#ten bucks says the show is going to land on the side of defending the patriarchy alas
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*pauses episode to deconstruct the themes of gender, professionalism and patriarchy and the implications of the FL's whorephobia*
I mean seen from another perspective, her obsession with the idea that he's a sex worker and her reaction to that belief seems to indicate an ego-protective mechanism at work, a cognitive dissonance that allows her to avoid confronting her feelings about how she was treated in her previous job, where she was ostensibly employed as a legal professional and then expected to entertain handsy clients after hours. And the irony that it was overhearing *his* conversation in that same restaurant with a client who wanted sexual favours from him, and how he flatly rejected those advances, that gave her the courage to walk out and resign on the spot - but even that inspiration was ultimately whorephobic because her takeaway from that scene was if he, a mere sex worker, can assert his right to walk away from a deal he doesn't want, then she, a highly educated lawyer, ought to have even less qualms about leaving an undesirable job. But then again her whorephobia is integral to this narrative tension that's being established, where she has fundamentally mistaken the power dynamic between herself and him, her accidental temporary roommate. She's being set up for a grand reversal when she realises he's not a sex worker, he's her new lawyer employer and named partner in the firm she's just taken a job with. But is the narrative going to punish her for assuming he was a loser/traitor under the patriarchy, a man who inverted the power dynamic by serving women's sexual needs, rather than the other way around? Or is it going to take her to task for the way she treats sex workers?
*browses tumblr, sees the ML actor's shirtless bathroom selfies*
Nice!
#something something the duality of the audience#cdrama my boss#ten bucks says the show is going to land on the side of defending the patriarchy alas#i'm sure the censors take a dim view of treating sex work as real work equally worthy of dignity as any other kind of occupation#still appreciating cxx posting thirst trap bathroom selfies on drama release day#for the show in which the FL tells the ML in ep 1 that her house rules are that he can't take off his clothes or have people over#is it still tinhatting if you headcanon yourself some rpf about the actor's relationship with the narrative? idk
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Worse Days - Aaron Hotchner
The faint dripping of water pulls me back to reality. The same sploosh happening over and over. Minute after minute. I pull my eyes open blinking, forcing them to focus. The swaying back and forth, left to right, doesn’t help ease the dizziness I feel.
“Looks like your girl is finally up.”
I look around, searching for the source of the voice.
“Wake up, sunshine!” He finally sits in front of me, taking my head in his hand. His fingers are coarse and strong. He forces me to look him in the eyes, his grip tight on my cheeks. He tilts my head to the tripod over his shoulder. The red light on the camera blinks back at me.
“Smile for the camera.”
This is not at all how today was supposed to go…
Twenty-Two Hours Ago.
“Alright, we’re looking at four women, murdered and found on the beach in Miami. All from different classes and backgrounds, but similar age groups” JJ hands us each our files.
“He takes them for three days, before brutally dismembering them. The morning of the fourth day, the woman is always found.”
“He takes risks. Each of these women were taken from high traffic areas.” I comment.
“There’s more.” Garcia suddenly takes over.
“He also sends a live feed to the family of the victim.” She reluctantly pulls it up on the TV, a live feed of the women pleading for their lives. Saying their goodbyes.
“He’s definitely a sexual sadist. He finds pleasure in knowing that families are watching their loved ones last moments.” I clear my throat, pulling my eyes away from the screen.
“That’s what he gets off on.” Derek agrees. “He likes knowing that there’s people in distress on the other end of the camera.”
“Wheels up in thirty.” Hotchner simply says before excusing us all.
As soon as we land we start the process to find the unsub. It begins with all of us splitting up and going to the scenes where the bodies were found. All of them were ditched on the beach, early morning before anyone was out.
We get nothing from the populated beaches other than sand in our shoes.
We sit down and look at the profile and determine the man is bold and try to analyze the footage we have from the previous victims. Penelope is trying to find any identifying marks from the videos to see where they come from. Based on the way he treats the bodies, we’ve determined he’s likely a white male in his early thirties.
“It looks like they’re on a boat.” I say, we’ve been watching the videos on an endless loop. Trying to catch any new details.
“The camera is steady.” Morgan argues, looking at the TV now too.
“But look at her hair, it’s moving when she’s not. It’s like the rocking of a boat.”
“It’s possible considering he’s ditching them on the beach.” Reid comments.
“That’s why no one sees him dragging a body all across the beach. He already had them on a boat.” Ross puzzles together.
“The most recent body was found this morning, that means he’s going to take his next victim tonight.” Morgan says.
“We should visit where each of the women were taken. Try and get an understanding of how he was able to do so in such populated areas.” Hoctchner announces, “Prentiss and Morgan, go to the grocery store where Hannah Lane was taken, Y/n and Spencer, go to the parking garage where Amy Bryant was abducted and Rossi and I will go to the last two locations.”
We all nod and go off in our separate directions. Spencer and I get in the car and drive to the parking garage where Amy was taken. We drive around until we reach the second level and get out.
“Even for a parking garage, it’s bold. It’s packed with cars on this level. Anyone could show up at any time.” I look around.
“You’re right, they could.” A voice calls out behind me before everything goes dark.
Present time.
“Morgan, you owe me twenty bucks. I told you it was a boat.” I stretch out my neck that has a kink from hanging loosely while sitting up in the chair for so long. It feels heavy, like I’ve been in this position a long time.
The man in front of me rolls his eyes, huffing loudly.
“You picked the wrong girl if you were counting on me melting like puddy in your hands. You forget that I know exactly what you want. You want the tears and the begging.”
“Trust me. You’ll get to that point.” He smirks. “They all do.”
He leaves the room, loudly pulling the door shut behind him as he goes.
“I promise, it’s not as bad as it looks.” I plead with the camera, knowing that my team is on the other side of it. I can only imagine what they’re all feeling. We’ve had close calls with team members, it’s not any easier to be in their position right now. You feel helpless.
“Definitely on a boat, but I think we’re just at a marina or a pier. I can hear seagulls, we aren’t rocking that much.”
I lean forward as best as I can while still being tied to a chair. There’s a small window along the ceiling allowing me to see blue skies.
“It might be a ship. I’m above sea level, I can see the sky.” I try to give the team as much information as I can possibly gather. Anything could help.
“Sorry that’s about all I have right now to help.” I look around the bare room for any other details that could help, “I think I have a concussion, and maybe a cracked rib. I can’t take a deep breath.”
Suddenly the man comes back in, just as quickly as he left, he takes the camera in his hands.
“That’s all of your Y/n time today. You should get to trying to find me, because I am going to have a lot of fun in the meantime.”
Back with the team at the Miami police department...
The feed cuts out leaving the team in silence and shock.
“There’s nothing we could’ve done. We couldn’t have known-”
“We could have waited.
Spencer looks down at the ice pack in his lap. As if the guilt wasn’t eating away at him enough before. He also received a concussion. Only he woke up on the ground, relatively nothing compared to the person he was sent out with.
“There was no way for us to know that the unsub was going to come back to visit the last scene of the crime.” Emily defends. She can see the pure anger in Aaron’s eyes. Completely unwavering, and only focused on getting Y/n back to the team.
“But that’s the thing. He wouldn’t, that’s not in his MO. He moves on to his next target. Once he kills these women he feels nothing, it’s all in the buildup, he feels nothing at the scene of the crime.” Rossi says, thinking out loud.
“Y/n helped JJ talk to the press. The unsub could have seen her then. It’s likely that he would follow the case, especially once it was announced that the FBI had joined the case.” Spencer rapidly explains.
“She’s the right age, she fits his type.” Rossi nods.
“So, he sees her as more of a challenge. He’s escalated. He knows that she is a higher risk person to take.” Emily comments.
“Y/n, said she’s on a boat.” Morgan says, bringing up the clue that Y/n gave them before the feed cut out.
“We’re in southern Florida, there’s thousands of boats within just a hundred miles of us.” JJ sighs, looking around to the group around her.
“Four thousand, seven hundred and fifty-two within 75 miles of here.” Spencer pipes up.
Hotchner cuts him a look. Still trying to find anyone to blame, but himself. He’s the one who sent her in to that parking garage.
“Garcia, can you locate her based on the feed the unsub has sent us?” Aaron asks, looking at the plain black screen, hoping to see it come back on so he can see the girl behind the camera.
“No sir, he’s using a different routing server, just like he did with all of his previous victims.”
“Y/n is not a victim.”
---
It takes some time while the team continues to try and work out locations and who the unsub could even be. He wasn’t afraid to show his face on camera, which makes things a little more difficult. He has no record, making Garcia’s life a little harder.
The TV in the conference room lets out a crackle before the familiar room comes into their view. Everyone sets down what they had been working on and halts all conversation. It’s been several hours since we’ve seen anything from him. Y/n has been gone for eleven hours at this point.
“Welcome back to the show!” The unsub grins.
He moves out of the way to finally put Y/n in the frame. She’s hunched over, she doesn’t look as good as she did before. It’s evident that things have changed off camera.
“His name is Nick.” Y/n mutters, picking up her head as best as she can. “He’s five ten and approximately a hundred ninety pounds.”
“Don’t you learn to shut up?” Nick pulls back on the hair at the back of her head. In doing so it reveals new bruises that have taken home on her.
“Baby, we talked about this. No more sharing with them, or else you know what happens.” Nick brushes her hair out of her face now.
“This is his dads boat.” Y/n looks at the man who has taken her with spite in her eyes. It seems in his hours spent with her, he hasn’t learned that Y/n doesn’t like to be told what to do. And that she’s tougher than she looks.
He lands a sharp fist into the side of her head and takes a step back. He lets himself take a deep breath, trying to gain control. He doesn’t want to kill her yet, that would be over too soon. Now he can step closer again, he lets one hand wrap around her throat, halting any oxygen of reaching her lungs.
He waits for Y/n to start to struggle in her chair before he lets up.
“You just don’t like to learn, that’s okay. I’ll fix you.” Nick takes her hand, which is still tied to the arms of the chair she’s sat in. He pulls her pointer finger with care, before sharply pushing it straight up, breaking it.
“Garcia-” Y/n picks up her head struggling to fight against his hands, she’s coughing now still trying to gain her breath back, “You don’t need to see this. Please. Turn it off.”
“Of course, Y/n is the one being tortured and she’s worried about other people.” Morgan turns away, himself unable to watch this continue. Listening to Y/n’s screams and shouts are going to be enough to stick with him. Rossi forces himself to watch the girl he’s grown so close to since joining the team, brutally tortured in front of him.
Everyone on this team has love for this girl. She’s managed to worm her way into everyone’s life in some way or another. Y/n always knows exactly what each person needs, and she meets it. She holds the team together when they’re all falling apart. If anything were to happen to her, it would destroy them all.
Especially Aaron. As reluctant as he would be to admit it, this girl has wormed her way into his heart. Different to everyone else on the team, though. He saw her beauty and kindness. It was hard to him to imagine a woman ever entering his life like Haley did, but Y/n did it with such grace, and without even trying. Y/n helped him out with Jack when he needed it, and made them meals when Aaron just needed to catch a break. She didn’t even need a thank you, it was just part of her.
Without even trying, Y/n became his person and all he can think now is that he never got the chance to tell her, never even got the chance to thank her, and that he won’t let happen. He wants to see Y/n’s face in person, not bruised and bloody through the screen on the wall. He needs to get out to save her.
“Garcia, does that help you narrow your search.” Hotchner asks their tech who is still on speaker.
“We’ve got twenty-two Nicks with boats in the Miami area.” She explains.
“What about Nicks who have wealthy fathers? Or boats that weren’t originally in their name.” Spencer asks.
“That leaves me with one. Nick Hoffman.” Garcia cheers, “Sunset Harbour on 1928 Sunset Harbour Drive”
The team takes off without a second thought, quickly trying to save their girl. They manage to get there in record time and find the boat with success. Y/n was right, it’s more like a ship with its size.
“Morgan, Rossi, work your way around the main levels and then below. Emily and I will lead the upper level.”
The team takes off to clear the boat. It took a few empty rooms until Emily finally opens the door to where they are. Nick holds a knife to Y/n’s throat. He’s essentially using her as a shield, ducking behind her.
“If you take one more step in here, I will slit her throat.” Nick shouts.
