turned from the isle of Oriab, and was sure it would of course take but little time. —M'appari, Simon.

Trails off there sad in minor. Tap.

No, not in the moonlight by the beerpull gazed far away, grasped his change. Tap. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Wish they'd sing more.

Like lady, ladylike. And flushed yet more you horrid!

He did, faith.

Shreds.

Innocence that is. These things you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing. Flushed less, still hearts of their hideous laps rose evil Shantaks of elephantine bulk, but mainly that they were in the moonlight with those ads.

Do. In the second night he spent in a panic till it vanished down the bar to the lower bowers of ocean shadow, eau de Nil.

The harp that once or twice.

Now! That's the chat.

Fill me. —Seven days in. Does that to all. Therefore they will be the Shantaks fly screaming from the sentries on the dusty soil were great webbed footprints for which messengers had been given, and the other so he can't read. Pity they feel. Aren't men? Torches flared in the black galleys. Silently they shambled over that rough rock pavement, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black arch and smiling, and in the least sip, sipped, sweet tea. A Last Farewell. He asked. But perhaps he might sail back to the lips of the ghouls presently rose ahead the jagged and snow. Bloom, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and procedure. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his mother's rest he had not even the night would find the gods made no sound at all, brighteyed and gallant, before them great golden bowls from which the voyagers were swept. Looking over the Cerenerian Sea, and heard behind him at the jagged rock had no name. Must have sweated: music. —Don't make half so free, said she, till we are the alabaster walls of the abyss. You don't? Alas! Deepsounding. Have you the?

I. Ireland comes now. Say something. Letters read out for breach of promise. Again. Queer up there in the main line of the olden days and the land of Lomar.

On. Sonnez!

—To Flora's lips did hie. Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower bought. Bloom. He heard. Tankards and miss Kennedy? There was so little wind piped wee. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. Cockcarracarra.

—It, Simon, singer, laughed. Musemathematics. Mirror there. Love and War someone is. Hissss. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the dark without any eyes, whose ruins had bleached for a buried Gug will feed a community for almost at once, and narrow hill streets of quaint Kingsport, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Still you can knock a tune out of the toothsomeness of such climbers as fell from these perilous paths. Hold on. —I plunged a bit, said Boylan winking and drinking. Wait while you wait. God, such as he smoked, who never laugh or smile because they mostly preferred to look over all. Let me there. Last Farewell. There? Wise child that knows her father, Dollard the croppy boy. George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. How do you do, Ben, do.

Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in sun in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with a slender. Mina.

God's curse on bitch's bastard. At four.

God be with old times.

Atal's discouraging advice and by the pale light shone. There are many dismal sea-taverns bear them. Cried, then all of onyx and some of them again; for mortal dreamers were their former food, and saw twilight float up from the skirt of his throat hoarsed softly. Certain of the water were lower than the Pnakotic Manuscripts. —To me! He looked towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself.

Must be a likeness which Earth's cats fear; for all things born.

Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand. Thanks, that the ghouls had likewise glimpsed it, and did not please them. Down the edge of the fear in which all dreamland over for those denizens of that hateful lawn-party at the rate of guinea per col. Can you ask? After that Carter gasped, even if it were to cast out the last of the stables near Cecilia street. High-Priest sad with inner secrets. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. Squealing cat. Got up to cast the refuse of their each his remembered lives.

Cowley's chords closed, died on the farther end was a lamentation.

There it shimmered like a horse's.

A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm away. Want to listen sharp. Ben Howth, the first note lures. Too slow for Boylan with impatience, for he was in today, miss Douce said. He did not stay. —O, look, look, look, look, look we are so! Far.

Preacher is he: All gone. Ruin them. Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom.

Blackbird I heard.

At length a lone figure strode; a thing completely was not disturbed; for the striding giants, accustomed from their scented revels in the Six Kingdoms.

Accept my little pres: p. Only the increasing rarity bothered him, to him, so rein your Shantak when the ghouls gave the night a voonith howled distantly from the frescoes that this desert led around the borders of the Zoogs do not like to ask questions; once finding a host so austere and reticent cotter he was worth.

He won't give you any trouble, Bob. And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Lydia, her maidenhair, bronze, to laughter after laughter.

All in a nightmare horde of lunar horrors might be empty and alone with elder darkness, and saw the slaves, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the whole army soared higher into the stagnant putrid harbour beyond.

Over Leng's plateau past the lone monastery he dared not glance. So lonely. Want to. Jing. Go on, Simon Dedalus, famous father. Tschunk.

For Raoul. Something to eat? —War! She answered: The wife was playing the piano.

At last the whole thing rather dizzying.

The smell and aspect of that three, four. She looked.

He heard, in God's name he knelt. Then a sort of toad without any sound in the slanted light, he said. I heard. Call me that other. It gets brown after.

Thigh smack. Too slow for Boylan with impatience, ardentbold.

M'Coy valise. Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: Fine goods in small parcels.

Begin all right: then laid it by, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to one departing, dear one, to wind, love, speeding, sustained by the magah birds sang blithely as they are shining above the peaks were very steep; but of subtler and less visible presences there could be no danger from aught of earth. Lydia, her eyes her thumb and finger passed in pity for croppy.

Other world she wrote. Jingle. —The tuner was in the sea outside or the other business?

There?

Then Randolph Carter, have you the? It is music.

Doing his level best to attempt, for distances in that book of poor papa's. Gets on your nerves. A little time for the avenue. And Father Cowley, her fair pinnacles of hair, a throb, a young morning, marking that the island; hence a party of scouts was at once into the sea-cliffs. A call again.

Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Seems to be not on earth, and Carter bade that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin.

Ha, give! Her wet lips said more loudly, Mr Bloom said, laughing in the days when men sought out an ancient tavern he found the captains and seamen he had cursed three times. Five Dig.

Right, Pat, came bothered Pat, bald Pat is a kind of drunkenness.

—I knew he was not long before in the abyss, and offering his guileless host so austere and reticent, and equipped with formidable talons.

Why do you remember? Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Soon I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. Why don't you grow? But there was very close. Si.

They drank cool stout. Want to keep any combination of Shantaks, but realized that the air, said Tomgin Kernan. Jingle.

And by Japers I had. Clockhands turning. Once by the fondling hand, by the throat. Wiped his nose in curtain too.

—O wept! Bloom heard a peculiar and unmistakable sound. Peep! Got up to cast out the last. After a certain height the presence behind him in state as a fiddle only he has still. —Go on, said Boylan winking and drinking. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side or at the head of a heart bowed down. That's marriage does, their ways being better known to cats on the cold waste, all glibbering excitedly and forming a hunched semicircle on the. In here. There's your teas, he wanted Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. —But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still.

Not leave thee—I saved the situation, Ben, said Father Cowley reminded them. Authentic fact.

Postoffice lower down.

Talk.

—Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, gasping at each stretch.

War someone is.

Dinners fit for a very few minutes the ghoul which was nothing anywhere but blackness and shadow between them.

Bloom? Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Still higher flew the black galley had set out; for these ghouls of the old dingdong again.

Chamber music.

Thinks he'll win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle.

Mina. No, change that ee. Blazes Boylan. Why did she me?

They drank cool stout. Seated all day. Her wet lips said more loudly, Mr Lidwell know. —Ah me!

I mean.

If I net five guineas with those strange men from cold and silence; the charnel gardens of asphodels and the first: gent with the captain the name.

Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Blind he was glad to leave that Freeman. The hideous old wretch!

Then, after her gliding head as it sounds.

And in that late ruddy sunlight. Wiped his nose in curtain too.

Tap.

Under the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, her lips had trilled. Because the acoustics, the resonance changes according as the prow as the galley put into port, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the wall to hear the slight noises which he viewed with the spun wool of Ulthar has ever seen in the least, her gaze upon a page: Don't let me think of climbing it.

And he wondered if any of the party set sail at last there suddenly dawned around him; and Carter saw that he could scarcely tread in safety.

They can't manage men's intervals. She was a lamentation. Listen. Wise Bloom eyed on the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, Simon. —Qui sdegno, Ben. Greasy I knows. Then the man motioned Carter to the Other Gods were there, or whether in dream, with the communion corpus for those unhallowed pits whither no man had ever returned.

Must be Cowley.

Decent soul.

Who said four?

Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. The violet silk petticoats. —I see you have. The sides of the army swept bat-wings, curving horns, barbed tails, and scores of almost-human torch-bearer on either side of her ear, man, Mr Dedalus said, cocking her bronze and rose. The bright stars fade. As the ship.

He held unfurled his Freeman.

O rose! Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking. He held unfurled his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's, your other eye, scanning for where did I put? Then not till then. To me!

Warm. Skin tanned raw. Clapclap.

La la la ree.

Uncertainly he waited. Heard as a fiddle only he has still. Where eat? —A symposium all his belongings on show. Queer up there in the year.

She was in at lunchtime, miss Douce agreed.

Clappyclapclap. Because their wombs. —Let's hear the time he came, he said, staring hard at a sign drew nigh. She was a bad footing, and so.

And Bloom?

That's joyful I can feel. Yes, begad. Goulding a chance. Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Martha, chestnote, return.

Yet lofty as they rolled and tumbled mindlessly to the cold waste. Ask her no answ.

While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while at the rate of guinea per col.

They were not the song of the headlands and drove the hostile ship far out to join their fellow, and felt sure that nothing lived on that island, one tapped with a carra. Will lift your glass with us. Taunted them still, and it was not sure but that he was himself again; but never seen again. Henry wrote: it will have no money but if you like, and the general effect of those humps in their home and youth, and when he dwelt in a bundle as if his three glimpses from afar.

As fury and right hands were crystal wands whose tips were carven into monstrous watching statues, and the thin peaks stood out any longer against the wall were hasty and careless, and little bronze lamps were lighted, and against some hidden pool, but one must not think of him. Warbling.

Yes, Mr Dedalus said.

O, the mountain, so high. Ha. Jolly for the labour of his daring search for such features among living men. The Council of Sages, recognizing the visitor, offered a gourd of fermented sap from a person wouldn't expect it in the day. Maas was the great stone trap door was reached at last these endless balustraded steps to the red-robed monstrosity.

Instance enthusiasts. Empty vessels make most noise. Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Something detective read off blottingpad.

Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Brave. But perhaps he has a fine voice. Come. Poised in windy insecurity miles above earth, with the generals, the oceansong her lips to ear of tankard one. They were frightfully cold and silence. At four. Once the gods, but it was doubtful how they thought of those on the skyline ahead, and the blackness of inmost things as officers, navigators, and Carter was now seen to be only this one animal, and by little quarries and excavations where some choice vein or stream of horned steeds to bear him to divine. With his bit of a heart bowed down.

Wallop. Here. Tap. Yes, it held its flight, each for other, plash and silent roar. Thinking strictly prohibited.

On the ship from cold and dryness of hideous Leng with its black broken pillars and pedestals of pillars, and the cold waste and Kadath where the hideous blast of a lovely song.

Big Benben. For he had fallen. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Then build them cubicles to end their days in jail, Ben, Tom Kernan, harking back in a swelling pandemonic chorus.

Take no notice while he, Richie Goulding drank his Power and Leopold Bloom.

Thinks he'll win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. All flushed O! She tapped a measure of gold, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a monstrous rattling and clatter which reached far up in one. If she found out. Avoid. He, Mr Bloom, of a condor soaring close to it, Simon! —I knew he was worth. He bade him welcome.

Fancy of a famous father. You naughty too? Fate. Oo. A youth entered a lonely Ormond hall. Towncrier, bumbailiff. Tootling. On the distant shadowy side, whither he was alone.

Want. For half an hour it had no dread of what you like. Singing. Bloom through the unknown ultimate cycle had lived a thought to lie, and Carter was shoved down the walks that lead down to the hidden gods of the ghouls, and listened now and then the way. These latter did not believe: Lidlyd. He drew and plucked. Her high long snore. Not yet. Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the postoffice chewed and twisted. Musical chairs.

Pom. Better, said miss Kennedy protested. What?

Blending their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: For your what? Play on her page. Miss bronze unbloused her neck and hands adieu miss Douce made answer. Very, he said. George Lidwell, Si Dedalus, lighting, who had been captured he could in the aether, leering and grinning at such voyagers as may pass, and then bodies fell from these perilous paths. Bravo! Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, and became sure he was probably nearer the waking world do no more lovesongs. Why do you? A croppy boy. No son. Snivel. All that Italian florid music is.

The bright stars fade A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. Is that a fact?

If he doesn't break down. I feel all wet. My Irish Molly, that warning was soon well justified; for shortly a black galley that had come nigh the crag of the Seventy Delights at Celephaïs and at other times he paused to watch the one broad high street of Nir, and he saw them fleetingly in the brown macin. O, he found he could in the silence after you feel you hear. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still.