“We don’t want that to happen.” Emily negotiates, Hotch finally stepping into the room.
“Hey! I told you guys not to move!” He presses the blade down tight against Y/n’s neck while she lets out a shudder.
“Let her go.” Hotch declares.
“I want a deal.” Nick grovels.
“Men like you don’t get deals.” Emily says, her eyes trained on him and all of his movements.
“Not even for your precious Y/n’s life?” He grins, looking down at the girl below him now.
“Go to hell.” She mutters as best she can.,
“Maybe killing you would be worth it.” He smirks, “Then we could go out together.”
“I’ve got better plans.” Y/n throws her head back into Nick’s disorienting him enough that Hotch has a clear shot, and he takes it. Nick’s body falls and Emily kicks his knife out of reach.
“Get me out of this chair.” Y/n shakes, squirming to get out of the spot she’s been constrained to. “Get me out of here, please.”
Hotch and Emily both holster their weapons and rush to help her. They quickly untie her and when her legs fail her, Hotch scoops her up. He quickly walks her down the stairs and doesn’t stop once he reaches the dock, he takes her all the way up to the ambulance.
Without hesitation, Hotch gets in with her. There isn’t anything that could keep him from leaving her now.
“Wow, that was a dramatic ending, huh?” Y/n grins.
“You can’t seriously be cracking jokes about this now.” He sighs.
“I mean come on, aren’t you going to even ask how I figured out his name was Nick? I figured it out when he ow-”
Y/n cuts herself off when the paramedic starts feeling her ribs to see which are cracked and if any are broken.
“Y/n, we can talk about this later.” Aaron smiles.
“Am I hallucinating? Is it the lack of oxygen, because you’re smiling.” Y/n comments, finally turning to look at her boss who has a smile that she knows he saves for Jack.
“You’re back. That’s reason to smile.”
They make it to the hospital to find out that Y/n has a concussion, one broken rib and three cracked ribs, and one broken finger. Not to mention the trauma to the trachea.
“The gangs all here.” Y/n smiles, noticing Garcia has flown down to join the group. Everyone has been gathered in the room since everything settled down, “What are you doing here?”
“Y/n, you were kidnapped.” Garcia states, still in shock, “You could’ve died.”
Tears fill Penelope’s eyes and Y/n opens her arms from her hospital bed for a hug, which she easily accepts.
“Ehh, I knew you guys would find me.” Y/n grins. “I’m fine Pen, I’m getting discharged in the morning and we can all go home.”
“Yes, speaking of, we should all get some rest. Especially Y/n.”
Slowly, the rest of the team clears out, giving hugs on their way.
“Not taking your own orders?” Y/n asks, noticing her boss making himself comfortable on the small couch in her hospital room.
“I don’t think I could leave if I tried.” Aaron admits.
“And why’s that?” Y/n asks, carefully turning to lay on her side to face him.
“Because I love you.” He confesses, “I have for a while now, and it’s alright if you don’t feel the same, or if my position with this team makes you uncomfortable. I just don’t think I can go any longer without you at least knowing.”
“You love me?” Y/n asks, her voice cracking. Aaron finally has the courage to look over and she has tears in her eyes.
“Yes.” He clears his throat, “The way you have become a part of my life, and Jack’s for that matter. You bring so much light with you everywhere you go, even after a day like you’ve had today. You manage to still be the brightest person I have ever met.”
“Please don’t make me get out of bed to kiss you, because I think I would crack another rib.” Y/n sighs.
Hotch lets out a soft chuckle before getting up from his spot.
“Only if you promise to go to bed after this, you need rest.”
“Promise.”
He leans down to connect their lips, it’s soft. Y/n can tell that he’s being gentle with her. She reaches up a hand to thread them through Aaron’s short hair, using it to her advantage to hold him there and pull him a little closer. They pull away eventually, Y/n stealing one more peck before fully letting go of him.
“Ok, maybe I’ve had worse days.”
---
AHHHHHH my first time writing for criminal minds! i hope you guys liked it! 🥺
#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch imagine#aaron hotchner#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#agent hotchner#hotch
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Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]
[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]
Chapter Sixteen | Dummy! (Part 1 of 3 | His POV)
[First] | [Previous] | [Next]
Alternate Chapter Title: Oh, Sugar Honey Iced Tea!
• • •
"You're the one they're dating, aren't you?" Jerry asks, obstructing the line. A few potential customers leave when they notice what's going on, not bothering to become involved in the mess. "How's that gonna even work, though? They're only into real men as far as I know. You're just bones and magic."
"This really ain't the place for us to be talkin' about this, pal," Sans replies, looking behind Jerry. "Just lemme do my job. We can talk about this after I clock out."
"Don't you have a lunch break? Let's talk by then."
"'Fraid I've already got plans for lunch."
"Does it involve them?"
"Maybe." The monster shoos him out of the hot dog stand, continuing to serve those in wait. "Dunno why you're still so hung up over this, though. Why don't ya move on?"
"That's easier to say than do." Again, Jerry obstructs the line, ignoring those who tell him to buzz off. He suspends himself over the cart and grabs Sans by the collar, pulling him off the ground until he's to his eye level. He narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on the monster's shirt, yet the latter remains calm. "How far have you gone with them? You're betraying our friendship."
Sans uses magic to break free from Jerry's hold. Then, he shrugs, hands slipping into his pockets. "Let's end it, then. Rather have that than let you keep on questionin' me over weird stuff, and then make me lose customers 'cuz ya keep on blockin' the line."
"Wouldn't have happened if you'd just tell me what's going on."
"I would," Sans comments, taking a water bottle and handing it to one of his clients. "But realistically speakin': What's it to ya? From what I've noticed so far, they've moved on from you, pal."
"But I haven't."
Chuckling, Sans takes a break from the conversation to look up at the sky, grey clouds blocking the sun and the heat. There are people around with their umbrellas already at hand. Those who don't have any rush to find someplace with a roof. "I'm gonna say this nicely, so hear me out." He emerges out of the hot dog stand and starts closing things up, not only due to the worsening weather, but it being barely ten minutes away from his lunch break. If Jerry was still at it, he needed that extra time to get him off his back. "I don't want any trouble, so stop tryna stir some. You had your chance, Jerry. Now it's none of your business who your ex chooses to date, and even less how far they've gone with that person."
"It should be if Frisk will be in the picture."
"Then take responsibility and look after them. You're worryin' too much about this."
"You don't know what I've been through."
"Maybe not, but I can at least tell you to try. Didn't you do the same when I was talkin' about hitting things off with (Y/N)?"
"That was a mistake." He scoffs, glaring at the monster. "Don't rub it in."
Sans finishes closing up right as the first few drops fall. A strong wind blows, wet earth and hot concrete wafting through the air. When he walks off -- Jerry now left behind -- Sans soon stops, hearing him mutter out a 'wait'. Then, he turns around, facing up at the human man, anger present in his posture, stiff and awkward. "Just... Just tell me if you're serious about them or not."
Though it pours, Sans is unable to move. He stays still and considers Jerry's words, thinking back on the night at the hotel and yesterday evening.
Sure, he found them attractive -- attentive and dedicated when it came to their role as a parent, too.
But why exactly did he want to be with them?
Despite his social circle, he mostly thrived alone, and taking up big responsibilities wasn't his thing, in truth. It often tired him out to so much as consider having a serious relationship with someone, and he couldn't even maintain his current friendships or the day-to-day life with his brother. He sounds a lot like the same man he's judging with those last lines, yet it doesn't feel right; that same sensation increases the more he considers his feelings and the situation overall. Living with his brother brought upon an inevitably energetic lifestyle. His personality was far different from Papyrus's, and -- on some occasions -- he didn't exactly feel his best self knowing those differences were still present between him and most of the people he knew.
So why was he getting himself into something as complex as a romantic relationship?
Was he only curious about how it all felt, having heard others around him talk about love and intimacy ever since he could remember?
If that was the case, then it really wasn't okay for him to keep fooling around with them.
And judging by how stern and persistent Frisk was when it came to defending their primary care parent, they wouldn't be, either.
"You just think they're attractive, and that's about it. Right? They're only eye candy to you, I'm sure." Jerry comments, Sans's time having run out. "Betting you ten bucks you'll ditch them the second you get bored of them."
He doesn't hold back his tongue, replying with, "Talkin' from experience?"
With the rain now pouring too hard for either of them to continue, Jerry settles by glaring at the skeleton before giving his back to him. "You dodged my question," he remarks, snickering. "Let's have a talk when you've actually got an answer, and maybe then you can go ahead and judge me all you want, bro." Silence arrives, broken with, "In the end, you're just as bad as me."
Sans stays quiet, analyzing the bit of truth in Jerry's words.
Before Frisk freed his kind, how many times didn't he simply stand by the sidelines, watching as fallen human after fallen human got hurt, sought, and wounded -- until their passing?
He didn't hurt anybody, but then he also didn't help anybody either. Things had gone in a similar way with Frisk; he'd only watched over them every so often, fulfilling Toriel's promise of not hurting any human, but half-heartedly -- seeing as he'd never bothered to help them much, either.
What guaranteed he wouldn't do the same thing here at the Surface, and even more with a human crush he was only recently getting to know?
"Sans, you're soaked!"
Speaking of them, Sans sets those thoughts aside and looks up to see an umbrella covering him up. (Y/N) stands under it and close to him, brushing shoulders as they escort him off to drier land. Their touch sends electricity down his body, yet he forces himself to ignore it, a flash of guilt overcoming those wants. He accompanies them under a bus stop, its roof providing partial cover from the rain. They keep the umbrella straight even as they rummage through their belongings, looking intent to take out something from there. "Hold on a second," they say, retrieving a pink and polka-dotted handkerchief from one of their bag's tiny side pockets. "It's… not really much, but it's better than staying all wet."
Sans nods, still too lost in his thoughts to respond properly. He takes off his jacket and grabs the piece of cloth, quirking an eye socket when he sees the human move their gaze elsewhere. "...Your shirt's a bit thin," they comment, as if reading his mind. If it embarrassed them, it was hard to tell with their voice, too quiet for him to catch onto any change in tone. "Should we find somewhere else to stay? The sky just keeps getting worse."
Almost seeming to set those priorities straight, the weather responds to their comment by lashing out more rain, stronger than before. A car drives past, sending a torrent of water at his and everybody else's direction, holding little regards to speed, puddles, and those nearby. He reacts by instinct, casting a quick shield to prevent everyone around from getting wet. As he steps back, his shoulder brushes with theirs again and he's forced to suppress another shudder. His soul and body both long for their presence; his brief time with them at the hotel has now become a faint yet pleasant memory he wanted to keep and cherish whenever possible. "Let's go," he replies. Then, he reaches out for the umbrella without looking.
He grabs their hand instead -- by accident, that is.
To his surprise, they don't pull back, and he follows their gaze to see them looking up at the sky. "...It's getting worse," he hears them say, a hint of sadness showing up on their tone, words muttered. "Let's go to my place." Their comment is pure survival instinct more than anything suggestive. He sees their chest rise and fall at quicker intervals, hinting at panic. "I need to go get Frisk if the weather keeps up like this."
Their voice breaks and their hand stays with his. Briefly, he wonders why they're scared over the bad weather, that being something mostly he was known for.
"Aren't they with Toriel today?" Sans asks, trying to lighten up the mood. "The kid's safe if you're worried about 'em."
(Y/N) remains quiet, observing the rain before saying, "I… I lost them in a storm like this one the last time they ran away." They huff, not in annoyance, but in fright -- based on the shudder their body makes. They press themselves closer to him, the height difference making their arm brush with his shoulder. Their head rests against the top of his, tilted over to the side. "I'm worried they'll do it again with what… happened yesterday."
He slips his free hand back into his pocket, still too awkward to pull his hand away from the umbrella. "Do ya really think they'll do somethin' like that again?" It's an unforeseen question, one he feels imprudent over asking. Even so, there's no turning back now, and he can only try to soften up his words better. "They looked pretty sorry for doin' that twice."
"Still…" They press closer to him, holding his waist. Judging by how careful their touch is and how little their expression shifts from their sorrow, he shakes off the possibility of this being one of their attempts at paying back at him for his flirting. "I'm worried." Their hand slips away, leaving the ghost of their warmth on his bones. "We should get going. You're still soaked." They smile, continuing with, "Thank you, by the way. It was a lot better having you pick us up, rather than taking the bus at seven."
Finally capable, Sans pulls his hand back and follows them out of the bus stop, finding additional coverage under the roofs of nearby buildings. "No problem," he says, looking up at them. Only the human and himself can be seen walking; the rest of the people around either make a run for it, or take cover inside shops and offices. "That's what we're all here for, pal."
They smile; all the uncertainty from before seems to have never existed with how bright their expression is. Then, they nod and bump their hip against his. "I mean it," they say, lips tugging upwards. "I, well… I still feel weird over our date, but in a good way, though."
• • •
He arrives at their home an hour after.
The weather's still at it, though compared to previous times, there's no thunder to worry about yet. All sorts of leaves litter the grass and the roads around, the strength of the wind being responsible for it. A few car alarms go off as debris falls over them, leaving their owners to try bringing control over the situation.
When he makes it with them to the front door, they open it up in no time at all and bundle him up with a towel as soon as they step inside.
"You should shower and change, just in case," they say, slipping off their shoes. They set the pair aside next to the welcome mat, and he figures he should do the same, too. "I'm not sure if monsters can get sick this way, but you should head over to the bathroom while I look for some clothes."
It's only when they turn to him that the situation finally gets to him. Captivated by their words, he looks up at them with a grin, that alone resulting to be enough for them to freeze and stay still, like a deer in the middle of a road. "Taking this dating thing seriously, huh?" he asks, stepping closer to their side. They don't take a step back, nor do they glare, looking as lost as humans often did when they fell Underground. "I'm flattered."
When they do show their anger, it conflicts with a frown and watery eyes -- far different from their usual self. Even when they'd become frustrated confronting Alphys and Undyne about their lives underground, they hadn't shown sorrow like this one. It's distant and concerning enough for him to want to back away from his frequent teasing.
(Y/N) takes a step forward, the clicking of their shoes now gone. Then, they lower their gaze and their frown quivers as they try not to let their tears fall. "I…" They hold on to his shoulder, bringing him closer as they do the same. Their eyes narrow and their unknown conflict shows through the wrinkles on their forehead and the subtle pout of their mouth. With how close they are, it wouldn't take much for their lips to brush with his teeth.
Just as he feels their arm around his waist, they pull back, looking elsewhere as they backtrack on their steps. "...I need to ask you something," they say, still facing away. All of a sudden, their conflict dissipates and anger returns to their posture. They cross their arms, finding strength again. "Can... Can you stay over so we can talk?"
Sans nods, keeping his cool. He tries not to think back too much on how close they just were or how they'd brushed off their sadness like it was nothing, yet it's hard to do. His soul pounds as he holds them back with a 'wait', refraining from physical contact. "You doin' alright, (Y/N)?" he asks, holding back a breath. "We can still talk about yesterday, if you wanna. Maybe we can't go anywhere with the weather right now, but I can make us that dinner I promised you last time."
Their lips form a firm line as they consider his offer.
Seconds later, a smile shows on their face. They then look down at their phone, checking the time. "Sounds good." They grin, a stifled laugh following it. "Now go change, Sans. We can't keep this up if you get sick!"
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#sans x reader#undertale x reader#lgbt#lgbt themes#gender neutral reader#male reader#female reader#mother reader#father reader#parent reader#chubby reader#long fic#romcom#adventure#mystery#platonic relationships#slow burn
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The Consequences of Energy ~ A Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic
Here we have a snazzy anonymous prompt that features two of our favourite septic lads engaged in a battle of the ages! LET’S DO THIS!
Jackie rolled his eyes. He knew this was going to end in tears, but when Chase Brody was happy and excited, nothing in the world could stop or dissuade him by even an inch. Every single day for about three weeks, Chase had been incessantly challenging Jackie to wrestling matches, and every single day….Chase lost those wrestling matches. This is because Jackie was a legitimate superhero with enhanced strength and an intense, consistent training regime….and Chase….well….wasn’t. Chase ended up drained of all his energy every single time, and yet this still didn’t dissuade him from his challenges! So, as Jackie looked at Chase’s half-excited, half-arrogant expression….he decided that during this match, he would have to do something to show Chase that he was well and truly beat.
Chase was excitedly squaring up to Jackie in the training room, wearing a vest and a pair of sweatpants whilst Jackie donned his hero suit, except without the mask. Jackie raised an eyebrow at Chase as he watched the man stretch, and asked with a slightly amused smile.
‘Are you sure you wanna do this again? We must be into the double figures by now with our sparring sessions.’
Chase rolled his eyes, because arguably Jackie was going into the double figures with how many times he’d asked that question. Of course Chase was sure! With every session of wrestling and careful fighting he was getting stronger and stronger, he could just feel it! He grinned cheekily at Jackie as he replied.
‘You’re just scared because you know I’m getting stronger by the day! Don’t worry, I’m not gonna take your job just yet or anything.’
Jackie pursed his lips at Chase’s cheekiness, and planted his feet on the mat as he smiled at him coolly. He couldn’t wait to just put him in his place.
‘I’m not scared of that happening Chase, I just don’t wanna see you cry when I kick your ass into next week.’
‘Oho yeah? Come here and get it then!’
Thus, they began. Admittedly it was a slow beginning, because the two of them circled one another on the mat for a good few minutes, and even when they started, the two of them only gave out a few faux grapples to the other. On Chase’s side this was because he was cautious, and secretly a tad nervous, but on Jackie’s side it was very much strategic. Jackie was trying to lull Chase into thinking he wasn’t fully invested in the fight and that he didn’t plan on giving it his all, so that eventually his defences would falter….and Jackie would strike him down. Of course, with Jackie being a well-seasoned superhero with much experience fighting a plethora of individuals, it didn’t take long for his stratagem to prevail….and Chase’s arms began to lower as he threw out a slightly impatient taunt.
‘Man, you really are a softie at heart aren’t you? Ihi mean you aren’t even going for me, it’s like you’re asking to be taken down!’
Jackie snickered at that, and straightened up, his posture ramrod as he fixed Chase with a cool stare. Chase had to admit that he got a little chill down his spine, getting a feeling that Jackie was preparing for something….and soon enough, that feeing was confirmed when Jackie replied to him with a sneer.
‘That’s funny, I was just going to say the same about you.’
Then, with the speed of someone almost inhuman, Jackie launched himself at Chase. The poor dad had never really stood a chance. In seconds Jackie just had him on the floor, pinning him on his back on the mat, planting his knees either side of his hips as he held Chase’s wrists down above his head. Jackie chuckled in fond amusement, because as ever it was just so adorably easy. Chase grunted and struggled amidst all of this of course, but to no avail. Once again, he was beaten before anything had truly begun. Still though, as he looked up at Jackie, his determination outweighed his embarrassment.
‘Another round! This was barely fair, you didn’t even give me a chance to defend!’
‘Chase I circled you for ten minutes and gave you ample opportunities to attack me whilst giving you faux attacks to practise defending yourself against! You have to admit that this isn’t for you Chase, there’s no shame in being a lover more than a fighter.’
Chase grunted and carried on struggling, yes okay maybe he valued caring for other people, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t toughen up as well! He wasn’t going to give up on what he wanted, even if he had to annoy Jackie to the ends of the Earth to have this continue! He grinned up at Jackie stubbornly, and stuck his tongue out before replying defiantly.
‘Well I’m not gonna stop tryna train with you, you can’t stop me, you know how determined I can be!’
Jackie rolled his eyes fondly, because yes, admittedly one of Chase’s most prominent qualities was how determined his spirit was. However, this determination had riled Jackie to no end for weeks….and he’d had enough. So he was going to have to break Chase in the most loving way possible. He leant down so he was nose to nose with his stubborn best friend, and replied in a low tone with gleaming eyes.
‘Sure, you’re determined….but let’s see how long that determination lasts when someone actually works to break you.’
Chase scoffed. If Jackie thought he wouldn’t be able to handle being pinned down and playfully manhandled then he was SO wrong! He maintained his determined smile when Jackie used one hand to pin his wrists down above his head. But then, Jackie started wiggling the fingers of his free hand in the air above one of Chase’s bared armpits, and Chase’s eyes widened. No…..Jackie wouldn’t do that….would he?
‘….n-no….’
Jackie chuckled as he watched the apples of Chase’s cheeks go pink, and he replied with a sneer.
‘Oh yes.’
Jackie let his fingers descend and scratch ruthlessly in Chase’s underarm, making him squeal and burst out into frantic cackles. He started tugging at his wrists, but with Jackie being a superhero it basically meant that there was no way Chase was going to be able to get free.
‘NOHOHO NOHO JAHAHACKIE!’
‘Awww what’s wrong? Is someone feeling a little less determined?’
Jackie teased with a grin, scratching deep and fast as he relished in seeing Chase laugh. Jackie loved tickling Chase in general, he was so adorable when all he could do was laugh and laugh, but it was especially satisfying to tickle him with a vengeance. Needless to say, Chase was starting to regret having been so cocky.
‘STAHAHAPPIHIT YOHOHOU AHAHASS!’
Chase struggled harder, which only made Jackie laugh fondly as he scratched his other exposed armpit now, raising an eyebrow down at Chase as he replied.
‘I’d be a bit nicer if I were you, you know I know just what to do to make you scream.’
Chase let out a flustered whine, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook his head, trying to block out Jackie’s voice. Because it was true. Jackie knew Chase better than almost anyone, and Chase shuddered to think of how badly Jackie could torture him if he wanted to. He cried out cutely and imploringly.
‘NOHOHO NOHOHOHO PLEHEHEASE DOHON’T!’
Jackie chuckled, and hummed musingly as he let his tickling hand lazily trail down Jackie’s torso. Chase gulped and shivered, whining nervously as he tittered at the teasiness whilst Jackie muttered.
‘Ohhhh it would be sooo easy for me to wreck you…..and given how much you’ve been riling me and bugging me recently, you definitely deserve it….’
Jackie’s fingertips landed at Chase’s waist where they swept back and forth, teasing and tracing the sensitive skin to make Chase squeak and twitch oh so cutely. Chase was red-faced and giggling warmly, restless beyond belief as his cheeks started to ache from how widely and giddily he was smiling.
‘N-Nohoho p-plehehease! Ihihit tihickles s-so muhuch Ihihi cahan’t!’
‘Awwww, poor ticklish baby….’
Jackie crooned, making Chase let out a high pitched, indignant squeak as he retorted adorably.
‘I-Ihihi’m nahat a b-bahaby!’
Jackie laughed brightly, and kept on cooing down at Chase as he softly tickled along his waistline.
‘Who’s a tickly wittle baby booooo, hmm? Who’s got the itty bitty goo-goo giiiiggles?’
Literally Chase wanted nothing more than to curl up and hide for eternity. His blush was creeping down his neck as the butterflies in his tummy rampaged at the baby-talk, this was so unfair, baby-talk was the most evil teasy thing ever!
‘D-D-Dohohohooon’t oho my gohod Ihi’m gohonna dihihiiie!’
Jackie snorted and shook his head fondly down at Chase.
‘Hey Marvin and Anti are the drama queens in our household, we don’t need a third!’
Chase giggled at that, and then couldn’t help but reply with a cheeky grin, his tongue poking out through his teeth.
‘Ihif thehey’re drahama queens thehen you’re the drahama empress!’
Jackie gaped, and pointed at Chase as he narrowed his eyes threateningly.
‘Oh you’d better take that back right now!’
Chase giggled, grinning even more as he replied in a faux innocent way, because by this point he had just accepted his tickly fate.
‘Or what….your majesty?’
Jackie growled under his breath, and to think he was about to be nice! This punk was SO getting it now! Jackie’s eyes flicked down to Chase’s torso, and erode in on one particular little…button.
‘Oh you’re about to find out.’
Jackie wasted no more time. He leant down and attacked Chase’s navel with a torrent of the strongest, most rippling, noisy raspberries that you have ever had the damn privilege to witness. And oh how Chase screamed.
‘AAAAHHHH NAHAHAHA WAHAHAHAAA!!!’
Chase’s eyes bugged out of his sockets as shockwaves of ticklishness shot through his navel and went through his whole body, making him shriek and scream with sweet laughter as he bucked madly. Now he realised what Jackie had meant at the start about breaking him. Jackie smirked into Chase’s taut stomach, eagerly blowing another raspberry before he growled.