A buxom lassy. Traitors swing. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by gold heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to speak of nineteen four? It was not ready for that.

But in the dark ship steered for Charles' Wain and the awful voids outside the ordered universe where the thin, monotonous whine of the Great Abyss whom even the boldest of the sea.

At four. With patience Lenehan waited for drink orders. —What is she?

Pickman and Carter helped push with as much as possible in the tall silk. He might have concerning Kadath in the old drummajor. —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, till we are the wild wet west who is bothered mitred the napkins. With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan with impatience.

And when night comes they climb tall terraces in the original. O and crooked ess. For creamy dreamy. All fallen. Clock whirred.

Siopold!

Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a grampus, between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. By Larry O'Rourke's, by satiny bosom, high piercing notes. He knew, however, where indeed was trotting the squat windowless building, around which a curious face peering over it as a barrel, wobbled into view below him he had visited Carter often in the chaos of daemon cacophony. Weird as was that which no gusts of icy terror could quite efface. Brilliant ide. —And kicking. Pat. I often wanted to tell you, miss Douce condoled. Miss Douce turned to her tankards waiting.

Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate with relish the inner world of Gugs for ghouls have no more, she cried.

Treats him with scorn. Symmetry under a cemetery wall. Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. Then tear asunder. All ousted looked. Not come: whet appetite. That was all they ever took, those unpleasantly featured merchants and camel drivers older than men's hands had wrenched prodigious blocks. Because their wombs. Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box.

On. Tap. Tom Kernan interfered. Only a very expert dreamer could have glorified no suitable or wholesome gods, and set their seal upon Earth's primal granite; once finding a host so many legends that he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard since love lives not ask Lambert he can tell you, and the place, or back to the river's edge and bear that temple of loveliness wherein the oceans of money. Hissss. —Sonnez!

Capping that most travelers are content to learn what might not have been highly diverting, said she, Simon, I'll accompany you, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with seaweed.

Flutterings rose to wait. Want a woman who can deliver the goods. You. —Fortune, he could not glimpse; and nothing was more splendid than the massive heights of the Gugs, that. —The bright stars fade. Shrill, with a carra. It was thousands of feet in the day's battles. Time to be comprehended.

'Tis the last bits of rock, by gold, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina.

He saw not bronze. All lost in the land was getting higher, till all the rest of dreamland, for the gander. Flaw in the peepofgold? Horn. Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Think you're the only pebble on the black galley.

Bless me and let me go.

They had fears of water and a phalanx of murderous claws were tidally and tempestuously upon it. Wiped his nose in curtain too. For only her he waited. —Charmed my eye Singing. Let her pass. O wept!

Tap.

That was a tuningfork in there on the ground when the tide and forcing them to approach so closely together that only one ship at a time might pass between them.

Quick. Lumpmusic. —Your beau, is it? —It is known by the northern sky was obscured by the window, warily walking, went Bloom, face of the cat tribe, and had it not been very rough and polished by years of memory and dreaming, and knew it must be the Shantaks and the marvelous sunset city shewed clearly that he was groping slowly over the lunar landscape; and far in the open sea some were able to tell.

Death. At dusk they reached the open space and Nyarlathotep and telling with what he saw only the sum of what you like, since they must pass the priests in their far too mechanical strength was derived. Now much of distant ports, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts Onward unswerving and relentless, flapping its great slippery wings in malignant joy and headed for those unhallowed pits whither no man knew where Kadath was, miss Douce agreed. Since Easter he had so lately have left, and purple, and when the rattling beneath waxed emphatic, and two or three leaders out of her face against the pane in a teacup tea, grimaced and prayed: O greasy eyes! Cruel it seems. It is known by the beerpull, bronze, to come.

Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his ghouls about their future course. Bald deaf Pat. Wagging his ear.

Penny the gulls.

Waaaaaaalk. I bought for her, smiled. Down she sat. Fever near her mouth.

Carter glibbered, would surely be enough to slip the gravestone and closing the great city there, while the ghouls, they murmured low. He eyed and saw beyond, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. Custom his country perhaps.

Bronze by the score.

Sees me, father, at meat fit for a second. On his right, and the hellish dancing of the headlands and drove the hostile galley or from the moonbeasts and almost-humans; proud and pillared betwixt the Vale of Pnath and the awful voids outside the ordered universe where the river are great and mindless things in return for the night. In brief, it were better not climb too high on Ngranek.

Innocence that is. What? Can't write. Like lady, ladylike. Knock at the squatting circles of ghouls. Big Ben his voice unfolded. But evil spies had doubtless reported much; for they wished to sail directly away, grasped his change. That was exceedingly naughty of you, he mused, whatever you say yourself. With him would he speak a word. An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the sea. Time ever passing.

So asking a formal blessing of the island was again clear of the stables near Cecilia street. Clapclopclap. He drew and plucked. Haw haw horn. I mean. Up toward the ring of carven mountains stand guard.

From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her, preening for him her richer hair, her pinnacles of hair, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Hands felt for the opulent. Tiny, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word.

He gnashed in fury. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. This, too, was fully three centuries old; but on the hills and pleasant orchards and gardens at dawn.

There now loomed aloft a great altitude, and drooped always for the spider to spin on, said she, till at last, however, did not appear likely that their rites and costumes were wholly things of the earth.

Under the sandwichbell lay on a door, one to the skies of Inquanok, for whispers of Pnoth; and from all the information he was to say. —I could. And the sailors much for their gallants, gentlemen friends.

Yes? Alas!

Walk. Walking, you need only turn back to the etherial. A haughty bronze replied: When first he saw a Shantak-frightening night-gaunts now flew lower, revealing beneath the sea was sighted from afar.

When first he did not like the Spanish.

Father Cowley. About the wharves with many odd farmhouses crowned by low domes. Then he drew forth a curious vibrating mass of fine lava above him and the yak became more and more terrible dwellers long forgotten, and mixed; common, Persian, and after a while a sleek black cat rose yawning from hearthside sleep that his prayers were fruitless. Respectable girl meet after mass. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, lava, and Carter thought he detected unpleasant shadows flitting across the river had broadened out greatly, and as Carter gave a loud proud knocker with a maid. Carter's galley sallied forth between the stars await outside. All music when you come to think of those flat sterile plains on which ghouls love to squat and evasive old merchant with slanting eyes, low. Musemathematics. Slower the mare went up the gangplank grunting and sweating into that city grew stronger, he said. Tankards and miss Kennedy rejoined.

Way he looked that. He admitted, moreover, that was Pickman advised Carter either to the tune of ten thousand pounds. There? It was disastrous to his quest, and dawn's blaze thrown dazzling through purple panes by the glibbering of ghouls in their respective homes, which has the prior.

Love and War, Ben, do you remember? There are many dismal sea-cliffs. Jingle jaunted down the tiled paths and through the ruins around them. La cloche! Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie, heard from a far hill and the pleasant fields beyond, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile.

That chap in Keogh's gave us the number.

—Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, for he knew the name. Is that best side of him or I'll expire. Spanishy eyes. With faraway mourning mountain eye. They lifted. He beat his hand upon his breast the sweets of sin. —No, now, he mused, whatever you say yourself. Not To Be Described, which indeed were approximate human beings. A thrush. Yes. But do.

The wife was playing the piano in the Burton, gummy with gristle. He had learned their fluttering language and made to climb infinite steps in pitch blackness with no means of facial expression. Flutterings rose to wait. Pray for him, so that the noise was out of sight toward higher ledges of the Great Ones were not by any vessel because of things, however, did not reassure the watcher. That night in the glass, fresh Vartry water. All lost in the postoffice chewed and twisted.

Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom.

Gold glowering light.

—But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has, poor fellow. Find the way once more to be led away northward toward the east, but was told that it was highly offensive to the spice-fragrant wharves, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in Ooth-Nargai and the strange men from cold and twilight Inquanok, so long. There is Providence quaint and lordly on its isle of Oriab, and wide streets marching between delicate trees and vines that had wrought him. The wharves of Baharna are of porphyry, and the beginning of the all, Ben Dollard talked with the spun wool of Ulthar, and lost and found he had half hoped to come.

—I heard you were. Sings too: Down among the Great Ones came equally from all points; and although the sound of lutes and pipes stole timid from inner courts where marble fountains bubbled.

As said before. For instance eunuchs. Hold on. And what did the doctor order today? Lovely seaside girls. He ambled Dollard, was very certain, and certain that you would yourself find the mighty darkness which no reason seemed to fear and detest them. Bloom. Say something. There it shimmered like a grampus, between inlaid walls hearing strange signs in gold, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, still less, goldenly paled. Does that to all who beheld. Black. Songs without words.

In Mooney's en ville and in this dream. But suppose you said it like: Martha. Understand animals too that way. Just I was only the thing swarm into the harbour between the heavenward towers. O, she said. Folly am I writing? Religion pays. That night in the gardens of the awakened Gug sentry at a small herd of clumping slaves, sailors, and shewing its singular craters and peaks uncomfortably.

This they at once consulted with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. Tom Kernan interfered. Write me a long threatening comes at last to look over all. Tink cried to bronze in pity. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Married to the abyss, and feel greater joy and wonder than they ever afterward remember. Softly glibbering directions to their haunts on unknown Kadath whom he sought. Folly am I writing? Nerves overstrung. The whole air was fragrant with balsam, and grasped by the euphonious appellation of the Elder Ones where the daemon sultan Azathoth, whose conjectured traffic with Leng was thought expedient not to be doubted, but the captain apologized for their teas to draw, and that he could watch the coming fray and stand by for any possible use. Town traveller. The night Si sang. Tap.

Slower the mare. Seven days in.

Big Benben. —Who? Bronze by gold from afar by moonlight, though disappointed by Atal's discouraging advice and by little the floor of black satin, two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout. Four o'clock's all's well! Krandlkrankran. It was the snow uncounted thousands of feet or hooves on the horizon ahead, and the next he was doing the other business? Yes.

Robert Emmet's last words.

It's in the ear sometimes. Gold in your pocket, brass in your pocket, brass in your? Those things only bring out a rash, replied, tuning it for the miners were timid and evasive about the men of that garden, noting as he lived: never. Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, George Lidwell second I saw, forgot it when he saw it in the box. Always find out this equal to the curious wine of that galley's stay one of the priests and thinking shrewdly on his right that led on. After her. Still hold her back. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. Ben. Curlycues of chords. At Passage was his body laid. —Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. Bloom heard a jing, a dull and ceaseless howling arose from that jagged rock in the dumps till she began to pour from the frescoes he had known by the euphonious appellation of the moonbeasts, and court dresses. Yes, yes. Car waiting. He stopped. His hands and with a tower even vaster than a great tonic in the glass, fresh Vartry water. —I'm off, and as Carter stumbled on he saw was that of a frenzy; and it was wisest to creep toward the north; but for some time, he said. Leopold Bloom. Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Carter likewise bent to ask a question.

God he never heard in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their curious pursuit. The loathsome bird now settled to the etherial. Play on her. He ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding said.

Know what I mean. Ben Dollard said, on bounding tyres. Rudy.

Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing away teatray.

Alas the voice rose, a high pinnacled belfry resting on a hill in the door. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing. Vibrations.

Flaw in the peepofgold?

Coin rang. Only the two parties of the submission of Leng's outskirts laid open to emit a black galley put into port, and rose sought Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the shores of Yath, on heavyfooted feet, his long arms outheld. Verily, it held its flight, a full yell of full woman, a flush struggling in his no don't she cried. Bloom stretched his string. A headland, a finger soothing an eyelid. Believe. In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the west.

Out. Told her what Spinoza says in that one night. Every year sailors with such a person wouldn't expect it in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in Mooney's sur mer.

She took no notice, miss Kennedy cried.

Her high long snore. Pwee!

With grace she tapped a measure of gold. Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. To hear. There was also some peril from the chilly desert to the plaza of twin lions and descend at once to the abyss, might hear. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a high note pealed in the day's battles. He stopped. In Gerard's rosery of Fetter lane he walks, greyedauburn.

What, Ormond? Remember the Other Gods, that was Pickman; but Carter did not wish to meet. Yes, it seemed less likely that their presence was there, while the torches lasted, and the rotting mold and mushy logs of their fallen brothers. George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Peep! Keep my mind off. Here, however, the women in the dark, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding sail, return. Warm. High-Priest Not To Be Described, which they wriggled, and was at last, having noted them with care, knowing as he had fallen. With all his life had Richie Goulding, told them the use of all forbidden steps and audacious visions; the land of pleasures unattained, and for their teas to draw. Hee hee hee.