‘You ready to take that back yet, huh? Or does the wittle tickle baby need some more of his five a day?’
Chase shook his head frantically as he let out another shriek, laughing brightly as he replied very frantically.
‘AAAHHHAHAH IHIHI TAHAHAKE IHIT BAHAAAACK! JAHAHACKIEEE!!!’
‘And are you sorry for having been a tenacious little brat recently?’
Chase nodded frantically, getting tears in his eyes as Jackie playfully nibbled the rim of his bellybutton, making him snort through his laughter. Jackie only wished he had a camera so he could capture how utterly adorable Chase looked, all laughed to happy tears.
‘YEHEHEEESYESYESYESYEHES!!!’
Jackie laughed warmly, and after giving Chase’s navel a light nuzzle with his nose he finally relented, leaning up and releasing Chase’s hands. Chase curled up into a ball the second that Jackie shifted off him, and the hero fondly stroked his fingers through the childish father’s hair.
‘You good buddy?’
Chase initially just whined into his forearms, which made Jackie snicker, before he scooped the hero up into his lap so he could cuddle him.
‘You are one determined little rascal aren’t you?’
‘Thahank you….’
Chase giggled into Jackie’s chest, humming as the hero kept stroking his hair. Jackie gently sighed, and looked at Chase fondly as he spoke in a soft, tender voice.
‘Y’know, sometimes knowing how to physically fight someone doesn’t actually matter. Sometimes, just have a determined attitude like that is more than enough….you feel me?’
Chase looked up at Jackie, and deep down….yeah, he definitely understood that now. Of course, on the outside he was still a complete goofball, so he rubbed his palms against Jackie’s cheeks as he replied with a giggle.
‘Yeah man I feeeeel yohou-‘
‘Alright that’s it, I’m using you as my bench pressing weight for the rest of the day!’
Chase squealed and laughed as Jackie slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, before indeed bench pressing using Chase as his weight for pretty much the rest of the day. It shouldn’t have taken the whole day really, but for some reason Chase was awfully giggly every time Jackie grasped him and lifted him into the air above him. That’s the thing about happiness, it persists in you for oh so long.
WOOOOOO HOPE YOU ALL LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOOO LUV YOUS XX
#jacksepticeye#jacksepticeye egos#chase brody#chase#jackie-boy man#jackie#sfw#platonic#prompt#ego fic#ego fanfic#tickle fic#tickle fanfic#tickle#tickles#tickling#ticklish#luv these lads
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All My Fault
Request: Can I request a Steve rogers x reader where the reader and him don’t get along because he is old fashioned and she loves to flirt (playfully) with the other avengers, such as Sam and Bucky, and they hate each other until the reader is hurt on a mission and Steve feels responsible but they kiss?-@fortheloveofmarvel
A/N: I haven’t written for Steve in so long! Thank you for the request :) -Heather
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings: Violence and swearing
Masterlist Marvel Masterlist
“Buck! Pay attention!” Steve snapped at his friend. Bucky flashed you an apologetic smile before turning back to his weights. You sauntered over to Steve with a cocky smile playing on your lips.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Cap,” you chuckled.
“And what would I be jealous of exactly, (Y/N)?” He sighed.
“That I was giving James my attention instead of you. You’d rather it was you in my bed last night instead of him,” you said. He rolled his eyes and blew his whistle, signaling the start of sparring. He tried to pretend like what you said didn’t bother him.
“I wouldn’t want to be in your bed if it was the last bed on earth,” he said.
“Wow, good one, Steve,” you laughed. You brushed your hand along his arm as you watched by, sending a wink his way. He dragged his hand over his face in frustration. Bucky came over to see if Steve wanted to spar with him.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but are you sleeping with (Y/N)?” Steve asked. Bucky’s eyebrows shot to his hairline before sputtering out a loud laugh.
“What? Steve, are you crazy?” He asked. “She’s a gorgeous girl. Funny. Smart. Kick-ass in the field-”
“Is there a but here?” Steve cut him off.
“Buuuuut, she’s not my type,” Bucky said.
“Then why were you in her bed last night?” Steve asked. He hated that he was even asking but he wanted to know what was going on within the team. At least that’s what he told himself anyway.
“If I didn’t know you any better, Stevie, I’d say that you’re jealous.” Bucky smirked. “We were watching a movie and then I fell asleep there. Nothing else happened.”
“Ha! Me? Jealous? Not likely,” Steve scoffed.
“Whatever you say, punk,” Bucky replied. Steve didn’t even dignify him with a response, just tossed a glance your way before heading to the sparring mat with Bucky. He couldn’t ignore the sour taste in his mouth when he saw you and Sam playfully pushing each other around.
“You two, knock it off and get to sparring!” He yelled.
“You’re such a killjoy today, Stevie,” you pouted.
“Just today?” Sam asked, earning a loud laugh from you. Steve ignored the two of you, knowing it wasn’t worth the headache.
Practice eventually ended and you parted ways with the team to go shower and then you were planning to go shopping with Natasha. You checked in her room and when you didn’t find her there, you headed to the kitchen.
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere,” you gasped.
“Everywhere?” She asked.
“Well, you’re room at least,” you chuckled.
“Let me finish my smoothie then we’ll head out,” Nat told you.
“Where are you lovely ladies going?” Sam asked, walking in with Steve and Bucky in tow.
“Lingerie shopping. Maybe I can give you a little fashion show when we get back,” you smirked. Bucky whistled earning a glare from Steve.
“I hope I’m invited to this little show,” he said.
“No way, man. I don’t share,” Sam said.
“Can you guys stop before I lose my breakfast?” Steve snapped. Bucky put his hands up in surrender and Sam just shook his head.
“You can come too. Or maybe you’d prefer a private show, Captain?” You knew that you were getting on his nerves but it was too much fun to quit. You and Steve had a complicated relationship. You loved to tease him and he utterly despised you. He was more reserved than you and he seemed to find your differences revolting.
You had tried to level with him in the beginning by explaining that you were just flirty by nature and you meant no harm by it, but for whatever reason, he could never get over it. Since he wanted to keep that stick up his ass, you decided to get under his skin whenever you could. From this sprouted a very passionate relationship, just passionate in the wrong way.
“I only spend my time with respectable women,” he said. You were a bit offended at his comment but you didn’t let it show. Sam and Bucky winced while Natasha watched for your reaction.
“And that’s why you’ve been single for... your entire life?” You threw the dish towel that you had been anxiously playing with on the counter and grabbed your purse. “I’ll be waiting in the garage.”
“I’m right behind you,” Natasha said. She waited for the elevator ding to turn toward Steve. “What’s gotten into you today?”
“What do you mean?” He asked, pretending like he didn’t know what she meant.
“You know what. You’ve been up everyone’s asses today, especially (Y/N)’s. And that last comment was uncalled for.”
“She’s right, man. You hurt her feelings. She was just messing around,” Sam said.
“She’s always messing around but you can’t seem to take a joke,” Natasha added. Nat said nothing more as she set her glass in the sink and left the room to go meet you in the garage.
“She’s a good girl, Steve. I don’t understand why you hate her so much,” Bucky said.
“I don’t hate her!” Steve defended himself.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam replied. Steve sat there in awkward silence, mulling over the reasons why he argued with you so often.
You were a flirt, it was in your nature. You never meant any harm by it and he knew that. Maybe it wasn’t so much the fact that you were flirting, but more-so that you were flirting with everyone instead of just him. He hated to admit it, but maybe there were some feelings of jealousy there. It never occurred to him that starting a friendship with you could’ve been beneficial, but he decided to push you away instead.
Shopping with Natasha was exactly the stress relief you needed. She assured you that Steve was just having a bad day and didn’t mean anything by his comment. You tried to push it to the back of your mind but it was eating away at you. You always thought that your banter back and forth was playful but you never would’ve thought that Steve didn’t think you were respectful.
You were planning on avoiding him for the rest of the day when you returned to the compound, but the bad guys had other plans. You were called on a mission almost as soon as you returned.
You suited up and made your way to the Quinjet where the team was already waiting. You expected some snippy comment from Steve but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t even look at you when you took your seat.
You were briefed on the way there. It was your typical situation. Bad guys doing bad things and they needed to be stopped. The flight was a few hours so you tried to rest and focus your mind for the mission.
“We’re landing in ten,” Bruce called from the pilot seat. You all unbuckled and gathered your gear. You were usually paired with Bucky, but Steve wanted him with Sam on this one. Bruce was staying behind in case he was needed. You expected to be paired with Natasha, but Steve said she was with Tony which left you and Steve.
“We’re taking the east wing. There’s two corridors that split off then meet again at the end. I say we take one hallway then loop back through and see what we find.” He pointed to the map.
“We’ll save time if we split up,” you said starkly.
“That’s dangerous,” he sighed.
“I can handle myself. We split up then meet at the end,” you said. He wanted to argue but he held his tongue and simply nodded.
When the jet landed, you all went your respective ways. You and Steve found the east wing and it looked empty from what you could see. Steve took the left hall and you went to the right. Before splitting off he grabbed your arm.
“Be careful,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Yeah I know,” you snapped. “Let’s just get this over with. I know how much you hate spending time with me.”
Before Steve could respond, you were heading down the dark hallway. Steve just sighed and figured he would just have to discuss it with you later. He headed down his hallway, checking the rooms and finding them empty. He was about to reach the end of the hallway but something felt off. Everything was too quiet.
He expected to meet you at the end, but you weren’t there yet. He figured you had just found something that you wanted to get a better look at and tried not to worry. After a few more minutes he set off down your hall. He was about halfway down when he saw a light coming from a cracked open door. He peaked in and saw three men, two with guns and the other in a lab coat. He opened the door a tiny bit more when something caught his eye.
You were crouching behind a file cabinet, motioning for him to stop. You pressed your finger to your lips to silence him. His brows furrowed as he tried to figure out your plan. You put your finger on the trigger of your gun and began to move from behind the cabinet. Steve panicked and burst through the door. The men scrambled but one noticed you in the corner. He shot in your direction, missing twice, but Steve knew when he heard you scream that you’d been hit. He took down the other gunman while the scientist ran from the room.
You managed to take down the man who shot you before laying on the ground. Your hand put pressure on the gunshot that went through your shoulder. Steve ran toward you to help you but you yelled at him to go get the scientist.
“Sam’s already on it,” he told you. He scooped you up in his arms and began to run toward the exit. You had already lost a lot of blood and your vision began to go black.
“Steve,” you croaked.
“Stay with me, (Y/N).” He tried to keep you awake until you got back to the jet but you lost consciousness right before you got there. The rest of the team met you there after they had captured the scientist, sending out a relay team to pick him up.
“What happened?” Bucky asked, kneeling by your side. Bruce was working on patching you up for transport.
“What does it look like? She was shot!” Steve snapped.
“Why did she get shot?” Tony asked, looking at Steve.
“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. If I wasn’t such an asshole to her then she wouldn’t have wanted to split up. I shouldn’t have agreed to it anyway,” he rambled. He sat in the seat with his head between his knees. Nat sat next to him with a comforting hand on his back.
“She’s gonna make it, Steve. It’s a through and through shot and it didn’t hit any major organs,” she said. Steve just sighed and let his head rest in his hands while Bruce worked. Tony flew back to the compound.
You were stable when you arrived but still unconscious. You were rushed to the med-bay. Steve wanted to follow them but Tony stopped him.
“Go shower and change. I’ll keep an eye on her until you get there. It’s not your fault. Side effect of the occupation unfortunately,” he sighed. Steve didn’t want to leave you but he knew he needed to calm himself down.
He quickly showered and jumped into some clean clothes and practically sprinted down to the medical bay. As promised, Tony was sitting outside your room while the doctors checked you over. He sat down next to him and Tony placed a reassuring hand on his back.
“She’s gonna be alright. She’s tougher than she seems,” Tony said.
“I know she’s tough. I just feel so bad for how I’ve treated her and I know if I had been nicer to her she wouldn’t have wanted to split up today,” Steve sighed. Both of the men’s heads shot up at the sound of the door opening.
“How is she?” Steve asked, shooting out of his seat.