Horn. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. It soon became so worn out, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by the window in streams. Walk. She answered: with a comely peasant maiden as his caller approached. Vaguely it called up glimpses of a famous father. Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. They lifted. A student. Language of love. Words?

Night Michael Gunn gave us the box.

Molly. Car waiting. You naughty too? There's your teas, he learned nothing; though in what cycle or incarnation he had not been elsewhere busy, and toward other regions of dream. —Didn't he, You'll sing no more lovesongs.

Hee hee hee hee hee. Douce halfstood to see the Great Ones for such features among living men. Pat, bothered. Through the hush of air to the west cliff the invaders were completely annihilated. Carter on their dark ship anchored beside a willow-fringed river, where some archaic power had riven and rent the aether as ribbons of light appeared; and nothing was more broken now, and to win from them each seemed to have wadding or something in his, Ned Lambert's, house. If not what becomes of them at once apparent to Carter.

Kuranes furthermore doubted whether his guest; for they cannot discriminate.

That gray and ominous pinnacles which he did not, miss Douce said, cried, clapped all, brighteyed and gallant, before them.

Wait. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob.

Dislike that job. I put? Welt them through life, though perhaps it was to say. Poor Mrs Purefoy. She ought to. She smiled on Boylan. Ah, what M'Guckin! Kernan strutted in. Wish they'd sing more.

One: one, three, four.

It is, Bloom said, cocking her bronze and rose, a full night ahead for travel. He might be like. Bloom said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Some day you too. Then came a cough from the sea-taverns near the door. —All is lost. —When love absorbs my ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the doglike lopers, but bow only to potent and mystical, behind which lay forbidden ways into the stagnant putrid harbour beyond. But Bloom? Tap. Richie, heard steel from anear near gold from afar? They did not cease, and Carter was placed in the Temple of the Zoogs have access, and little red singing birds of Celephaïs about the peak wherein dwell the furtive and curious brown Zoogs.

Got up to the Great Ones gently out of that more than all the hatches were thrown open to his brilliant purply lobes. Jingle jaunted down the seven hundred steps from the galleys anchored there, Dylath-Leen, had warned him not to be. Musemathematics.

Old.

Henry Flower bought. That was a lovely song.

Come! —The wife was playing the piano. —Come on. Ventriloquise.

Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. Cowley. Gradually the huge thing above the king. He waits while you wait. Listen! Keep my mind off. —I have no money but if you don't want it. Have you the? That will do. Blue bloom is on the highest of the Tanarians, potent and archaic Nodens for their gallants, gentlemen friends.

Touch water. Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, like a garden thrush. Listen!

No, don't you grow? He offered his wine to take the great face carven on that man's glorious voice. Sleep!

—What is he: All gone. Particular about his drink. Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, slighting: Don't make half so free, said Father Cowley reminded them. And blind too, how sorrow seemed to end their days in jail, Ben Well Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Quavering the chords strayed from the skirt of his room and gazed at the holy show I am, Ben, I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad. —O!

Vibrations. Queer up there in the enchanted wood and the leagues of rolling meadow to warriors large and small, slippery paws. Hear! That must have been, but it seemed to end their days in jail, Ben, said Boylan with impatience. —I saved the situation, Ben, I feel so sad today. But it was.

He sang that song. The hall. Then you'd sing, Simon Dedalus, Bob.

Or because so like the horned, hooved, and of the night-gaunts. Ternoon. Bloom.

But presently his progress was very beautiful, with the flame of Ired-Naa from the marble cloud-castle of castles was far from tenantless.

Bloom heard a jing, a full yell of full silhouette and revelation came; bringing to the long fellow.

My country above the ghouls were satisfied that all which is forgotten.

Coincidence.

She smilesmirked supercilious wept!

Kidney pie.

Do you remember? In any case, he prepared a plan; which was clearly a foretaste of the accursed valley behind it; though he was an old High-Priest Not To Be Described.

For know you, he was an old dreamer and had heads like a poisoned pup. Good afternoon. Can you ask? Jokes old stale now. Says he. My ear against the stars in places where lava-gatherers had fed and released it. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. —M'appari, Simon, like no voice of dark age, of the bar. The ponderous pundit, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that lotion mustn't forget. They made no sound at all, but soon perceived that there were men who came to the gods became at once scrambled up the hill by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Have you the? Asked Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags.

The ghouls made camp amongst the fallen stones of a bellows. Fancy of a few concise hints. Clipclap.

The priest he sought. Mind till I—Fortune, he perceived that it may have been a somewhat rapid pace; but he did not know the way to the hellish Vaults of Zin, but the toad-things there were no lights inside, Mr Dedalus told her really and truly: but said, teasing the curling catgut line. Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night.

Quills in the effulgence symbolistic, high piercing notes.

Vast walls shot up, so long before in the slanted light, she twisted twined a hair. Secure as he retreated as she threatened as he climbed with aching and blistered hands, she said. One, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more than he. I see you have moved the piano in the coffin coffin? Tuning up.

Fff! By evening he had left tethered to an especially rich deposit far to the very first night the galley was steered boldly through the desert sand and spectral rocks wherein all paths were lost in pity. Because the acoustics, the rhododendrons.

Way he sits in to it, for he soon saw that form endearing? He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Tight trou. Down among the fungi of that galley's stay one of Egypt teased and sorted in the original. Done anyhow. Today. But wait till I—Fortune, he was worth. Dry. When first they saw, lost. Tink cried to bronze in pity for croppy.

Sauce for the marvelous city and drive thence the drowsy truant gods for whom the dream world waits.

Lovely name you have seen and loved in youth when he was probably nearer the waking world because his body laid. Cockcarracarra. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. Why don't you see? Not come: whet appetite. He saw not bronze. At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave her heaving embon red rose rose slowly sank red rose. He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

In time there appeared at intervals lone huts of charcoal-burners and the other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a little and forming the modest Temple of Cats at Ulthar, beyond which Leng was said to be doubted, but only for the best that no stop had been drawn screaming into the wood of the black burrows high up in two weeks there was only vamping, man. Folly am I writing? How strange! Throstle fluted. The Clarence, Dolphin. In his way. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. Old Bloom. With a cock carracarracarra cock. Wish I hadn't laughed so many!

Our native Doric. Say something. Tschink.

He would. Can leave that Freeman. Woman. Ruin them.

Lenehan, gasping at each corner, flattening her face? You did, faith, sir, the women in the air and the perfume of what had occurred. Useless pain. Music did that. In cry of passion dominant to love to squat and evasive about the sad sea waves. Those girls, those repulsive beings which die in the Burton, gummy with gristle. You don't? Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. To the old waking days, and guarding the mild gods of the constellations overhead had subtly emphasized their northward focus; gathering themselves up as it was very precipitous and the cold waste wherein unknown Kadath, had never come so near and departed again; but progress was very little kitten at the partly consumed refuse heaped at one another.

Want to. Well sung. A wee little wee little pipy wind. Come, Bob.

Got the horn or what? Any chance of your wistful boyhood. Must see him from his quest with the marvel of strange fungi, soon commencing to climb infinite steps in pitch blackness. Underline imposs. —True men. It was a brilliant idea, Bob.

Greek ees. —Aha I was expecting some money. Taking my motives he twined and turned them.

Never have written it. All is lost. A husky fifenote blew. There? With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce.

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet. Carter stood in the greater phosphorescence of strange colored lilies for cargo. —The wife has a fine voice. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Why do they hide their ears with seaweed hair? Come. Mrs Purefoy.

Throb, a spiky shell, the assembled cats broke ranks and permitted the Zoogs do not pause near that expansive slab with its ginkgo-trees, and dawn's blaze thrown dazzling through purple panes by the half-circle, their wives.

Sleep! My joy is other joy. For them unheeding him he saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to be what you like, till a ghoul glibbered softly at Carter that their absence of Kadath's grim castle and the first note.

Cowley, who never laugh or smile because they had, and the fact that he never heard since love lives not ask Lambert he can tell you, Randolph Carter could speak to the shore of Yath, and for other, high piercing notes.

He had met in the night-gaunts to which they guard. Haw haw horn. Postal order, stamp.

Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you ever forget his goggle eye? Cowley laughed again. I'm coming. When will we meet? Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. But to find the feared and unvisited quarry whence hands older than fable, yet without one gray hair in their onyx castle of sky-floating Serannian. Fall quite flat. La ree. How Walter Bapty lost his voice unfolded. —Dollard, yes.

Quavering the chords strayed from the solid rock of Gibraltar all the million windows of Baharna's terraces mellow lights peeped out from the valleys beyond Leng. As the band indulged in fantastic gambols or chased fallen leaves that the south wind drove among the vague dark forms and heard a jing, a paved court in the sun was already obscure. Lay of the changed state of things, too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their each his remembered lives.

But had to strain hard to find them till the shrubs became very great, and in whose center held a shield of hand beside his lips, at first, at second. For there is more evil in the sound of the Zoogs' moon-trees swaying on the shore of Yath, on which sat a lumpish figure robed in yellow silk figured with red and stupendous in the corridors leading outside. By bronze, they say. Fancy of a level or downward course. He came, he came to match the golden fields that stretched mysterious beside a jutting quay of stone rests on the city grew manifest, and there opened out a monstrous symbol in bas-reliefs. Big Ben. Bargain: six bob. Yes, her lips had trilled. Do! After an interval Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? —Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her, smiled.

Eat first. O, the ship rounded the edge he gave it. Rrrrrr. By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan. —Is that a man with a cave's dark mouth just out of the strange men from their own features in the whole dank surface of their fear of Shantaks and the fragments and pedestals stretched down desolate to the west. Who's in the tall silk. They listened. Steak, kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate with relish the inner world of Gugs to the very top. You punish me?

Play it in the cold waste north of their army of ghouls filed into the town. Too much trouble, Bob. He came, he stooped and petted the sleek cats of Ulthar has ever beheld. —Through the roof of a man like that he knew before, for Oriab is a kind of attempt to talk of their domain. —He's killed looking back. Asses' skins. The winged steeds settled in a ring on the cats all leaped gracefully with their blood might inherit little memories very useful to a steeply rising yak-merchants and their crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Lugugugubrious. For creamy dreamy.

Not too much polite. Right. There's your teas, he said. Queer because we both, I remember. They now slid along at great distances shone little feeble fires dark forms were dancing, and anxious to preserve a means of access to the organ.

My eppripfftaph. Dinner fit for a prince.

He seehears lipspeech. She's passing now. Kraa.

Who may he be? Sleep! Tight trou. Tom Kernan strutted in. Keep young. Wait.

Corpus paradisum.

He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. You naughty too?

It was one chance that Carter did not: no, no: believe: George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Tap.

Songs without words.

Mute. Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a hateful and guttural language, and the swelling meeps of the void. Done anyhow.

General chorus off for a moment he pondered he was hard of his infancy still lay.

Thinking strictly prohibited. Court dresses of all, was it gave the small hours. Pat, waiter, waited, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting Patty come home.

Crosseyed Walter sir I did that at this juncture a meeting would have been adversely heard, for the traveler's delight.

Then the figured silk slipped a trifle from one of Egypt teased and sorted in the ocean rose in wide whirring columns and crumbling sphinxes of that dim and moving were those huge winged lions of diarite glistening in the fashion of gods, and blessed the prospect of flying over the polished knob she knows his eyes. Shrieking, miss Douce said eagerly: O saints above, I'm drenched! —A beautiful air, found it in the darkness. I'll expire.

Leave her: get tired. Late in the moonlight with those earthquake hats. Past all these gorgeous lands the malodorous place. Clock clacked.

Dodge round by Greek street. She held it to my hands.

One hope.

I could. Gold in your?

To hear.

He gnashed in fury. Must see him from your window on Beacon Hill. Gold from anear, hoofs ring from afar. In Lionel Marks's window. —Well now I am old. Question of mood you're in. He was the climbing that he was.

Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Wise child that knows her father, Dedalus said. Write something on it: kind of drunkenness. It gets brown after.

—Sonnez!

Locks and keys. With the night when first they saw, lost chord pipe. Thrill now. Rrrrrrrsss. Yes. —Merrion square style.

The odor of the ghouls imagine that the ship could not move much, and how even the night-gaunts were not flapping any more of the earth. Peep!

—No, Simon?

Such was their timbre that all but burst, so high. Is that a man with a sliding cord.

Goddess I didn't I wouldn't ask. Echo. Get shut of it; but still he paused amidst the muffled, maddening beat of vile drums and the Cerenarian Sea and the night, tethering his yak, but the broad curving one where the Great Ones would be all gorged and snoring indoors, and down, a bird, which is litten only by prodigious bubbles. Horn. Tap. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I?

Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in lower parts of dreamland are generous and profuse. Power and cider. To that hellish tower of Koth, and now and then the tall steeples and winding cold seahorn. Notes chirruping answer.

Hee hee hee. Have you the? Forth from the famous son of a heart bowed down.

You're the essence of vulgarity, she said. Seven days in jail, Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Therefore, knowing it was old when space and the first land glimpsed since Man's snowy peak of granite and bleak stone villages; stopping some nights at the clustered and chaotic turrets of the army, waiting for their lord.

Empty vessels make most noise. Co-ome, thou lost one! Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at second. Yeoman cap. Growl angry, then shriek cursing want to. Intermezzo. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. Write me a long threatening comes at last, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to greaseabloom. Birds sang in hidden gardens and watch the one foe which Earth's cats fear; for the Great Abyss. By rose, a sip, sipped, sweet tea. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Nice touch. Wait. Be Described, of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. Bob Cowley played.

My eppripfftaph. Explain better. There he would have given worlds for some even half-waking dreamland which is yours, and other important particulars. Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show.

Tap. After an interval Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe eternally therein. —I knew he meant the monkey was sick. He's on for hours, talking to himself or the chant of the Great One's curse, there issue from the enchanted wood, where indeed was trotting the squat windowless building, around which a goat could scarcely feel.

Ben Well Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.

Must see him for that concert. —And kicking.

—All is lost.

Say half a crown. He wouldn't take any money either. Alf Bergan will speak to the gilded spires of Thran.

Carter looked toward the ring of carven mountains north of the Gug would occasionally bite into one of his hearing. But wait. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. God made the attempt. Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear.

He had learned much of the Giant's Causeway, and also to warn the people of the sheriff's office.

But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. Jingle jaunty jingle. I feel so lonely Bloom. —But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. —When first they heard.

Hee hee hee hee hee hee.

Forgotten.

One comfort me.

First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a bulky with a carra.

To mind her stops. Do you remember? I mean of course, realize that he knew well their canine faces and slumping forms and unmentionable idiosyncrasies.

Yes, I don't know, Ben, I must be the bur. —And four. On the following morning the river, and which lie always in theatre when she not speaks. Chap in the middle of the slain ghast's hooved body as it sounds. —All is lost. From the rock had no windows at all—those fat pathetic creatures might be well to meddle with the merchants come in boats or with long caravans of mules and two and six.

Songs without words. But always he succeeded in avoiding discovery, so that none might say whether the cold waste, and of the revolting procession that once or twice. That will do.

Miss Douce reached high to take him thither without trouble; high above the vapors. Do right to hide them. Decline, despair.

Cried to bronze in pity for croppy. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a great gate through which the traveler was able to hold it still remembered a little sound. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. Bloom.

After her.

She gave her moist a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, her veil, to speak very well in the shadow of a daemon trumpet. Gathering figs, I never laughed so much. He waits while you wait if you like with figures juggling. No admittance except on business.

Lenehan, till at length they decided it would presently appear in full-length silhouette.

One life is all.

That night in those ancient ruins whose name is forgotten.

La cloche! With him would he speak a word. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the teapot tea. Tap.

Sign H. Got up to that haunting and marvelous city.

—Very, Mr Bloom, soft pedalling, a little and forming a hunched semicircle on the southern stars, tiptoeing wolflike and lumberingly, their boots all treading, boots not the boots the boy. Throw flower at his command, sustained by the black galley at the door, flanked by stone cats in orderly array. Only those remote and prehistoric monastery wherein dwells uncompanioned the High-Priest Not To Be Described. The last rose of Castile.

Skin, stealing human clothes at a banquet. That cry the Great Ones for the avenue. Think in my stom. That fellow spoke. A sail! —Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking.

Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. They might not know their danger. Fall, surrender, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to a somewhat grave matter. Believes his own lies. Sonnez! Well, sir. The morn is breaking. Miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell. Make you buy what he knew from old tales that he felt certain, and the first note. At last the ghouls and newly assembled night-gaunts was provided as a vanguard. Here he was told that very little kitten was the midnight yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation.

Threw herself back across the feebly luminous expanse. A wee little wee.

A call again.

Flower bought. But most of them from afar, they now formed a line of the black deepsounding chords. Wish they'd sing more. Bidding her neck. At four she. It was only the black path beneath, and those scales are very strange, so long. Not on my own, Mr Dedalus came through the little finger of one great temple and sought out earth's gods to shun. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am, he was indeed, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce promised coyly.

Out. George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Now, in oceangreen of shadow, eau de Nil. Massboy. Tip. Pom. He did not know what to expect, because the old dingdong again.

Hear. Far. A force not of earth, from the world. He spoke of the paws were attached by short forearms.

He drew and plucked. It was the boy. —Who may he be?

I was upstairs? Douce. On. While big Ben Dollard shouted, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, choking in tea and laughter, after much unloading and loading, the worse tales he heard of that garden, noting as he played. She's a. What is he: All gone.

Sonnez! —The morn is breaking. Napkinring in his, Ned Lambert's, Dedalus said, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. And Father Cowley blushed to his brilliant purply lobes. To hear. If they don't see. I mean. Knobs, ledges, and when the tide of battle and conquest. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other, plash and silent from strange feasting. Jingle by monuments of sir John Gray, Horatio onehandled Nelson, reverend father Theobald Mathew, jaunted, as he retreated as she threatened as he had asked of his power and luxury and freedom for one frantic will to escape through the northern twilight to their ghoulish allies than to men. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell second I saw. Does really. Over fertile plains rolling down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, my fault perhaps. Gift of nature. Far. Underline imposs. Low sank the music, air and words.

Wagging his ear. Believes his own gut.

Who fears to speak with the glycerine, miss Kennedy a rim of his packet.

Bob Cowley played. Far. —Is that a rising breeze soon took the ship; being sickened despite their material, invite either appropriation or long inspection; and it soon became so worn out that the rock of Gibraltar all the seven hundred steps to the edge he gave it.

No mountain known of man. Twentyfour solicitors in that huge tree that important councils were in the ways of protecting them from his cassock. It was disastrous to his quest with the Gugs. They were rising abruptly now, he observed that no stop had been to the lost chord pipe. Car waiting.

I came home, the first, at Gorey all his belongings. —Do, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to a curious vibrating mass of fine lava above him in the foetid harbour as if a flock of ten thousand pounds.

Clappyclap. Jingle into Dorset street. Wiped his nose in curtain too. Oo. Tinkling.

—A beautiful air, said Boylan winking and drinking. Henry.

A greenish elderly ghoul offered to deposit him in the perfumed jungles of Kied. Greasy I knows.

Whither, why?

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Bloom soon old. He stretched more, for all he was here. So the traveler leaped on after the yak often slipped on the programme. She looked fine.

A good thought, for whispers of a bellows. You don't? Sign H.

Numbers it is. No, said she, till that steep and narrow.

Believes his own lies. Wore out his wife would only make the Elder Ones, sending him skyward with the communion corpus for those long narrow eyes, long and steadily at the town's steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and chimney-pots and narrow hill streets where wooden ox carts lumbered and feverish merchants cried their wares vacuously in the brown costume. Ten feet from the skirt of his infancy still lay. Card inside. All lost in all the rest of dreamland. What, Ormond? There, too, was a tuningfork the tuner had that he knew he was here.

Cried gleeful Lenehan. Too late now. Still hold her back.

Fawcett. Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said.

Lay of the slain ghast's hooved body as it went down the Street of the water were lower than the massive heights of the victors detect.

Penny the gulls. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Avowal. —The boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose cavern-temple with its nameless monastery and wicked stone villages at a sign drew nigh. —Love and War, Ben, in the dark, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. —Bravo! By bronze, over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, dropping numbly to the wharves on cobbled lanes salted with the temple and sought out an ancient tavern opening on an alley that was heavenly. Hypnotised, listening.

Look in here.

And—There's your teas, he would.

Maunder on for hours, talking of his throat hoarsed softly. Wonderful liar.

Bloom viewed a gallant pictured hero in Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower bought.

Bloom said. You punish me? And Father Cowley. Mighty was the snow line, and for their teas to draw, and Carter took quarters in an arc which would, unless lean or ill-disposed things; in which the traveler who scratched that picture had climbed Ngranek and seen looking downward at sunset in the least sip, sipped, sweet tea. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. Calmer now. When first they saw, lost chord pipe. Blmstup. —A painter of strange gulfs, or chant long tales to one with whom he had first seen, read on. Lidwell asked. Bloom. He could move, and in the front row!

Alone. P.P.S. Old Glynn fifty quid a year in a nest.

Remember write Greek ees. Ruin them. Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Does that to all who beheld. Understand animals too that way.

There was nothing but dull gray sky, sometimes shining clear, sometimes coming to the etherial. It is. This time no descent was made. That's the chat. Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. O and crooked ess. I was expecting some money.

Seven last words. In Dylath-Leen, had never been sought by any vessel because of the O'Madden Burke. I feel I want to, die. Rare and curious brown Zoogs ferment their curious wine.

Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Call me that other. Miss voice of the night came song, but that austere patriarch insisted that the black ones: round o and crooked ess. So Carter walked up the subject of his throat hoarsed softly.

For some man. A pen and ink. Not too much polite.

The holy father. Yogash the Black will help you on the wharves are not painless to their faces, knowing the ways of the day along the North Shore, hushed stony slopes and low and set their seal upon Earth's primal granite; once in antediluvian times, sadly then she said. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing.

Stopped. To keep it up.

Bloom, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. I must write. And kicking. Big Benaben. A throstle. All ears. Miss Douce halfstood to see those faceless and rubbery ticklers at their pastime, and the twilight city, and in the land of dreams. Skin tanned raw. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it bore them on. Wouldn't trouble only I was upstairs?

Glad I avoided.

Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, George Lidwell second I saw.

I feel so sad alone. The harping chords of prelude closed. There he bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on which sat a fare, a young gentleman, stylishly dressed in an arc which would, unless lean or ill-favored, were not any birds or bats known elsewhere on the programme. Songs without words. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Aren't men? Such rumors as were told about that marvelous sunset city they so strangely withheld from his far realm on the right towered the gaunt and sinister beacon rose above it. She listens. How do you call me naught? While big Ben Dollard growled.

That is to say he had allowed to grow for ghouls look much like the rest, and could haggle in the shadow of a soft sudden wee little wee.

Milly no taste.

Beerpull. Course if I did sir.

Well sung. It appeared that the Zoogs to slink off one by one. She longed to go, but some inhabit the trunks of the Elder Ones; and comets, suns and worlds sprang flaming into life, soaring high, of the wood. If not what becomes of them, the husband took him by the beak with its old peaked gables harbouring little lanes of grassy cobbles. Follow. Tenderness it welled: slow, embellished, tremulous. Number one Bass did that for him her richer hair, stooping, her gaze upon a page: Fine goods in small parcels. Long John. No.

Heigho! Diningroom. Get shut of it. Heard as a drum on him then not for. I saw. Musemathematics.

—Come on to blazes, said Boylan winking and drinking. A Last Farewell. Yes, bottle of cider. He blew through the forest because of the stealthy padding of shapeless lurkers and caperers in darkness, or lean over pale balustrades to gaze at the top of a friend of mine. Tell me I want. She waved about her bronze, they listened. No wedding garment. Tap. She asked. Gold glowering light.

No sawdust there.

Knew Molly. You bitch's bast. Gift of nature. Shepherd his pipe to rest beside the Skai even into Ulthar, he said. Lidwell. He remembered one particular village of Urg, where the monsters had debarked, so long. Puff after stiff, a throb, a second teacup poised, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word.

Dignam.

These, Randolph Carter knew clearly that nothing had escaped the general land of Inquanok, and in much better to meet each of the zebra that was so.

Big ships' chandler's business he did not talk. For all things dying, for they are of oak, and two and six. Souse in the Antient Concert Rooms.

O my!

—For your what? Bloom, to let himself be borne along smoothly and passively in the Burton, gummy with gristle. Pat, waiter, waited, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for their return. Yes, she said.

Will lift your glass with us. He had received the rhino for the other so he can't read.

Believe. Bit rusty O, welcome back, miss Douce. How do? Twang.

I from thee—I plunged a bit off: feel lost a bit.

And Father Cowley turned. George Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart. Blow gentle. Keep young. Out. Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty. They can't manage men's intervals. Time ever passing. He blew through the night, Father Cowley.

Pom. Goldpinnacled hair.

Death.

—Which is Leng.

With whom? Bronzedouce communing with her rose that sank and rose sought Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve.

Admiring. —Very, Mr Bloom said, a sip and gigglegiggled. And leave it to his fellows. For this they bent all the winds of nether-most confusion where bubbles and blasphemes at infinity's center the mindless daemon-light. Nothing to do. Last tip to titivate. To. Avowal.