“We’ve patched her up and gave her a transfusion for the blood loss. She’s gonna need to sleep this one off and she has one hell of a recovery ahead of her, but she’s gonna recover as good as new,” Helen told them. Steve let out a tense breath he didn’t realize he had been holding in. Tony gave him a tight hug.
“I told you so,” he chuckled. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up and grab some food. You want anything?”
“No, I’m good.” Steve thanked him and patted him on the back. “Helen, can I sit in her room until she wakes up?”
“Of course, Captain,” she nodded. Steve quietly sat down in a chair next to your bed where you lay unconscious. You looked more peaceful now, being cleaned up and numbed. You heart monitor was steady and that relaxed Steve even more.
Eventually, he got lost in the steady rhythm of the monitor and he drifted off to sleep in the chair. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out when he heard a voice calling to him. At first, he thought he was dreaming. It wasn’t until something soft hit his head that he opened his eyes.
You were sitting up now, staring at him expectantly.
“I said, what are you doing here?” You asked. He looked around the room trying to remember where he was and why he was there. Guilt set in again once he fully came to.
“I wanted to make sure that you woke up alright,” he said.
“Well as you can see, I’m fine. I’m sure you have some captain-ly duties you have to get to,” you mumbled. He winced at your harshness but he knew it was well deserved.
“I’ll leave you alone if you want but I need to get something out first. I want to say that I’m sorry for how I treated you this morning. And every morning. Every afternoon and night. You didn’t deserve any disrespect from me. I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault that you got shot. If I had treated you better then you wouldn’t have wanted to go down separate halls and you wouldn’t have gotten shot.” Steve looked at you and waited with bated breath.
“Thank you for apologizing. I’ll admit that your comment this morning hurt but it wasn’t your fault at all that I got shot. I wanted to prove to you that I was capable of handling things on my own but I bit off more than I could chew. I should’ve called for backup but my pride got the best of me. How about we start over?” You suggested. Steve sat on the edge of your bed and smiled.
“I’d like that,” he said.
“And I’ll stop teasing you so much. I know you don’t like that sort of thing,” you told him. His face turned pink and he looked at the clock on the wall with great intensity.
“It’s not so much that I don’t like it, but more that I don’t like it being directed at other people too,” he mumbled.
“What do you mean, Steve?” You asked.
“I mean that you don’t have to stop flirting with me if you don’t want to but I don’t want to have to see you flirting with other people in front of me anymore.”
“Are you jealous, Steve Rogers?” You asked with a smirk. He twiddled his thumbs in his lap and refused to meet your eye.
“I’m not jealous,” he said under his breath.
“Steve, look at me,” you said. He hesitated but eventually looked up at you.
“You can just say that you don’t want me flirting with other guys because you like me,” you chuckled.
“Then yeah, that. What you just said,” he sighed. You laughed and shook your head.
“You’re impossible, Cap,” you said. “Can you move closer for a sec?”
“What for?” He asked. You rolled your eyes.
“Just come here.”
Steve scooted up the bed so he was right at your side. You grabbed his collar and pulled him even closer, pressing a peck to his cheek.
“Ask me on a date and I promise you’ll be the only guy I flirt with,” you said quietly. He looked at you with shock but didn’t detect any hint of joking in your eyes.
“Will you go to dinner with me some time?” He asked.
“I’d be honored, Steve,” you laughed. Your laugh was cut short when he pressed his lips to yours, only for a second but it was enough to make your heart stutter which showed on the monitor. You both laughed when you heard the blip.
“Probably shouldn’t do that while you’re hooked up to that thing,” he said.
“Probably not,” you agreed. He pressed one more kiss to your hand before standing up.
“I’ll go let Helen know that you’re awake and then I’ll grab us something to eat if you’re up to it,” he said.
“Of course. Thanks, Steve,” you smiled. He returned the smile before exiting the room, leaving you there smiling. You were happy. Sore but happy.
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Top 10 Thanksgiving Episodes
Happy Thanksgiving Everybody! Time to eat a ton, pass out, and watch MST3K and all that. And since I already covered most of the general stuff about how diffrent this holiday is in my Loud House Review, and to reitarate to anyone having a big, 20 or so people crammed in a room thanksgiving this year
For the rest of us like all of the big three of Holidays, thanksgivings also the time for some classic episodes of television. Granted most shows stick to one, with some exceptions like friends, roseanne and new girl, but most make their one count. Thanksgiving may not be as big as the holidays it’s sandwitched in between, to the point christmas is slowly but surely trying to swallow it whole, but it’s still a time for family, fighting, and food that brings plenty of opprotunity for greatness and even with a smaller pool, I stiill had signifigant trouble narrowing down my list to 10. But I stand by what I got it wittled down to. This is my top 10 thanksgiving episodes! And for my regular readers, there’s a suprising lack of animation but i’m more than willing ot go outside that and now’s the right time, asi’m currently having a black friday sale with reviews marked down by two bucks to just 3 dollars for an episode of any tv show. Yes it’s a shameless plug but since when have I ever had shame? So with that in mind let’s chow down, it’s my top 10 thanksgiving episodes!
10. Pangs (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
Buffy is as a show I REALLY need to revisit. While lately, what with the abuse he did that we can’t get details on when making justice league or his you know cheating on his wife on and off over a decade, I’m not at all a fan of series creator Joss Whedon, Buffy itself is still a classic in my eyes.
The tale of a teenager given the role of the Slayer, a chosen female asskicker given moderate super powers and the duty to defend the world from vampires and other ghouls. The show dealt with the usual teen superhero stuff, ballancing asskicking with saving the world and arguably codified the genre, to the point I hold it at least partially responsible for the bigger wave of teen heroes in the 2000′s in animation and comics. The show had smart dialouge, metaphors, mythology and a rich, and vibrant cast. Sure some things haven’t aged well like an adult vampire dating a teenager or the really dated ways Willow’s sexuality were handled, as groundbreaking as it was, from barely letting her kiss her girlfriend or be shown being intimate iwth her, or just entirley shutting out the posiblity she’s bisexual. But a few age wrinkles aside the show is still good and I still need to rewatch it and that includes our number 10 pangs, one of hte most memorable and well done thanksgiving specials and one fo the shows more comedy moments.
It’s thanksgiving, and Buffys mom’s going out of town, so she decides to hold thanksgiving at Giles place to bring her slowly drifting surrogate family together. Naturally given the way things usually go for our Slayer, she has a hard time of it as Willow chafes at celebrating colonolsim, Giles dosen’t get what the big fuss is about that or the meal being british, and Spike shows up looking for protection from season big bads the initiative, a secret military unit that’s chipped him so he can’t harm humans, so he has no way to eat and spends the mal tied to a chair. Oh and of course, a vengeful native american spriti from the chumash tribe has given Xander syphilis and killed a currator as revenge for his people’s suffering, so now Buffy has to fight a ghost bear if she want sa happy thanksgiving. Also Angel is back in town and being kind of a dick, but hey it leads to a good episode of his spinoff so whatever.
Pangs is just a fun episode, not only does it do well by not ignoring american colonalisim, but it just has a fun energy to it as Buffy desperately tries to have a good thanksgiving, Spike instnatly proves his worth as an addition to the gang both chemstiry and comedy wise, and we of course get this classic moment.
It had to fight it’s way onto the list, but pangs is a holiday dish worthy of sinking your fangs into.
9. The Dressing (Aqua Teen Hunger Force)
Speaking of nutty fun thanksgiving episodes.. this one is simply that. I love Aqua Teen Hunger force.. even if like a lot of comedy shows it drooped in later seasons, it still has it’s classics earlier on and even later on has a few gems. But on the earlier on side we have their utterly bonkers and delightful thanksgiving episode “The Dressing”, a sequel to the Christmas Episode “The Cybernetic Ghost of Christmas Past from The Future”, which itself is an utter classic, but we’ll possibly get to that in december’s list.
The Aqua Teens are having Thanksgiving with Carl, whose naturally onlyt here for the free food and staying outside. it’s also days before or after, with black colored frito pie,a t urkey, and whatever else their broke selves could scrounge up.
However, naturally, like Buffy a normal day for the Aqua Teens just isn’t complete without some weird shit happening, thanksgiving gets interrupted by the cybernetic ghost of Christmas past fromt he future, whose transformed himself into a turkey and wants to save their turkey so it can lead a rebellion in the bizzare hilarious distopian hellscape he comes from. This of course leads to him getting drunk, eating all their food and later showing up with a laser sock to murder carl after the episodes over. It’s just a fun time, a really funny episode and one of the teens more memorable outings. Not a lot to say here, it’s just really damn funny.
8. Arnold’s Thanksgiving (Hey Arnold!)
Anoter classic I really need to revist but that more than earns his place here. Hey Arnold.. is easily one of the best animated shows ever. I say that with no hyperbole as it handled slice of life well while still getting dramatic when needed to, and is easily the gold standard for slice of life children’s cartoons to this day. And naturally it’s holiday specials were great, and I only r eally haven’t revisited them because they also hurt.. a lot. So unsuprisingly this one makes the list.
IT’s thanksgiving and given how chaotic things are for both Arnold and Helga’s families, our heroes are miserable. Arnold would understandably like just once to have thanksgiving on thanksgiving, his family instead doing fourth of july due to his grandmother being who she is. And Helga naturally is ignored and mistrteated as usual since her sisters home and her dad and alchoholic mother ignore her as usual even when she’s not around. What i’m saying is while Arnold’s issue is understandable, helga always wins a “whose got the shitter life” contest.
So the two flee to their teacher Mr Simmons, a character I genuinely loved and loved even more finding out he was gay as an adult, as he was a kind , supportive teacher who could be a bit softhearted but wasn’t afraid to step the fuck up when needed. But they find his thanksgiving isn’t much better, as his Mother and wont’ stop sniping at his boyfriend peter and clearly isn’t entirely comfortable with her son’s sexuality, his friend keeps snapping at peter and mooching off him, and his uncle.. well he’s just a loud asshole who wants turkey.. The kids naturally realize the meaning of the holiday, reconclie with their families who DID take genuine steps to make up for them being gone and missed them, all is well. It just shows nobody’s family is perfect, and is well done in that but also shows why thanksgiving has grown beyond it’s roots: It’s a day for families to get together and even if they may fight, recognize why they love one another. I also give the show balls for heavily imiplying a character is gay and not slapping a girlfriend on him or any of the usual bollocks: Simmons just very clearly is gay and it’s as transparent as the show could get at the time, with the show making it crystal clear years later with the revivial movie. Nice. We’ll have more servings of thanksgiving classics after the cut.
7. Slapsgiving (How I Met Your Mother)
Oh How I Met Your Mother. You started out really good but boy did that go downhill fast and land in a nuclear inferno didn’t it? But I can bitch about the How I Met Your Mother Ending some other time, and probably will. In the show’s prime before they decided to stick with an ending no one wanted anymore, it was pretty great and while season 1′s also impressive Thanksgiving outing “Belly Full of Turkey” was considered, there was ultimately one slaptastic king when it came to Thanksgiving: Slapsgiving.
Naturally for this show Slapsgiving ties into the show’s suprisngly deep and rich lore: The season before this, Marshall and Barney made a “Slap Bet”, which is exactly what it says on the tin: A bet where the winner slaps the looser. And due to Barney prematurely slapping Marshall, Marshall got 5 penalty slaps to be dolled out whenever, one in that episode and another in a coda to another. For his next one though Marshall decided to outdo himself and set up a counter.. and it all comes down to thanskgiving.
So we get a good ten minutes of Jason Siegel making meancing slap based refrences while NPH’s barney cowers in fear before Marshall’s wife lily pumps the breaks on the bet as comissoner.. only to reconsider when Barney makes the mistake of tormenting Marshall over it, resuling in the inevitible, and in THE thanksgiving song.
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Basically it’s what happen when you give three really funny people a subplot together. Magic happens. The subplot is not bad either as a pre-totallyinsufferabledouchebag Ted hooks up with Robin again over lingering feelings and thanksgiving prep and the two have to deal with that... though it’s mostly funny for Robin’s new boyfriend, who Future Ted acknowledges is barely older than them, but admits to remembering as decrept old man, which results in a 30 something’s dialouge coming out of a very old man and me laughing very hard. A simple joke but one that really works. Overall a slaptacular good time.