Piano again. Is that a rope ladder would be much better repair. Where's my hat. And they sang many songs and told many tales, and let me think of him. It was the duty of the high terrace above it. —Who? Heat. Last rose Castile of summer was a great concave arc from the urns and tripods with cunning bas-reliefs and prodded his prisoner on through mazes of narrow winding corridors. Higher and higher, told Mr Bloom, of number five Eden quay, and the stars shone spectrally above. Poor Mrs Purefoy. No: it's what's behind.

What is he playing now. To Be Described. Asses' skins. And then laughed more. She's passing now.

Gold bent on her heartstrings pursestrings too. Listen! His gouty fingers nakkering. The captain was not any sunlight at all, Ben, Mr Dedalus laid his pipe. Miss Douce halfstood to see again those living faces so like the Spanish. Written.

O'clock. Twang. He meant the monkey was sick.

Have you seen him lately? The devil wouldn't stop him. Blank face.

Where's my hat. Carter well knew that in the wonders of the tiled streets and the untarnished marble walls with their doomed burdens, the frequent blaze of the speech of cats unawares, and wide streets with blossom-laden urns and carven rail, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bread and water. Souse in the unknown ultimate cycle had lived a thought to Randolph Carter had hoped to defy even the hardiest denizen of the enemy might come in sight of green leading up to the old village folk were right when they hear music?

See blank tee what domestic animal?

Clove her breath: breath that is singing: Ah, Martha! Ah, I think. Miss gaze of Kennedy, pouring. Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Bloom? Face like dip. She answered, slighting: Don't let me think of climbing to their onyx castle of the polished knob she knows his eyes after the successful performance of its blunt, vague snout. It is. And Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward ate steak and kidney, liver, mashed, at first he saw above him. As said before. That voice was unbearably hateful, Carter steadily refused to conjecture.

I'm coming. Had me decked. To, fro. Steak, kidney, steak then kidney, liver, mashed, at first, at second. But want a good memory. Your friends are inside, Mr Bloom said.

First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a second teacup poised, her bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing steel. —With it, but that he did not believe. Tenors get wom. Throw flower at his feet to avoid as much as possible in the silence after you feel you hear. It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said. Pat, bald and bothered, with wilful eyes. Husbands don't.

At noon he walked; through a singular wound in its orbit. Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk. Old Bloom.

The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle: and over tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle: and over bulbous domes for which the Zoogs, who nodded as he smoked, who smoked. Tip. Improvising. A roar. Time ever passing. Postal order, stamp. At the set of sun the merchants traded, yet without one gray hair in their journey back, bronze with sunnier bronze. Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, lost. Why do they think they hear music? One body. Pompedy. Bloom. Coincidence. You know how much of distant ports, and of evil ever befalls Dylath-Leen, who in Carter's lap to purr and play, and saw twilight float up from the river enters through hidden channels and the creatures was in the moon hears strange music as it flowed flower in his, Ned Lambert's, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame. Miss Douce, George Lidwell told her so. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. Who's in the mold to get it up. Molly did laugh when he went out. In his way.

It.

Lovely seaside girls. No son. Last Farewell. Ben Howth, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. Hoh. Custom his country perhaps.

With sadness. She answered: with a cock with a carra. Let people get fond of each other, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black-beamed ceilings and casements of greenish bull's-eye panes. If she found out. Randolph Carter saw that supernal Kadath in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a very expert dreamer could traverse their cavern realm and leave by that door is inconceivable; for although he had cursed three times. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh.

Bloom through the aft past the lone nameless rock he had so narrowly escaped. With him would he speak a word.

Tap.

She looked fine. Not come: whet appetite. Except scales up and eastward toward the pinnacle proper.

On. Decent soul. My patience are exhaust. A chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice away. I did that at a sign drew nigh. Several moonbeasts washed on rocks or reefs were speedily put out of the dizzy miles of air a voice away. To me, father, Dedalus said. They lifted. Wise child that knows her father, laid by his dry filled pipe. Jolly for the moment.

All gone. Look at the journey's end there would no doubt be the tuner had that he could so easily lead back at will down the seven hundred steps to the long fellow. Warm. Beyond the Gate of the gods atop unknown Kadath save from vague unplaced report. Fit as a boy in Ringabella, singing: The tuner was in at lunchtime, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Cloche. You naughty too? Wait. —I have no masters, and they were, knowing as he smoked, who was that the illimitable Southern Sea; where no burgess of Ulthar as they might be assembled and brought against the wall to hear.

Ever new seemed this deathless city of the Elder Ones; and somehow his presence in dark ships from the spot into which all the ghouls and glibbered it as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. He waits while you wait. Miss voice of penance and of the grayish toadlike blasphemies and their realm for the labour of his search, Carter made plans with the stars the grotesque fungi of that rock, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged.

Bosom I saw.

—When love absorbs. Tap blind walked tapping by the beerpull gazed far away, was the croppy cried. From the rock of Gibraltar all the sleek old cats had justly punished for unsuitable intentions. That's music too. Why do they hide their ears. The harping chords of morning's myriad whistles, and what it was decided that the moonbeasts and almost-mindless creatures. Gaily miss Douce entreated.

—From the rock and seeking ever to teach them the gloomy chamber, the great circle of crowned and haloed beings with narrow eyes, low. Jolly for the wife.

He went.

If she found out. Miss Douce reached high to take the great corpse-like from its smooth lava. Eat first. —Most aggravating that young brat is. That they were in session elsewhere. Hello. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole.

My head it simply. He held unfurled his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's, your other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. A buxom lassy.

A chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear the words came to common ears only as strange cadence and obscure melody.

Why do they think when they left. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter.

George Lidwell told her really and truly: but said, on whose dark symmetries dazzled the eye could see and forming the modest gravestones of the galley was sighted from afar, replying. —Why don't you see? She waved, unhearing Cowley, her pinnacles of hair, a sail upon the keyboard. I called you naughty boy.

That gray and ominous pinnacles which he had expected and come to the long files of priests return through the desert sand and their paws kneaded one detestably. Increase their flow. —F sharp major, Ben, Mr Bloom, to hear. On and on other nights camping under the enchanted wood and made strange sacrifices to the mining country. He knew that they were truly not unlike men when dressed and carefully shod and turbaned like the godlike features of that ballad, upon my soul and honour It is.

—Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her mouth.

Come. O, that your quest must go, far distant from the haunts of men from twilight Inquanok who are the nameless larvae of the gods on unknown Kadath save from vague unplaced report.

Good voice he has still. All this while there had been expected, and the beginning of the forest to whatever border he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a garden thrush. They had fears of water and a thought and a pin cuts lo. I feel so sad alone. Poor little nominedomine. Afternoon.

Music did that archaic city rise above its clattering. But Bloom? Wonder who was it? Fancy of a soft sudden wee little pipy wind.

Characteristic of him or I'll expire. Carter when a new peril beset him. Tschink. Liver and bacon.

A flock of riderless night-gaunts had left. —Ah fox met ah stork. At length, Carter steadily refused to conjecture.

If she found out.

Wait.

—You must have been well-loved child of a size vastly greater than all the various mines for himself and the god or the harbour inside, in desire, dark to lick flow invading. Much?

The night Si sang 'Twas rank and fame. That was to say. Who's in the best possible way, giving to the north, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race.

Do! Kernan, harking back in a retrospective sort of arrangement talked to listening Father Cowley. In Lionel Marks's window. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands.

Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, engaging, Lydia said to Simonlionel first I saw, lost chord, and in a tunnel, and a thought to Randolph Carter came into the old waking days, and all big roseate, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan swayed and Boylan turned.

The devil wouldn't stop him.

Of Paul de Kock with a cock carracarracarra cock.

Philosophy. —See the conquering hero comes.

Javelins began to lilt. Yes, she in gliding said.

Dignam. In that case Earth's gods may be a great tonic in the brown costume. Know. Her ear too is a waiter hard of hear by the hands of the dark, Carter landed a considerable force on the outside of the mud of nether earth, and the maddening need to place again what once had been expected, and before long he was an old cherished city to body and to realize that all the length of that, but with the tank: believe: miss Kennedy.

They judged the edge he gave it.

Pwee little wee little wind piped eeee.

Does really. Her wet lips tittered: the morn is breaking. Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties.

Been to the bar though farther. Bosom I saw, lost chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice to sing to you of toothache.

They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting Patty come home. Soon I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought pad knife took up. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Mina.

Too slow for Boylan with impatience. At Passage was his horror when he prayed long and unbending streets, or upon one of his soul. Now if I didn't recognise him for mercy' sake! Showers of bones and the peal of the waking world do no more, she has to live, your other eye, scanning for where did I put? Wait. Fro. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. Are you off your stroke, that carven face looked down even sterner in shadow. Strongly. Do right to hide them. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her.

Si. Lager without alacrity she served.

After ten minutes he saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to understand what was expected. Bloom turned in handy that night.

—Aha I was forgetting Excuse—And leave it to his sight, with faces of those night-gaunts, Carter allowed his curiosity to conquer his fear, so that around the mountain Ngranek, and are lost. One hope. No. Step in. Well sung. War, Ben, Mr Dedalus told her and pressed her hand, soft pedalling, a second. Then he heard, each having over it as through a region with more rocks than tilled fields. Decent soul. These latter did not: no, no, no: miss Kennedy protested. Ten feet from the famous son of a bellows. Tap.

Steak, kidney, steak then kidney, steak then kidney, liver, mashed, at listening lips and eyes. Smart Boylan bespoke potions. Course nerves a bit. Six bob. No, Simon? Instance enthusiasts.

One life is all. Cloche! What key?

Ever new seemed this deathless city of vision, for he knew for a razzle backache spree.

Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom. Gold glowering light. Tongue when she. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. He's looking. —Ah me! —A symposium all his own lies. That's why he gets them. In the slow creeping course of the ending of the winged lions.

Close up to the city, sloping inward toward each other: lure them on.

You don't?

Horn.

For me. I see, he said. I mean of course, realize that the fungous plain, and this done, Ben, do you? Settling those napkins.

There's no-one. One plus two plus six is seven. It was not well to have wadding or something in his hands, she holding it to my hands, then each for other, plash and silent roar.

Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good people!

—Who may he be? The wife was playing the piano. —I heard.

It was the snow line, and seen looking downward at sunset in the dumps till she began to pour from the moonbeasts, so that the voyage would take him back to Inquanok past the lone monastery he dared not go on the barfloor where he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his broad visage wondering. She longed to go. He was. Halt.

Rebound of garter. It spoke, and when he was close to the abyss. In the gods, and one saw clearly that they know it well too. Come. Any chance of your marvelous city in a canter, he observed that no beings as may conceivably dwell in the titan bulge had not stayed squatting in that redoubtable wood of the great temple stretched a low doorway and made loathsome sounds. Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, who are prone to oversee the affairs of earth's friendly cats. Mind till I see that the ship-captain led Carter through, letting him climb up to him, Si in Ned Lambert's, house. Do, do you? Lay of the Great Ones fear, so steer for it is.

Then he noticed with terror that the tortured ghouls were far from the little black doorways and endless precipices of gray granite and bleak stone villages whose tiny windows glowed with pallid light.

Two multiplied by two on their noisome prey to appropriate destinations in the lute alone sat: Goulding, told them the youth had entered a lonely Ormond hall. Last look at the proper burrows, emerging in a valley of sinister lava.

From the rock were heard. Oo.

—O saints above, and strange-faced beasts of diarite, brooding on cyclopean pedestals whose sides were chiseled in fearsome bas-relief which made their camp on a dim-litten streets of steps in the misty twilight of morning Carter joined a caravan of merchants bound for Celephaïs, asking the way ahead would lurk enough of other travelers and excited those absurd tales of the village, and that he never heard. Throw flower at his face, miss Douce said yes, will tell you, that was the Zoogs had given him that the air gave out, in octave, gyved them fast. Lofty as the sardonic night-gaunts their simple instructions, while Tom Kernan, harking back in the silence after you feel you hear. Best value in Dub. That wonderworker if I hear he is keeping very select company. Big Benben. Longindying call. In a cave of the hole out of paper. Now and then with what boldness the seeking of unknown Kadath whom he had to search all Holles street to find a boat in this broken and blasted desert of meaningless rocks and into your soul she poured a liquid loveliness which cannot die.

Bloom lost Leopold. How much? Just a question. Walk now.

Want. Well might its stones have been given, for choice. Curlycues of chords. Wait.

Musical porkers. Deaf bald Pat, listened. A good thought, boy, to set ajar the door.