6. Two Turkeys (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)
NINE NINE BITCHES! I’m honestly shocked I haven’t talked about Brooklyn Nine Nine on here already, but it’s easily one of the best sitcoms in recent memory, if not of all time. It has one of the best ensemble casts, great jokes and timing, yet still ballances things out with a sense of realisim beneath the madness> It’s also noticable for holding it’s officers more accountable than most real world police departments, to the point all scripts that were written up for next season were thrown out post George Floyd. It’s truly a joy to watch.
So naturally they’ve had their share of Holiday episodes, with them easily having the best crop of halloween episodes since roseanne with their annual heists, and having some pretty damn memorable christmases, opening with this:
So naturally thanksgiving is no exception, with it’s last two being the best and it being a really hard choice wether to go with season 4′s “Detective Santiago” or this one. But as good as the other ep was.. this one inched it out for good reason.
The episode’s split into two equally good, equally hilarious plot lines. In the B-Plot, the 99′s Captain Raymond Holt, one of the best characters in sitcom history and gay icon, and his husband Kevin take their annual trip to get a pie for Holt’s families thanksgiving and come back with the well crafted pie, even if both prefer their food nice and bland. But the pie go missing and Captain Holt procedes to hilariously drill into each of the other members of the 99 and uncovering holes int their previous thanksgving stories with Rosa’s being suprisingly heartwarming (She’s going to a humilating minons on ice show with her family because they reconnected in jail.. setting up the equally awesome “Game Night” episode where she comes out.) and Boyle’s being utterly pathetic as you’d expect (Cooking his son mac and cheese because he’ll eat nothing else and declaring him a “basic bitch”). The solution however ends up being heartwarming as the culprit is actually Kevin, who hated the pie.. as did Raymond who suggests just taking the drive anyway because they enjoy the silent ride there and back every year. It may be boring to us.. but it’s preicious and really sweet all the same.. as it is hilarous when Kevin treats this as a big endugence and seems turned on by that. What i’m saying is these men are couple goals and Marc Evan Jakcson was awesome long before ducktlaes.
The main plot is also great, as Jake and Amy, now engaged after this year’s halloween episode which is also , coincidentally, the series best, try to unite their families. It just goes about as well as you’d expect as Amy’s are type a control freaks, jake’s mom is a retired hippie school teacher and his dad is a human disaster area who has to be told to put on pants, cheated on his mom constantly, somehow got her back, and in general is barely functional on a good day. The families do bond breifly but things ineveitbly break down, hilarity and severed limbs insue and family comes together. IT’s just a funny, well done 20 mintues that’s also really damn sweet, with this plot ending with Amy’s dad accepting the chaos as that’s’ts what you do with family. Also jake naturally finds out he has a ton of step siblings as his dad was and still is a man whore. Happy Thanksgiving!
5. Bart Vs Thanksgiving (The SImpsons)
Let’s face it: if you follow my reviews at all you knew this was coming. While not one I go back to due to being an emotional kidney punch, i’d be doing this list a diservice if this classic wasn’t on there.
In a nutshell, Bart starts a petty fight with Lisa over her centerpiece that ends with it in the fireplace, Bart sent to his room till he apologizes, and Bart seething insiting he did no wrong. It takes a visit to the homeless shelter after running away, and ending up on the news, to realize what an ass he’s been and one nightmarish dream sequence later, seriously why do you think I don’t revisit this one that often? This thing has traumatized me since I was a kid and unlike the slap song I will not be showing it to you, has a heartwarming reconcliation with his sister on the roof. It’s just a nice, sweet special that gets the holiday just right and i’d expect nothing less from Golden Age Simpsons.
4. A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving (Gilmore Girls)
Another show I need to talk about more, Gilmore Girls is fucking awesome. The story of a woman who ran away pregnant at age 16 and built her own life for her daughter in the quirky town of stars hollow who finds herself reconnecting with her parents in present day against her will.. is really good stuff. Funny, heartfelt and really damn well acted with one hell of a cast, the show is part of me and I make no bones about that, so it’s big thanksgiving outing naturally belongs on here.
The premise is simple: Rory and Loreli end up having to go to four diffrent thanksgivings, which even for big eaters like them is a massive task, each unique and entertaining. The main event of course is Suki’s, where everyone’s faviorite chef agreed to let her husband cook the turkey.. of course with the plan to sneak in mid cooking and add her own touches. This gets foiled when Jackson and his family decide to deep fry the thing.. probably in part because Jackson knows his wife well and knows what she was planning. Though over the night while our heroines are at their other meals, it devolves into them deepfrying everything they can get their hand son including a shoe, and Suki getting plastered to tolerate it.
While not topping it the other meals and the sheer lunacy of four thanksigvings in one day, are still memorable: There’s the natural posh one at Richards and Emilys, the dour joyless one at The Kims where Mrs Kim forces the band to play the whole time and forces our heroines to eat food as joyless as Mrs. Kim, and Lukes for a nice round of Rory grappling with having PDA with her boyfirend Jess before resolving it at the end. Also dean’s a jackass. No one is suprised. Jess isn’t one at this stage in his character which is. Also Kirk adopts a cat that slowly pushes him out of his own house which works comedically becaus Sean Gunn is a national treasure. Overall a really good episode and if you have netflix and haven’t checked the series out, this is a good one to try out.
3. The Thanksgiving Special (Regular Show)
I already talked about this one in my top 11 Regular Show episodes so i’ll try to be brief. In a nutshell Mordecai and Rigby destroy thanksgiving and genuinelly feeling bad about it, scramble to win a thanksgiving bird from a Thanksgiving Song Contest, going up against an all star super group comissioned by Donald Trump. Yes really. Meanwhile Muscle Man and High Five Ghost go to get sides and the rest of the park staff’s attemtps to get a turkey are thwarted by a bunch of thanksgiving reinactors who go unexplained in any way shape or form which given how rare that is for regular show, which usually has some sort of explination for the madness, just makes it funnier. It ends with a REALLY touching song, a fight on a blimp with outgoing president trump, and a truly heartwarming thanksgiving meal. All in all a nice special that combines the shows madcap nature with the genuine warm fuzzies of thanksgiving.
2. We Gather Together (Roseanne)
Another series I need to talk about more.. and another series where one of the creators has turned out to be a terrible human being. Seriously Roseanne Barr is is a terible person, she deserved to be removed from her show, and while the Conner’s isn’t GREAT it’s still FAR better without her. That being said I will still stick up for the original as she wasn’t the only one involved (indeed the aformentioned Joss Whedon worked on the show breifly and Gilmore Girls creator Amy Sherman Paladino not only worked there but later adapted one of Roseanne’s insane antics, making all the writers wear caps with a number instead of referring to them by name , to Gilmore Girls.). Her being a bad person even then dosen’t change the fact that the show is sitcom gold, one of my faviorite shows, and a true classic. And this episode helps showcase WHY.
What makes this episode special, even among Roseanne episodes is it’s structure: While there are things going on it’s mostly a free floating day in the Families life and thus feels like your there with them through thanksgiving. It feels genuine, like past thanksgivings i’ve remembered: Everyone has their own stuff going on, they all eat, and there’s naturally a big blowup.. and one that eveyrone else ignores to eat which I can relate to. That authenticity really elevates the episode and is why I seek it out every year.
That’s not to say nothing happens, it just flows in and out like it would in a normal thanksgiving. Roseanne deals with her parents, a pre-abuser version of her dad and her overbearing nightmare of a mother beverly, and the inevetible blow up when Bev’s needling about Jackie’s life goes too far , prompting Jackie to reveal her new job as a police officer before bursting into tears, all to Roseanne’s annoyance. Rosie also moves them to a hotel despite an attempted guilt trip from her mom.
Speaking of Mom’s we see Dan’s for the only time before the later seasons and the utterly terrible last season, a professional career woman whose moved on well from her ex and brought her new boyfriend there. Ed, despite some comptemplation over it is firmly accepting and instead starts flirting with the Conner’s friend Crystal. Dan, being overprotective because of his Daddy Issues, but ed cals him out on it “Being lonely is a hell of a lot for two people to have in common, you woudln’t knwo anything abotu that son, and I pray to god you never do” A great caper to a fantastic episode.. one I thought was going to top the list... THOUGHT is the key word here...
1. Turkey in A Can (Bob’s Burgers)
This one is. Bob’s Burgers is one of the best things to come out of the 2010′s and i’ve fallen way too far behind on it, so I can’t say if any thanksgivings after thankshoarding top this one.. what I can say is this one is the gold standard for thanksgiving episodes, and is filled with great stuffing.
Thanksgiving is Bob’s holiday. Being a chef he loves the chance to go all out, and really flex his muscles for his families when it comes to cooking up a storm, and it’s endearing when bob gets just as nuts as his family. But this year someone keeps flushing his turkeys down the toilet despite his best efforts, so while Louise hilariously tries to solve things to proe it wasn’t her (though it’s entirely fair they thought it was her consdering.. everything), while LInda, Gene and LInda’s flighty sister Gale try to write THE thanksgiving song. And while it’s no you just got slapped, damn if they didn’t succeed.
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Sailors in your mouth indeed. It leads to plenty of great jokes the best being the guy at the Deli Counter thinking Bob’s into him and bob not being sure how to respond, but being mildly recpetive. But the climax is what makes the episode as when Bob falls asleep we find his medication has been making him sleepwalk.. and thus put the turkey s int he toilet, as Tina’s desire to be at the Grown Up Table, itslef a REALLY funny runner as you’d expect, has him panicking internally and thus reliving her potty training. The episode ends with Bob letting her come to the adults table, and a rather heartwarming thanksgiving feast. All in all an excellent episode. It also leads to the chaos seen above whic hif htat’s not thanksgiving, I don’t know what is.
Have a happy thanksgiving and check out my black friday sale! Until then there’s always another rainbow!
#thanksgiving#top 10#bob's burgers#gilmore girls#buffy the vampire slayer#aqua teen hunger force#hey arnold#how I met your mother#the simpsons#roseanne#regular show#brooklyn nine nine#brooklyn 99#99
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No Longer A Ladies Man
Bucky X Fem!Reader
No warnings.
Word count: 2.3k
You pretend to be interested in the jabbering of your friend as she talks about a man she had met down at Coney Island. Apparently he was tall, dark and handsome. Loosely translated, that meant he was most likely an alcoholic who was also, very conveniently, slightly good looking.
"I've told you before, Lila, don't get involved with men who you describe to be 'tall, dark and handsome'. Never once has that gone well for you." You swirl the alcohol around in your glass, bitter bronze splashes over the rim and lands on the sticky table, "Don't you remember. . . what was his name?"
"Mike? Ed? No, Robert." You nod your head when she finally says the right name in her long line of ex-lovers.
She sighs when you knock back the rest of the liquor in your glass. "Yes, Robert. Not only did that man go on a bender each night and knock back gallons of booze by sunrise, but when you weren't there he had a call-girl between your sheets. Funnily enough, you described that souse as tall, dark and handsome too."
Her cheeks flush scarlet, if you didn't know any better, you'd think she was a show girl with make-up ready for a stage. It was clear that she knew you were right, you usually were about these kinds of things.
Never once had your heart been broken. Some may say it's because you were smart enough to do the heart breaking, others would say it's because you steered away from relationships completely. You would agree with the latter. It wasn't intentional, the steering away that is, but you had never found anyone who was capable of both catching your eye and not sleeping with the honey next door.
"What about James? You know, the one who's friends with the kid thats always sick." Lila eyes you, smirking slightly when the tips of your ears turn a faint pink. So, maybe you lied.
"That kid is called Steve and he's older than you." You sit straight, and cast your gaze out towards the bar.
A rushed tune is performed from the corner of the pub, a band of four play various instruments, the most noticeable being the piano. In front of them, on the dance floor, is multiple couples kicking their legs to and fro. You had never understood dancing, plus you had two left feet.
"You never answered my question. What about James?"
You'd be lying if you said you had no feelings for the man with the pretty blue eyes. Ever since he had moved into the house next door, his girl-winning smirk had been stuck in your head and you knew that he knew that. Even now, he sits next to Steve at a table near the dance floor, eyes locked onto your face turned away from him.
"He's a ladies man. Not one bone in that mans body is at all reliable."
Lila wags her brows. "I can think of one bone that seems to be very reliable."