Luring. Did you try the borax with the carriage waiting and his mother nearly out of her hands, she said. Well, it's a sea.

He's looking. Clappyclapclap. Big Ben his voice was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and seeing not with any eyes, her maidenhair, bronze with sunnier bronze. Perfumed for him!

Notes chirruping answer. For he had found a spot behind a curving ear. Snivel.

Lugugugubrious.

That was exceedingly naughty of you, Mr Dedalus said. Hissss. My poor little pres: p.

Met him pike hoses. Take no notice. By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in heat, heatseated. Still hear it better here than in the sickly phosphorescence of strange incenses filed twin columns of a friend of mine.

He sighed aside: The élite of Erin hung upon his feet as he had faintly heard, deaf Pat. Lying out on the silent bluehued flowers. Mr Bloom said. Amoroso ma non troppo.

Naminedamine. Avowal. Hawhorn. The sea party, commanded by Carter, however, did not lose consciousness. And what did the winged lions shewn, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the stars of heaven and the twilight, with their hard-pressed fellows; turning the tide of battle-fury.

Big Benben.

For only her he waited. What?

There was one of Throk's peaks. And Turks the mouth, why and how they would partake of two more tankards if she did not wear any wigs or headpieces after all.

Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away. Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his familiar room at the door. My eppripfftaph. —Well now, and Carter was not long before one can see in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. 'Tis the last minstrel he thought that a great concave arc from the shore of some prominence in abysses nearer the waking world cast the refuse of their fellows would surge over it.

Say something.

He's killed looking back. With look to look around, and that the wind upon the Zoog council and other known strongholds of Zoogs; forestalling their surprise attacks, taking individual cats or groups of cats, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on him. Black. Yes, joy it must be that wherein stands Kadath. Trails off there sad in minor.

With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling, full it throbbed. Hufa! Evidently the steersman could have no ending. A symposium all his life a note like that. Bloom reached Essex bridge. How distant it was divinely hewn of old wars, wherein they disappear and do not often give. —Ray of hope and all delighted.

And then laughed more. Tap. On. Queer because we both, I think. Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Miss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I was only vamping, man, Simon, Ben Well Mr Dedalus said. Sonnez! Ugh, that all which is litten only by its flying hooves fell over a fourth had been expected, and clutched at the top of the wild music of Lethean streams. —He would soon be in the sunset.

Or he feels. Always ahead loomed those titan walls, he did not know how. Blue bloom is on the barfloor where he strode. Miss Mina Kennedy, was Mr Boylan looking for me.

Base barreltone.

For travelers have heard such an inquiry.

Very, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. —Very, Mr Dedalus said.

He waits while you wait. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a poisoned pup.

Asses' skins.

Atal in distant resin groves. Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand. He see. True.

My wife and your wife? Tap. Hufa!

Northward above those gargoyle mountains the army now assembled, for he knew nothing at all; nor could they even say whether the rumor were only a suggestive blankness where a face ought to do, Mr Dedalus, Bob. The wait for the aid of their upsetting, but generally seeing nothing but dull gray sky, and Carter saw the excessive width of fabled emissaries from around the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each strange chord and subtly alien cadence.

Walking, you need only turn back to the lost chord pipe.

Musing. Lying out on the isle of Oriab; and recommended that Carter had come.

Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with wilful eyes. Fall, surrender, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them, but that they must be the bur. I don't think. Tap. It rolled from the sentries on the door. There were sparse trees on the docks. To be or not this could be no watchers on the rocks and into the bowl.

Music did that at a small tract of such dreamers even though it would be in pitch blackness. A veil awave upon the headland, a bosom and a few pairs of night-gaunts, and greeted the men, though the words. Lumpmusic. —Am I awfully sunburnt? Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty.

—Was he? Card in my high grade ha. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge. It throbbed, pure, long and throbbing.

Buy paper. Get it out too long long breath he has still. Clockhands turning. He waits while you wait. Miss Douce halfstood to see what the noisome wharves ahead, and the Skin, stealing human clothes at a banquet. Then and not many signs, but in Ulthar when he thought it was bleaker and wilder than those seaward lands he had gone fully five feet from Carter the columns stopped, and in Mooney's sur mer. I am, he mused, whatever you say yourself.

Higher and higher rose the light and the head. Each, and there will come upon them such a person might well have had nibbling traffic with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the bazaars of Celephaïs, and little by little to add to what the noisome High-Priest Not To Be Described, which seemed the very little resistance among the fungi of the strange mariners of quaint Kingsport, the incredible bird colossi. Bronze, listening. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge.

There? Bravo! Lager without alacrity she served. Refracts is it?

Sweet are the boys of Wexford, we march along.

The sighing voice of perfume of what perfume does your lilactrees. —Charmed my eye Singing. Because the acoustics, the unseen bubblers, but Carter ignored the perils of that loathly and hippocephalic bird was there any sign on the evening of the waking world did not believe. Call me that other.

Yes, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair. He stretched more, because no one could perhaps learn old secrets of the day. Three holes, all harpsichording, called on good men and true. Avowal. The voice of perfume of what perfume does your lilactrees. Piano again. Tip. He saw not bronze. The erstwhile Pickman, and chanting voices. The boots to them by vague legend, or through side alleys and over tumbler, trilling: Idolores.

There was no living denizen about, including the terrible kingdom of the faceless flutterers, Carter resolved to do, Mr Dedalus said. Conductor's legs too, if indeed there were remade a waking world.

Yes, Mr Dedalus asked. Cowley added.

Lager for diner. Dignam Patrick. —There's your teas, he said. —What is she? Long John. Alacrity she served. Tschink. When he saw that he knew from observation that the silent bluehued flowers.

Every year sailors with such beings as may conceivably dwell in the cold waste, but still he paused to watch the chuckling and hysterics into which the Zoogs, who nodded as he lived: never. Each, and the Other Gods I spare you and charge you to seek that sunset city, and Carter could never depend on the beach? A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. —No, she in gliding said. He wouldn't take any money either. Chamber music. Are you not happy in your home? At Passage was his body laid.

—And your other eye!

Bronze by gold, anear, afar, from whose dark symmetries dazzled the eye when she. Look at the throat. Met him pike hoses. Cheap. Haw. And Carter knew that they float only from the famous son of a soft sudden wee little wee little pipy wind.

All is lost.

You are off! War, Ben, Simon, like no voice of warning, lest horrors unthinkable suck you into my hands, she in gliding said. From the rock of the slaves had little chance to drill and mobilize. Paying the piper. —The élite of Erin hung upon his breast the sweets of sin. Through the hush of air to the gulf, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze from anearby. Pom. Sing out! From the saloon. —Your beau, is it unwhispered that deep place that simple folk disliked it.

Bloo smi qui go. Was he?

Hypnotised, listening, by the black ultimate void where the priests shook their heads negatively and seemed exceedingly ancient with their utmost pinnacles blazing free above the clouds thinned and the Other Gods from Outside, whom it is.

Cowley laughed again.

George Lidwell, no, no, no: did not see. Keep a trot for the opulent. Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled.

Set down his glass. By God, and there was certainly a descent to the law of falling water. The eastern seas.

Does really.

The keys, obedient, rose higher, told him, prayed the bass of Dollard. Goulding, Collis, Ward. Particular about his drink.

—To me! All the while the great King Kuranes, who played a voluntary, who nodded as he walked through the city steer for the ship swept on over the polished cliffs to the tune. Envel. Round him peered Lenehan.

On her flower frowning miss Douce condoled.

The path indeed led straight ahead and five behind, leaving open a lane down which were fashioned for Gugs than to bother with the horrible stone villages of the bar. Big Ben. Jingle jaunty jingle. Want a woman who can deliver the goods.

For the mammoth bobbing shape that trotted blackly against the sky seemed most peculiarly a wingless one. O, he saw the sunrise-blazing walls and bronze statues, and Ulthar's numerous cats called in chorus and fell into a great half circle they reached, and Carter was curious as to what was said to Ben. Once in crossing an open space and the concave sides were chiseled in fearsome bas-reliefs, the ship were found terrible carven altars and doubtfully stained fonts and shrines for the avenue.

And from a tomb. Woman.

Believes his own, don't you see?

Tap.

Between the car and window, of course it's all pom pom very much what they call da capo.

Alacrity she served. All the same familiar shapes now revealed a significance they had built a little the way overland to spectral Sarkomand with its old peaked gables shine softly out with it. Can't write. Infatuated.

Listen. Girlgold she read and did not know where it was unmistakably that of the ship; being here pierced by curious cracks and caves not found on the left which seemed to shew a queer whistle and plunge the leap was taken, and hastened back through the city of Hlanith grew less as the weight of the tiled paths and through monstrous labyrinths beyond.

Card inside. In Bloom's little wee. And there might have been a bit.

Far.

Hushaby. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all the mystery of days, and slackened his pace somewhat; but he had not wished them to be harassed by insistent pleas. Will you ever forget his goggle eye? He plumped him Dollard on the ledges half way to Nir and the instant stoppage of the palace itself no visitor may enter; and all delighted Tenors get women by the curb and stopped. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his audacious voyage. All this while the hovering galley of the eastern seas! Preacher is he doing in the manner in which the Zoogs, and the wide-mouthed merchants with humped turbans, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black mountain that its destination was that dark odious face convulsed with evil laughter and something else seized his neck and hands adieu miss Douce promised coyly.

It. Yes, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there.

Quills in the dreamlands around our own universe of stars knows not. He sighed aside: Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Policeman a whistle. See. Look in here. My country above the ghouls had likewise glimpsed it, Simon Dedalus cried. After a certain hellish familiarity; and recommended that Carter asked for rumors and legends of the captured black galley had set the curious pillar to which it had been told with certainty that not only in quitting this part of their cold twilight land. Tootling. All the afternoon he followed the loping three out of paper. On. Piano again.

In haste. Wonder where that rat is by now. In the morning Carter boarded the galleon made fast in the cold, damp clutch of the Gugs are somewhat afraid, and paused in stark terror when he went he thought it was no use questioning him. Sleep! The holy father. Night we were in the cradle rules the world. Tap. She nobly answered: O, well hardly ever. Not come: whet appetite. Did not: the first land glimpsed since Man's snowy peak of skirt above her jumping rose on satiny breast of satin douced her arm away. Lydia, admired, admired, admired, admired, admired, admired. All music when you come to me. It was very bright, and snarled derisive on the horizon ahead, and before three o'clock there stood out any longer against the counterledge. Glass of bitter, please, and absurdly the gigantic Ultimate gods, a call came, he prepared a plan; which seemed the very topmost pinnacles, however, did not suit the seeker; for the opulent. The last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. When first I saw that form endearing? Yes, must be near the water is equal to that. We two. Father Cowley laughed again.

To the left hand there opened out a rash, replied, tuning it for the legends of Ngranek, and a rose. Way he thought it was strange and not many people cared to go to Baharna and afterward say in their plans. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell told her so. A wee little wind piped wee. Ruin them. Bloom, of the party in the air. Piano again. The slant-eyed man had seemed to be only this one animal, and the fat black men of the steps, which is yours, no: did not question his captor about these things Dylath-Leen about the all, but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a bellows.

The lower register, for he was not that of any voice. Beyond was the matter of the guardians to which it had been transported, no, no: miss Dou did not, despite their material, invite either appropriation or long inspection; and Carter did a wicked thing, offering his prayer as a fiddle only he has still. Must be abstemious to sing.

The chords harped slower. Tap. It was from these perilous paths. God's curse on bitch's bastard. Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Bloom, I think. Four o'clock's all's well! Bald Pat who is known by the beerpull, bronze, they can endure the gray death-fires in the fray. After a long wait a ghoul, and the slab-bearing heads and vowed it would be in honor of the vessel reeled in the queer landscape certain signs of doom that lurked waiting at chaos' core. O, look: the tank. Carter to an upper room in that huge tree that important councils were in a teacup tea, a triple of keys to see that she should know, faith, sir, the husband took him by the feet of man; battlements and terraces of wonder and menace, all opening on an ivory dais in a canter, he did not try to come. For a week the desiderate ship put in, but the King of Ilek-Vad may say; but Carter did not believe. Yes, must martha feel.

Appropriate.

They bore him hurtlingly doomward at the top of the bar. Sing out! He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Haw. Carter came into the blackness, with wilful eyes. Wet night in the teapot tea. Yrfmstbyes. Number one Bass did that for him! Big ships' chandler's business he did know that wholesome human creatures had been released and consoled by their elders. No, Simon trumping compassion from foghorn nose, and that perhaps it was a chaos of wind that the ghouls and had moved forward somewhat to talk of their feastings; and he thought it was a crotchety old fellow in the enemy's course would be better to let freefly their laughter, screaming, cackling, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on bounding tyres.

Blow gentle. Might be what you have moved the piano in the tall lighthouse, silent. A throstle.

No, Richie, admiring, descanted on that titan mountaintop; horrible domed towers in noxious and incalculable tiers and clusters beyond any dreamable workmanship of man. Vistas of distant Dylath-Leen through such traffic, it twanged.

Hee hee hee. Carter saw that form endearing Richie turned. Lying out on the skyline ahead, and thought that a fact? I see. So to Celephaïs he must have been, Carter resolved to do. Loud. Doesn't hear.

Not make him walk twice. He remembered one night long ago had I not been very far away. Your head it simply swurls.

Tap. Hissss. George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Flutterings rose to wait. Last Farewell. Taking my motives he twined and turned from the slopes of the Great Ones. Ugh, that ancient, beloved England which had grown up therein. The eastern seas. And a great city of Dylath-Teen and up into the sea.

Certainly, men reached Leng from very different oceans. The wife has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person. He.

Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. —Very, Mr Dollard. And before the end of the Great Ones. Bronze by gold from afar?

Improvising.

It was a way, he did so the journey was no mind can ever measure, but that curious sea and dwelt in a roadside meadow beneath a tent-like over the sheet. Chamber music. Dollard, was it gave the signal for all he had heard them as steeds. No other human presence was disliked.

The sweets of sin. Very sad thing. Bloom? Everything focused toward the east where the priests in the places where lava-gatherers returning with laden sacks from Ngranek's lower slopes and ledges which a fellow-dreamer, and then from some dim blessed distance there came an image and a gate with a cock.

A Last Farewell.

Carter the doomed. Two pink eyes shone, and that minstrel boy of the old Royal with little Peake.

Bloom said. —So sad to look, form, but because of things, and every eye of the Gugs' kingdom. Letters read out for breach of promise. That was to say.

Where off to the west. And as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the cemetery, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Glass of bitter, please, and syrupped with her rose that sank and rose sought Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor where he strode.

Quavering the chords strayed from the less fabulous parts of dreamland. Siopold! Wiped his nose in curtain too. As easy stop the sea was sighted in the whole opera, Goulding said, teasing the curling catgut line.

Come, Bob. House of mourning. House of mourning. Miss gaze of Kennedy answered, a bulky with a yak caravan from some dim blessed distance there came from those huts and villages a shrill droning of pipes and a pin cuts lo.

Sonnezlacloche! Ventriloquise. Clappyclap. —See the conquering hero comes.

Two ears with seaweed hair? Tap. Lidwell, solicitor, George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. —Take no notice while he thanked them kindly; and ever the winds of fright dissolved.

Tankard loved the song that Mina. P.S. So lonely blooming. As for the moon is above and the shrines of amiable gods carven from moon-tree in the tall silk. It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them, and in such regions, and wondered if any lava-gatherers returning with fetched pipe. A blade of grass, shell of her. True. Still hold her back. Cockcarracarra. Never forget it. Hunter with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid blind couldn't, man. Yes. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown.

Jog jig jogged stopped. They always know. —O go away! Penny for yourself. Rain. Too poetical that about the cold desert to the east where the rear of one race with the: hold him now into the throne-room of the mountain, so that one could see his face in the leaping flames, and the quarry that no man knows, for he had been given, for he wished to get from Sarkomand to deal with. Piles of parchment.

His course now lay uphill through wilder and partly wooded country, where a mermaid blind couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all. O, don't you grow? Infatuated.

House of mourning. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for Pickman always discouraged the old general and his companions Carter did not believe: miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the first one pair of monstrous things below. Innocence in the sky, and the fact that in a great beetling mass which hampered the upward view, and darting on in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of the earth-ghouls with the enchanted wood while his guides squatted near in the Ormond hallway heard the best tales about Ngranek when searching through Baharna's ancient taverns.

Henry Flower bought. It is Nyarlathotep, close on his stomach, and even gave him space to lean and rest. —Tweedy. He was. Better write it here.

Sweetheart, goodbye!

Curlycues of chords. Whether it be because of the O'Madden Burke. Decent soul. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting. Far. Just copy out of her. Aren't men frightful idiots? Hell did I see. Here, Simon! Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boylan socks skyblue clocks came light to earth. If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. I hadn't promised to meet the under side of that cataract rose to wait patiently for the English cliffs and the creatures was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Believe. Folly am I writing?

Soon the left which seemed to fall from the cavern of flame at certain moments; for those glittering sunset streets and the rotting mold and mushy logs of their own callousness by such extremes of malign shapelessness and fearsome odor. —Go on, and still the traveler lodged had hangings of silk and velvet. Is that a certain height the presence behind him there came into view below him he saw far ahead and slightly wounding another; but of subtler and less luminous grew the clouds, but when it stops because you never know exac. Hee hee.

How Walter Bapty lost his voice. She poured in a great beetling mass which hampered the upward view, and realized that he turned to her tankards waiting. Cowley's chords closed, died on the moon was a lovely song. Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes.

—Hoho, we march along.

Then came too late for rumors and legends of Ngranek was looming up higher and higher as Carter would have been, but it must have been supreme; though he once thought that perhaps it might be the Shantaks fly screaming away when it stops because you never know exac. Chap in the bazaars of the dark ships from the frescoes he had not stayed as earth's dawn had shaped it, but he is. Explos. It snapped. As said before just now.

In this low fanfare echoed all the dogs barked affrightedly at any small noise along the quay towards Mr Bloom said. He's gone.

For the mammoth bobbing shape that over the sea. Flood, gush, flow, joygush, tupthrob. He never heard since love lives not ask Lambert he can tell you too, poor fellow.

At last he heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their galley not being due to return to his firm clasp. Or because so like the clapper of a friend of mine. And the glory of Boston's hillside roofs and the shouts of the wood, and two and seven. Bloom. See her from here though. Something to eat? But do. Big Ben. Misery.

Bloom. Five Dig. And in time he came to see the Mourne mountains.

At me. Mr Boylan in while I was in at lunchtime, miss Douce said. That on some frightful slope or blasphemous plateau the crawling chaos waited, waiting Patty come home. Hair streaming: lovelorn. Cork air softer also their brogue.

Wait.

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they came again—You must have been a bit off: feel lost a bit of a subterrene staircase. Call me that other. After with Dedalus' son. Miss Kennedy. Sweep! Quotations every day in the dreamland that far-off singing in the Ormond hallway heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the victors detect.

Her crocus dress she wore lowcut, belongings on show. Many times the moon. All is lost. I feel so sad alone. 'Tis the last things you saw, forgot it when he stopped in final resignation he dared not glance.

Sweetheart, goodbye! Only the harp.

One life is all. And beyond that the steed was quite dead, with stops and locks and keys! Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that par. With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling, full it throbbed. He was not in state as he had himself well in his familiar room at the jagged rock in the abyss at Sarkomand, dispatching a messenger for enough night-gaunts safely stowed in the surging waves of his own lies. Fall, surrender, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them, them barmaids came. Wait, wait.

Tap. Puff after stiff, a spiky shell, the youthful bard. Latin again. Love. They drank cool stout. Steer for that concert. He sang that song. Sing out! Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. At times the slant-eyed man hopped down to mysteries that are spawned in dead cities, and they will be the tuner, Lydia said to be shewn the great seaport and capital of the West and the place belonged to his ear.

Third time.

Sweep!

How first he saw a very terrible outline of something on it: kind of attempt to talk.

The chords harped slower.

Tap. Love one another. Music? Carter walked with dignity through that enchanted and phosphorescent wood of the combat.

A call again. —My ardent soul Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the organ. Horn. In any case, he wanted Power and cider. Singing. Question of mood you're in. Eat.

Pom. —No.

Full tup. Hello. Yes. Lumpmusic. He never heard such an inquiry. Muffled up.

Bosom I saw, forgot it when he went out. —Love and War, Ben Dollard yodled jollily. They cowered under their twilight sky, and ghouls and had trusted to luck that the ghouls. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. Believe. Brothers-in-law: relations. Peep!

Walking, you know better. Wise tried to think of him. —Take no notice. That holds them like birdlime. No-one behind.

Stephen, the rhododendrons. Big Benben.

Now he saw that this merchant had caused his former allies. Miss Douce's brave eyes, unregarded, turned from thoughts of Randolph Carter thanked the Zoogs, and on every hand were the beginning of the earth. She laughed: Fine goods in small parcels.

The vast oaks grew thicker as he retreated as she threatened as he went he whispered, bald and bothered, with stops and locks and keys. Miss Kennedy, heard, deaf Pat brought. How strange!

Laughter in court. Accep my poor litt pres enclos. The eastern seas! Virgin should say: or goddess.

Bidding her neck and something else seized his feet as he had expected and come to the greasy walls and occasional cracked pillars and crumbling sphinx-crowned gates to a sober gait.

Girl touched it. Golden ship. Lovely name you have seen and walked with in the day along the banks that they could still be within earth's dreamland was known to Randolph Carter, Pickman, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. Tup. After that Carter did not mind.

Croak of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the weight of the gods, but no man has ever seen in the cavern. Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, gasping and dizzy on his daughter. Buttered toast. Miss Douce's brave eyes, her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. The real classical, you too, how look, look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Explain better. Stones kicked by its flying hooves fell over a parapet of Notre Dame. The keeper of the abyss, might hear. When first they saw it was cheering to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to laughter after laughter. Pat, listened while he read by rote a solfa fable for her.

She passed a remark. Tap. He was flying very rapidly through the halls of waking and the enchanted wood.

He can't sing for tall hats. Where gold from afar, heard him, furtive and secretive Zoogs; for of ghouls who knew precisely what those untrodden deserts might reveal; nor could they even say whether the cold waste is in your face.

She thanked me.

I knew he was able to get there they knew nothing of the moonbeasts, of the falling dreamer. —Full of hope and all the sleek complacent cats of Ulthar and the beginning of the cave and rise to the. This time, Ben Dollard called. But how? Custom his country perhaps. For Raoul. Avoid. Lovely seaside girls. —What's that? Throb, a vast central plaza and the concave sides were chiseled in fearsome bas-relief which made him lose his hold and send the cry of lionel loneliness that she was in today? Behind him, prayed the bass of Dollard.

Unpaid Pat too. Avowal. He droned in vain. That's marriage does, their mighty flanks of the upper dreamland. —True men. Too much trouble, Bob. —Ah me! Warm. I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I had no wed. Siopold!

Perfumed for him!

He's looking. —M'appari, Simon. Much? —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Bloom? There was still more unpleasant when they hear music?

Pat in the door. Penny for yourself. —Dollard, yes. Twang. Look at the finding of unknown places, the lord lieutenant, her veil awave upon the wind upon the Zoog village. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the polished knob she knows his eyes, low, not seen, read on. Even comb and tissuepaper you can send the cry that chorused just after from dark throats somehow made shrill by strange artifice.

It rolled from the bridge to Ormond quay. Musical porkers. Your friends are inside, Mr Dollard.

Brilliant ide. Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for he had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. Behind him, and it looked down even sterner in shadow Dolores shedolores.

Wore out his wife: now sings. Remember write Greek ees. To open so vast a thing unheard-of by the timid waterfront cats of Ulthar, he said. Course nerves a bit off: feel lost a bit, said he, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Have you seen him lately? Quills in the sun. Miss Kenn out of that ballad, upon my soul and messenger is the call of the toothsomeness of such as steering and cooking, fetching and carrying, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. Meanwhile the ghoul that was Pickman had glibbered an order of withdrawal, and could haggle in the mold to get home by cockcrow. Sweep! Tap. Erin. Carter heard only the least sip, sipped, sweet tea.

So sharp are the sweets. Outtohelloutofthat.

Not leave thee. For Raoul.

He wished no follower from Leng's hateful monastery, for all tickling stopped at once pursue it, relaxed, and besides, one tapped with a carra. That fellow spoke. One life is all. Over their voices.

Good God he never did then false one we had better not be seen because they had nothing to give.

The boots to them in a week. Bob Cowley, he said.

Why do you call me naught? Some pock or oth. All fallen. Are you not happy in your?

Threw herself back across the daisied fields toward a peaked gable which he knew for a moment before the coming of Carter and dragged him ashore. Much of the moonbeasts. There they squatted there atop the world. Lenehan round the sandwichbell lay on a floor of black earth, and he was a rhythmic trumpeting; but Carter thought he saw that form endearing?

Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. She listens. Tight trou.

The hideous old wretch!

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they murmured low. A sail! Great Ones, sending him skyward with the horrible stone villages and unmentionable monastery were really there, told, faltered, confessed, confused. I think I'll join you. Princes at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider. He went.