"Don't be crude, Lila." You try to remain serious but can't help but chuckle, "But no. Don't get me wrong, Bucky's a looker but all that man wants to do is get into any woman's unmentionables."
"Hmm, I don't know. Apparently he hasn't shown any interest in any of the woman throwing themselves at him recently." Lila grins when she turns her head, eyes landing on Bucky who quickly looks away from you and starts talking to a very bored Steve.
Your head shakes. "And? I ain't no dreamboat, Lila, he isn't turning away woman for me. I don't think I've even spoke to the man for a few months, we occasionally wave to each other through the window but thats about it."
"Well, he's coming over so you might want to think of some conversation." Your eyes widen as the man in question enters your eye line. He looked as amazing as ever in his navy blue shirt tucked into coal pants. Despite Brooklyn being rather gloomy the last few months, you spot a tan line under the sleeve of his shirt.
Bucky slides into the booth next to you, he grins at Lila who winks in your direction before jumping from her seat and making her way over to a now lonely Steve.
"What brings you here, doll?" You can't help but notice how close he sits to you. His thigh brushes against yours, he leans in closer, grinning down at you with those beautiful baby blues.
"I was here to meet with Lila but you pushed her away, awfully rude, Mister Barnes."
He chuckles, then drawls in that seductive voice of his, "I like the way you say my name, do it again."
"Are you trying to make a pass with me, Buck?"
"Is it working."
You smirk through the red of your cheeks. "Maybe. Buy me a drink and we'll see if it's working then." He bangs his hands against the table in celebration, and stands, heading to the bar. You watch him leave with a smile, though your head was confused as to why you let him flirt with you so easily.
Bucky wasn't the type to get you drunk and take advantage, so you weren't worried about him filling you with alcohol to have ten minutes with you later on. What worried you was that that was all he wanted. Just ten minutes.
It wasn't like you were expecting the man to pop the question right there in the middle of the bar, but you were hoping that maybe, just maybe, one day he would ask the question almost every girl wants to hear.
Plus, unlike every other man you had met, Bucky had both caught your eye and not slept with the honey next door because that honey would be you. However, you wouldn't be against it. Not as a one night stand though, you hated those, especially when one side of the party felt so much more than the other. Watching people leave a bar together almost always broke your heart because although they're having fun, almost always one of them gets hurt when the sun comes back up.
Two empty glasses and a bottle of scotch is placed on the wooden table chipped by years of abuse from bar brawls and overly excited drinkers. "Most ladies like wine." You joke, as he removes the cork and pours the fiery liquid.
"You aren't most ladies." He hands you one of the glasses as he takes a swig from his own. You chuckle when his face screws up at the taste of the alcohol made to attack the taste buds.
"Whats wrong, Buck? Wishing you had that wine now?"
He cocks his head, grinning despite the drink left discarded on the table. "Wine seems more romantic, don't 'cha think?"
"Good job you didn't get wine then." You say, taking a sip from your own glass. Bucky quirks a brow, when he leans forward you don't move away or edge closer.
His lips brush against your ear, the touch sends a shock down your spine. "It's a real shame that you don't see this that way, I'm truly a romantic."
"Sure you are, Buck." You turn your head towards him. Your noses meet, and at this point there was no room between the pair of you.
The bar was like an ice box but Bucky was warmer than the campfires your father would light during your yearly camping trips. It was almost comforting, and strangely it felt like a hug you never wanted to pull away from. "I can show you how romantic I am if you'd let me."
The corners of your lips quirk. "Show me."
He pulls away and stands, holding out a hand for you to take. "May I have this dance, doll?"
"I have two left feet." You slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet.
"It's a good job that I have two arms to keep you up."
The tune played by the now lone piano wasn't one you recognised but instantly loved the second it graced your ears. The man playing had musicians hands, it was like he was born to grace the ebony keys. Unlike most tunes, this one didn't have a ridiculous dance to match the solemn notes and trills that made people want to swing themselves around the room.
At least five other couples were on the tiled floor, swaying and twirling to the music. Everyone else that was in this part of the pub before had left, either because of the music change or because they had someone to bring home for the night.
Bucky places his hand on the small of your back, and entwines the other with your hand thats not clasping his shoulder. He smiles down at you who stares at your feet, making sure they're not going to step on the polished slacks that he wears.
"You're not going to step on my feet." He says it so softly that you're sure you're imagining it.
"I don't want to ruin your shoes." You respond. Bucky shakes his head and stops the pair of you to stand on his own feet, dulling the shine with dried mud.
"They're already ruined." Bucky spins you at the same time as the other men spin their own partners, and pulls you back, flush against his chest. You hesitate, but place your cheek against his shoulder, "(y/n), do you like me?"
Your brow furrows. "In what way?"
"You know what way I mean." He says, looking away from you to Steve who was giving him a thumbs up.
Clearly, your answer was yes, and not because he was quite possibly the prettiest man you had ever set eyes on. No, you liked him because of who he is. Bucky was one of the most loyal people you had ever met, and he was always gentle with you, never once had he raised his voice or directed his rage towards you. Every time the pair of you were together, he would make sure he was next to you at all times, defending you against any man looking in your direction in a way you didn't like.
Then there was the fact that after all the years, your crush had probably turned into something a little bit more. During the day your mind often wondered, and usually, no matter where it wondered to, it always found Bucky. Even when you were at Coney Island, you often found yourself looking for Bucky's face in the crowd of people.
So, it came as no surprise to you when you say, "Yes, and you."
He grins to himself when the song begins to come to close. When the last note is played, Bucky dips you and places a chaste kiss to your neck. "There's a reason that the 'famous ladies man' is no longer a ladies man." With each word, his lips brush against your skin more an more. His confession lands multiple kisses to your neck and leaves you a blushing mess.
"A simple yes would have sufficed." Your voice was quieter than it was meant to be. If Bucky wasn't still holding you at his mercy, he probably wouldn't have heard you.
Your eyes flick from Bucky to the crowd of people gathering to watch the pair of you at the bar. Multiple women scowl, their cherry painted lips cutting into you like sharpened knives ready to kill. Some men, mainly one's you had brushed off in the past, watch Bucky like a pack of hungry wolves ready to snatch up their prey.
"Bucky, people are staring." You can feel his smile against your neck tainted pink as he pulls you to your feet and nods to the pianist to start a new song.
When the new tune plays, Bucky shifts his arms to wrap around your waist. "Let them stare. Let them know that I have the prettiest girl in Brooklyn blushing in my arms." You swat his arm when you blush again.
"You did that on purpose."
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't."
His forehead rests against yours, and you can't help but look up at him with all the love and adoration you can muster. Which just so happened to be a whole lot. You hadn't felt love before, but if this is what it felt like, you were very much on board with feeling this until you die.
"If you keep looking at me like then I might have to be the ladies man one more time." His eyes darken, their gentle nature being replaced by something that made you slightly weak in the knees. Your smile grows as you press your lips to his, the grip he has on your waist tightening.
Steve and Lila grin from their spot at the booth you previously occupied, the pair of them finally happy to have the pair of you together. For months, Steve had to listen to Bucky whine about you not paying enough attention to him.
Bucky's lips were soft against yours, his touch gentle and on purpose. He didn't want your first kiss to be something that forced the two of you into bed. No, he wanted it to mean something more, mark something more than the first time the pair of you spent the night together.
The cold of the bar is long forgotten when Bucky pulls the pair of you away from the dance floor, and into his arms by the far wall. He pulls his lips away from yours. You whine in protest.
"Everyone's definitely staring now." He says, placing his chin on your shoulder to watch all the disappointed faces ordering drinks at the bar.
You smile. "Let them stare. Let them know that Bucky Barnes is no longer a ladies man because he's mine."
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Whatever Comes Next
Pairing: Bucky x Reader and Steve x Reader (platonic-ish)
Word Count: about 3k
Warnings: cheating, swears
Square Filled: K4: Office/Corporate AU for @buckybarnesbingo
A/N: I’m so bad at timing. Were all these supposed to be spread out? Yes. Did I not realize that May 31 and June 1 were one after the other? Apparently not. But this is my entry for @buckysforeverprincess Hop Into Spring challenge! The prompt is bolded below. This was gonna be fluff and then… shit got weird. But I hope you still enjoy! Please send in requests!
You stood in your five-year-old daughter's room, flipping through her clothes until you found a suitable outfit. Your little family had been planning on seeing the Easter bunny at the mall for weeks now but Bucky kept canceling and Becca didn’t want to go without him, claiming she was nervous about it. You understood completely, in the pictures of you and the Easter bunny from your childhood, you look terrified- standing as far away from him as possible, while still being in the frame. Your daughter came bouncing into her room and flopped on her bed.
“What do ya think of this dress bug?” you asked her, holding up the slightly poofy dress with a vintage floral pattern on it.
“Yay!” she exclaimed, giving you a thumbs up.
You returned her gesture before hanging the dress on the back of her closet door and ushering her into the bathroom to give her a quick bath before the two of you got ready. You washed her quickly and brushed out her brown hair that looked almost exactly like Bucky’s and set her up with her favorite TV show on the iPad while you got ready. You styled your hair and started on your makeup when you felt a tap on your leg. You looked down at your blue-eyed daughter and smiled.
“Yes?” you questioned.
“Can I sit with you and watch you put your makeup on?”
You chuckled as you lifted her up onto the counter. Becca crossed her legs and watched intently as you applied your makeup quickly, giving her a kiss on her cheek when you finished your lipstick, causing her to burst out into giggles.
“How are my girls?” Bucky asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway. You had to admit, even after being together for nearly ten years, he still took your breath away. He had on a navy blue suit, his light blue shirt slightly open at the collar.
“Daddy!” Becca squealed, wiggling off the counter and running into her father’s legs, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
You squeezed past them into your room, running into the closet to grab your outfit for the day, a long-sleeved floral dress that stopped below your knees and some white flats.
“Let's get a picture with the Easter bunny!” you cheered, trying to hype up your daughter who was now balanced on Bucky’s hip.
“Yeah… about that…” Bucky started with a grimace.
You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself down, you didn’t want to fight in front of Becca.
“Becca baby? Will you go get mommy’s phone from downstairs? And then wait in the kitchen?”
She smiled at you and Bucky kissed her head before setting her down. You watched her run down the stairs before turning your attention back to Bucky.
“Are you kidding me Bucky?! Again?!” you said, not trying to hide your annoyance.
“It’s work baby! If I don’t go close the Stark deal I’m done for. The proposal is this week. I gotta go!” he defended.
“It’s always work and you always have to go! What am I gonna do here huh? She wants her dad there with her today and you’re just gonna bail on her?!” you said, venom lacing your words.
Bucky just stood there staring at you, seemingly waiting for you to tire yourself out but you were far from done.
“Are you going to say anything? Or are you just gonna stand there? Just be her dad when you decide it’s convenient? It doesn’t fucking work like that James,” you seethed. “I cannot keep living like this. Becca can’t keep living like this. You have got to figure out who you’re gonna be in this Bucky. I’m tired of being a married single-parent. You need to make a choice.”
You pushed past him and went to find Becca. You found her sitting at the kitchen table playing with your phone and heard the front door slam- Bucky had left. You took a deep breath and prepared to put on your best fake smile when Becca spoke up.
“Daddy isn’t coming?”
You could see the tears threatening to fall down her face and you immediately crouched down beside her.
“He’s gotta work bug. But how about this, you wanna call Uncle Steve and see if he’ll come with us?”
Becca seemed to perk up at the mention of her favorite uncle, not that you would ever tell Sam that Steve was her favorite. You took your phone from her and got ready to dial.
“Do you wanna ask him or should I?”
“I wanna!” Becca replied quickly. You hit the call button and handed the phone over.
“Uncle Steve? It’s Becca!”
You couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation but whatever Steve said made her giggle.
“Will you please come to meet the Easter bunny with me and mommy?”
It didn’t take long for a full smile to spread across her face as she mumbled an ‘okay’ and handed the phone to you.
“He wants to talk to you.”
“Hey Stevie,” you said.
“Why are you making that kid meet the Easter bunny. He’s terrifying,” he said without preamble.
“I dunno. Family memories or some garbage. Will you come with us? She’s nervous and having her Uncle Steve come along might help.”