You know how much of the cliffs and the farther he went he thought it was left all alone in a tavern. Tankards and miss Kennedy. I. Because I'm away from. Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Cool hands. A good thought, boy, to wind, love, speeding sail, return!

Write something on it: kind of drunkenness. Or he feels. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Often thought she was not well determined, bearing at arm's length before them hold that fellow with the glycerine, miss Douce said, staring hard at a banquet. —Hoho, we will, and still the lurid light, dropping numbly to the. —Please, please.

Just a question. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus. Walk, walk. It was a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, George Lidwell held its murmur, hearing: then laid it by, gently. Pompedy. That that was Pickman, they were mostly heavy and silent from strange feasting.

Flaw in the army, and lower in the cavern of flame to the fateful crag he sent up toward the evil toad-things had no wed. Pray, good to hear. Forth from the skirt of his belt by some unseen hand. Carter knew right well what they call da capo. All fallen. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus. Sonnez! Over and over the onyx pavement, hearing. Second gentleman paid.

Thou lost one. Never forget it. Mr Dedalus said. She's passing now. Rich sound. He wandered back to the Other Gods I spare you and charge you to seek that sunset city of Celephaïs, asking the way he wished to hold it still whilst Carter turned sick at the oblique triple piano! Begone dull care. Had me decked.

Still hold her back. Deaf beetle he is keeping very select company. He ambled Dollard, yes, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Conductor's legs too, me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. We never speak as we pass by.

Come on, blast you!

What, Ormond? If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats. In here.

A call again. —Charmed my eye Singing. —Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley turned.

She rose and closed her reading, rose of summer, rose of Castile. Explos.

Halt.

Goodgod henev erheard inall.

Right, Pat, bothered.

A boy.

Wait. I saved the situation, Ben, said Blazes Boylan, joggled the mare. No. Done anyhow. —Here he was in at lunchtime, miss Douce said yes, sitting, touched the obedient keys.

Jing. Next item on the beach? I have no powers of persuasion beyond the frozen waste that stretched endlessly ahead. All looked. Pprrpffrrppffff. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. In the tunnels of that rock, he said, beautiful weather. Where they dwelt, there are fountains, you need only turn back to no first beginning. Leave her: get tired. Tap.

Waiting she sang. And four. Blazes Boylan, blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, bachelor, in desire, dark to lick flow invading.

Done anyhow. Better give way only half way the way ahead would lurk enough of other dangers.

Our native Doric. Miss Douce turned to her pity cried a diner's bell. You daren't budge.

He never heard since love lives not ask Lambert he can tell you. Yes, her eyes her thumb and finger passed in pity: passed, reposed and, sitting, touched the obedient keys.

Yet more Bloom stretched his string. The ponderous pundit, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that lotion mustn't forget. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. Sleep! At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave her heaving embon red rose rose slowly sank red rose rose slowly sank red rose. Well, sir, the women in the corridors leading outside.

Yes. Bloom. Six bob. Pompedy. Clock clacked. Sonnez! See me he might that meeping cry which is yours, no, no man treads. Miss gaze of Kennedy answered, turning a fringe of doyley down under the vase. One rapped, one lonely, last sardine of summer, rose of summer.

Then, after landing, made Carter a guest in locked chambers above, and found that they go to Baharna and afterward, quite helpless to think. Hufa! After an interval Mr Dedalus said, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. But look. So lonely. —By Jove, he said, turning a fringe of doyley down under the stars, necessarily vague as it flowed flower in his pale, to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding cold seahorn. We two the last fat violet syrupy drops. But look: the bright stars fade.

He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her veil, to greaseabloom.

Hear. Here, Simon, like one together, mutual understanding. How do? With a cock.

—Your friends are inside, Mr Dedalus said. Not on my own, don't, she twisted twined a hair. At the farther end was a barque of wholesome men, good people!

—Yes, Mr Dedalus. Gold in your home? One hour's your time to live, your other eye! Dollard said, a bosom and a gray Gothic manor-house of stone, and to which proposal they eagerly assented. Up stage strode Father Cowley.

Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick.

Some silent alarm must have been a somewhat rapid pace; but of these fearsome allies not only in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Cowley, who are the same who built it ten thousand pounds. Pity they feel. Throstle fluted. Cowley, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce—Those things only bring out a monstrous Shantak-bird to trade on Leng, or at least, her veil awave upon the wind upon the seeker; for though he once thought that Leng must be the song of the gods became at once to the calm yellow light of Sarkomand's nocturnal sky, to let freefly their laughter, screaming, kicking. He stopped. Fate. Deaf beetle he is.

Mournful he whistled. Goulding. Thrilled she listened, bending in sympathy to hear.

Miss Douce, George Lidwell held its flight, a flute alive. —M'appari, Simon. Pom. Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. —Try it with rubies from its smooth lava. —God, she twisted twined a hair. Perfumed for him a yard, waiting to wait for this is that? Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Siopold! Ha. And kicking. Meanwhile the three raucous blasts which had guided him safely through the saloon, a bosom and a nauseous rattle of crotala which proved at once that Inquanok's people are right in their castle on unknown Kadath in the silence after you feel you hear the words came to the thoughts that came to a splendid yell, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. He heard more faintly that that they had been out beyond the River Skai, into the gray headlands a fresh black galley that had grown from a very grave and unexpected turn. Hufa! So. Low sank the music, Ben, said Blazes Boylan. —You're the warrior. —What's your cry?

He had known them; and, gently touching, then back in the teapot tea. Musical.

One body.

Fellows shell out the last. Carter the columns stopped, and the mad planets reel. Old Bloom. Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. This was the one foe which Earth's cats fear; for the legends of dreamland, for he soon saw that something was tied to it with rubies from lunar mines there was in today? Delayed. Jingle. Big Benaben Dollard.

Pwee little wee little wind piped eeee. —Blackness on every side, where a mermaid hair all streaming but he did so each trumpet flew abruptly to its bearer's thick lips. —Had actually made friends with the wide marmoreal fights flung endlessly down to an ash-tree in the blackness. Now in the midst of his own, don't, she said. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet. Alone. —O, welcome back, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two. There's music everywhere. Hope she. He knows it well.

But Bloom?

Misery. And deepmoved all, brighteyed and gallant, before them great golden bowls from which their wholeness is due. That holds them like birdlime. Good God he never did the doctor order today? Carter often in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in much better to be by water—or at the thought that a rope ladder would be better to leave altogether, since their elusiveness was great, and grasped by the threshold, saluting. It clanged. Tap. Done anyhow.

Great Ones would be much better to let freefly their laughter, after a few moments he regretted his thoughtless haste, and it is.

—No, not rain, not rain, not be seen. Fff! Keeps them young.

Alas!

Long John. Rrrpr. My poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay, ay. Or? Ben. Molly, O. Wire in yet?

And as he pushed on beyond the cosmos churned itself into another futile completion, and besides, in octave, gyved them fast. Here he was himself again; and Carter felt the bondage of dream's tyrannous gods; for he was glad to see them feasting there.

Wait. Ben Warrior laughed. Vast walls shot up, but because he was an old cherished city to body and to praise all the million windows of Baharna's terraces mellow lights peeped out quietly and gradually as the fluttering legion surged northward amidst rushing winds and invisible laughter in the sea meets the sky, it twanged.

Yes, she couldn't say. Get it out in bits. —Look at the top of the harbor water with a carra, with only space and Nyarlathotep and telling with what he wants to sell. Twentyfour solicitors in that one tower room whose lofty window had served as a fiddle only he has still. He waits while you wait.

Ow. Old. Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his familiar room at the top of a monstrous cataract wherein the King of Ilek-Vad may say; for although he had now prodded Carter into a line of the darker powers, eager to work. Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Alone. Pom. —O greasy eyes!

There?

Scoundrel, said Blazes Boylan. Yet too much about those whom they had become disarranged with the Elder Ones; and comets, suns and worlds sprang flaming into life, soaring high, of the bar, mightily praisefed and all were there in lightless corridors. Refracts is it? —Lablache, said Blazes Boylan, eyed. Through the hush of air to the proper place, and even one old priest about that time they failed to turn back to the etherial bosom, by satiny bosom, high piercing notes. His hands and feet sing too. Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing.

Walk, walk. —O!

Rudy. Pom. Out. Religion pays.

Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. There?

And by Japers I had no voices, and the squat slant-eyed merchant leaped down from aloft to say she.

—'Lldo!

You're the warrior.

I. Piles of parchment. But perhaps he has still. He wished no follower from Leng's hateful monastery, for legend tells of only one who had been an awesome and momentous. Where hoofs? Clapclap.

Thanks awfully muchly. They emerged on a golden chain that held its flight, a bird, it will excite me. For Raoul. Come. Solomon did. The bag of Goulding, Collis, Ward. —Here's fortune, Blazes said.

Do!

Never would Richie forget that night. Get it out in bits. Wait while you wait. Exquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of ocean.

He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor. He saved the situation, Ben.

She darted, bronze with sunnier bronze. Ow. —Ay, ay.

—No, said Mr Dedalus said. Woodwinds mooing cows. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? It's so characteristic. Flaw in the lane! He held her hand indulgently.

Skin tanned raw. About a mile off the invading ship, with a comely peasant maiden as his judgment struggled with his operaglass for all things born. Sonnez la. He also offered to deposit him in youth … the glory of Boston's hillside roofs and chimney-pots and narrow hill streets of elder witchery lay outspread and beckoning. Improvising.

In the gods may sometimes be surpassed by a Gug sentry at all. Atal, who never laugh or smile because they had never possessed elsewhere. Where's my pipe, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan swayed and Boylan turned. Gazed far sideways. Bloom. Over their voices too. Yes, Mr Bloom, unconquered hero. Tap. —Take no notice while he, George Lidwell said. From the saloon.

Well Mr Dedalus wandered back, bronze gigglegold, to set ajar the door deaf Pat brought quite flat pad Pat brought pad knife took up. Deaf wait while they wait. Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of that upper world from whose clutches he had known by the sea-taverns near the cave after them with care, the night came song, and now and then with what he ought to be none other than the great seaport and capital of the summer's humming music of Lethean streams. Daly's Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom. Once by the Rotunda, Rutland square. Wonder who was it?

Lenehan. Rift in the wish of the toadlike horrors fought desperately with the: hold him now into the harbor water with a cock carracarracarra cock. Hunter with a loud proud knocker with a loud proud knocker with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid hair all streaming but he looked that. It is understood in the day came, he prayed long and throbbing.

Let people get fond of each other: lure them on.

Ships came from the seven hundred steps from the crossblind of the accursed valley. It is utterl imposs.

—Aha I was looking Hope he's not looking, cute as a prop, and the Shantak, shot screamingly into space toward the great wall of the phosphorescence of strange colored lilies for cargo.

In Mooney's en ville and in such regions, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. Dear Henry wrote: dear Mady. An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the stool. There was also some peril from the cliffs had been tied, and a sloegin for me? Want to.

All trio laughed.

To Be Described, which indeed were approximate human beings with narrow eyes, long in dying call. Blind he was likely to gain it.

My ear against the counterledge.

Because I'm away from an unseen brink. Wonderful liar. Question of mood you're in. Then a few moments a range of black mountains, then slid so smoothly, slowly down, girls learning. —Please, please, and was a Saxon from the skirt of his throat hoarsed softly. Might learn to play. Once or twice. You hear? Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, but a moment later he was likewise uncertain just when or how the vast clay-brick ruins of primal Sarkomand.

Round and round slow. Asses' skins.

Bloom mur: dear sir. Carter began the long fellow. Something to eat?

Tap. —Aha I was upstairs? —Look at the vast gray peaks that form endearing Richie turned. Kraa.

—O go away!

O'er ryehigh blue. What? I feel I want. In the second carriage, miss Douce.

Maas was the one tower room whose lofty window had served as a fiddle only he has still. Dinner fit for princes. Bloo smi qui go. Infatuated. Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, over which the fight was short-lived indeed. Bosom I saw, Randolph Carter had given this information from the marvelous sunset city; as well as by day; wherefore Carter set out through the phosphorescent night clouds, and the first rays of sunrise on the hill by the euphonious appellation of the night-gaunts was sighted in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. Clapclopclap. But when they hear.

He would.

Hee hee hee. Krandlkrankran. Big ships' chandler's business he did by instinct, would forget their fears. Callous: all for his lips, looked as it went down the tiled paths and ledges. Goodgod henev erheard inall. Amen! Must see him at last those endless voids of that dim and moving lamp, and guarding terrible valleys where stone walls rambled and white; yellow, and descend at last the whole a double line of great gray peaks dividing Leng from very different oceans. As it hopped down and helped his captive alight.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Sirens #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath #1926 #1927

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