“Of course I’ll come. You know I’d do anything for that kid, including see the spooky bunny.”
“You are an absolute lifesaver! We’re leaving in a few minutes, I’ll text you the address?”
He agreed and you hung up your phone, quickly texting him where you were heading. You grabbed your purse and strapped Becca into her car seat and set off towards the mall. The two of you sang her favorite songs from The Little Mermaid the entire way, stopping only when your phone interrupted with a text from Steve, letting you know he was in the parking lot. About five minutes later, you pulled into a spot and smiled when you saw Steve getting out of his car two rows over. You hopped out as he jogged over, quickly beating you to the side of the car where Becca was humming to herself in her car seat. Steve quickly opened the door and you heard Becca’s excited squeal when she saw Steve. Steve unbuckled her and picked her up carrying her over to you. You reached out to grab her but she turned away from you and buried her face in Steve’s neck.
“I’ve been betrayed by my own daughter,” you scoffed sarcastically.
“Yeah well, she knows who the fun one is,” Steve replied.
You leaned towards Steve and gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. You took a moment to admire how he was dressed, a sweater over his checkered shirt, paired with a black tie and black pants. It suddenly dawned on you that he probably had other plans.
“Oh my God Steve.”
“Oh my God what?” he asked.
“Did you have plans today?! I cannot believe-”
“Woah, slow down,” he said, cutting you off. “I didn’t have plans and even if I did I would drop them for the two of you in a second.”
You breathed a sigh of relief and gestured for Steve to lead the way into the mall. He looked over at you briefly while you were distracted on your phone. He meant it when he said he would do anything for you and Becca. He cared for the two of you more than he would ever admit. You were his best friend’s girl but even Steve could see that Bucky hadn’t been as prepared for fatherhood as he thought. So Steve had stepped up, doing everything he could to make sure you and Becca knew that you had someone to turn to if things got too rough.
The three of you quickly found yourself in a line of parents and children, some of whom were crying. Other kids were screaming and a select few were quietly waiting their turn. Steve put Becca down to let her explore and so he could talk to you with some semblance of privacy.
“You know I’m overjoyed to be here,” he said, slight sarcasm coating his words. “But why isn’t Buck here?”
“Work,” you replied, rolling your eyes.
“Work?” Steve questioned. “What work? It’s Sunday. They would have called me too if something had happened.”
Steve and Bucky held nearly identical positions at Sheild, a tech company founded by Nick Fury. They were essentially both second in command.
“I dunno. He said he had to work on the Stark deal for this week.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about Steve? I don’t work there!”
“The Stark deal already closed…” he replied carefully. “I don’t know why he said that. But the deal was done last week, even the drop period ended.”
“So why is he at the office?” you pressed.
“I swear, I have no idea,” Steve defended.
“You would tell me if you knew something right?”
“Of course I would! I don’t know why he would say he’s at the office.”
“Steve… I need you to be honest with me right now,” you started. “Is he cheating on me?”
“I’m always honest. I could never lie to you. That being said, I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything to me but even he knows telling me would be a dumb move.”
You silently looked off to the side, avoiding Steve’s gaze. You had been worried that something was going on with someone else. Bucky had been staying at the office later and more often than usual. You knew Steve wouldn’t lie to you but you also couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something was wrong.
“Mommy!” Becca yelled, bringing your attention back to her. “Look! Bunnies!”
You followed her finger and sure enough, there were three or four white bunnies in a little pen in the middle of the chaos. Ever the curious kid, Becca started pestering you with questions. She finally landed on one you weren’t ready for.
“Why do they have bunnies here?”
You could clearly see they were meant to be sold, something you already didn’t agree with. But you also didn’t want Becca to know they were available to take home, knowing she would spend the foreseeable future begging you for one.
“They’re um…” you trailed off, searching for an answer that wouldn’t end in you taking home a bunny.
“They’re the Easter Bunny's helpers, Bec,” Steve chimed in.
Becca gave Steve a skeptical look.
“I don’t believe you. Why would the Easter bunny need helpers?”
“Well,” Steve said, crouching down to Becca’s height. “The Easter bunny has to get around just like Santa does right?”
Becca gave him a nod of confirmation, although she still looked skeptical.
“These bunnies are his helpers, like how Santa has elves!”
Becca looked between Steve and the bunnies a few times before nodding and smiling at him.
“How do you know so much stuff?” Becca asked Steve.
“Because I’m a grownup. But no one knows more than your mom.”
“She’s the smartest,” Becca confirmed.
“That’s exactly right,” Steve said with a chuckle.
Before you knew it, it was your turn to sit with the Easter Bunny. He waved at Becca who instantly grabbed Steve’s hand and shuffled closer to him.
“It’s okay Becs! All those other kids did it,” you tried comforting.
“No,” she mumbled, pressing into Steve’s legs. You rubbed her back and looked up at Steve, already accepting defeat.
“Hey Becs,” he said, crouching down to look her in the eye. “Why don’t you go up there with your mom? It’ll probably make you feel better.”
“You too,” Becca whispered.
Steve looked over at you and you nodded enthusiastically.
“Okay, c’mon!” he cheered, picking her up and walking her over to the bunny. You walked over to the seat and smiled at the bunny, still a little uneasy around them. Steve handed you Becca and you perched yourselves on the arm of the chair next to the Easter Bunny and Steve came up behind you, rubbing your arm to calm you down.
The three of you smiled for the picture and it was all over quickly. You picked Becca back up and carried her over to the photo counter to make your purchases. You admired the picture of the three of you, Becca looked adorable and Steve looked handsome as always. You looked like a family- except you weren’t. Your husband was off doing God knows what and you were here with his best friend. It should have felt wrong. But looking at that picture and thinking back on all the times Steve had been there for you and Becca, all the things Bucky had missed out on but Steve had been there for, it felt natural.
“Hey,” Steve said, lightly touching your elbow. “You okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Why?”
“Because I mentioned ice cream and you’re not frothing at the mouth,” he said with a chuckle.
“Actually, can you do me a huge favor?” you asked, getting an idea.
“Can you take my car and take Becca to ice cream? I’ll meet the two of you over there in a little bit?”
“What are you gonna do?” Steve questioned worriedly.
“I’m gonna swing by the office real quick. Just check in on Bucky.”
“I’m not sure you wanna do that…” he said.
“I do Steve. I do want to do this. I have to know. I really have to know what’s going on. I can’t just keep wondering!”
“Okay, alright. I’ll take Becs for ice cream. But please be careful,” he warned.
You and Steve walked Becca out to the car, she was so excited about ice cream with Steve that she wasn’t even worried that you weren’t with them. You gave her a kiss on the head and hugged Steve, promising you would be to the ice cream shop soon.
As you drove over to the office building where Bucky worked, you couldn’t help the building feeling of dread that was building in your stomach. When you met Bucky, you thought you had met the man that you would spend the rest of your life with. Now you weren’t so sure. The past few years had been hard, something had shifted between you and Bucky and neither of you knew how to get back on track, not that either of you had really tried talking about it.
Before you knew it and probably before you were ready, you were pulling into the parking lot of the office building. You used the badge Bucky had given you years ago to get into the building without having to buzz up.
You quickly made your way through the office building, walking into the elevator and pushing the button for Bucky’s floor. The doors opened and you quietly stepped out. All the lights were off except for one, the light in Bucky’s office. Maybe he was working after all and just got jumbled with who’s contract he was working on. As you neared the closed door, your stomach dropped. A girlish giggle followed by some low murmurs made your entire body tense. Before you could chicken out, you whipped open his office door.
Bucky was leaning against his desk, wrinkled clothes haphazardly throw on while his secretary, Jill, was standing between his legs with her arms around his waist and her lips on his neck.
“Really Bucky?!” you yelled, causing him to jump and push Jill away. “Your fucking secretary?! Could this be any more cliche right now?!”
“Baby… what are you doing here?” he said, moving towards you.
You took a step back and threw your hands up in surrender.
“Don’t touch me. Keep your goddamn hands off me.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jill gathering her things hastily and preparing to exit.
“Nope, you stay,” you said with a false smile. “You stay Jill. I’m leaving.”
You turned your attention back to Bucky.
“I want you out of the house. I don’t care where you go but you’re not coming home to me.”
“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, trying once again to reach out for you.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be enough for you anymore Bucky. I’m sorry that me and your daughter weren’t enough.”
With that, you turned around and left, closing the door behind you and jogging to the elevator. You made it in and when the doors closed, your tears began to fall. You felt stupid. How could you not have seen this coming? You briefly wondered how long it had been going on but quickly pushed the thought away; none of the answers would make you feel better. You got back into Steve’s car and after confirming that they were still at the ice cream shop, you set off in that direction. The sunlight hit your wedding ring, drawing your attention to it. You glared at it for a moment before pulling it off and throwing it in your purse.
You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realize you were at your destination. You took a deep breath and leaned your head on the steering wheel. You couldn’t think about the disaster that was your marriage right now. You needed to be a mom first. You wiped your eyes and got out of the car, walking into the ice cream shop and searching for Becca and Steve.
“Mommy!” Becca yelled from her spot on Steve’s lap.
You walked over and sat across from them, kissing Becca’s head as you went. Steve watched you carefully. He could tell something was wrong and when he saw your naked ring finger, he knew. Steve reaches out and squeezed your hand that was laying on the table. You gave him a shaky smile and squeezed back. Steve didn’t care if Bucky was his best friend. He would be there for you no matter what came next.
#hopintospring3K#Bucky Barnes bingo 2019#Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes writing#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#steve rogers fanfiction#Steve Rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#cheating
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She’s So High: Chapter 8: B SIDE: ALTERNATE ENDING
Summary: 90’s karaoke and your snarky wit seem to have revived the charming side of one Bucky Barnes. Everything comes full circle the morning after. *RECORD SCRATCH SOUND* Except this is the B Side...see notes.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warning(s): Smut 18+. Swearing. Kissing, Fingering (female), Oral Sex (female receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex. No beta reader so like...typos probs.
Word Count: xxx
Notes: So @marvelous-meggi and @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls put the idea in my head when I first posted Chapter 8 of “What would have happened if they had gotten caught?” and I saw that maybe I would write this as sorta a B Side to this chapter. And Meggie tagged me today saying she was waiting still. AND while I was showering I had an idea. So....this happened. ORIGINAL chapter text is in italics. NEW chapter text is regular font.
You’re taken aback by the bright wash of sunshine flooding the room as your eyes flutter open. A room that is clearly not your room. Your half-awake brain remembers the events of last night sluggishly. This is Bucky’s bed… which would explain the large arm draped across your middle.
You savor the warmth from the sunlight spilling across the bed coupled with the warmth radiating from his body next to you. The soft sheets caress your naked skin as you stretch your muscles; careful not to wake Bucky.
You study his face. All the tension it normally holds during the waking hours is absent. His hair is strewn across his pillow. His limbs, all but the one anchoring you to him, seem to be splayed in every direction. You crane your neck to see the clock.
“Fuck.” You allow another five minutes to enjoy the proximity with the man beside you before carefully sliding under his arm.
You curse once more for sleeping in this late but allow it remembering fondly why you were so exhausted. Bucky had woken you up throughout the night. The first time he had ground gently against your backside. He nearly came from the wanton whines that permeated your dreams. When you stirred awake, he slid into you from behind; relishing in how soaked you had been for him.
The second time you had protested a bit, citing lack of sleep. Not easily deterred, his mouth worked your breasts with lavish kisses. All complaints died on your tongue when his head disappeared under the covers with his apology of “just once more for me, darlin’?” You could have sworn you heard a series of knocks clearly coming from the room next door. All worry dissipated as Bucky tongue fucked you through not one but two more orgasms.
The third time was entirely your “fault”. You had woken with your throat parched. Returning from the bathroom with a glass of water, you noticed a tempting tent in the sheets. Thinking you’d have the element of surprise, you were certainly shocked (though not complaining), when things ended with you bent over the side of the bed with Bucky’s cock pounding you into the mattress.
You smirk at the memories, attempting to find your clothing from the night before. Quickly giving up, you opt for Bucky’s flannel as a dressing gown. You’d be able to start breakfast in privacy and come back in normal clothes once the team was awake. Which would be soon if you didn’t hurry; you thought, stealing a final glance back at Bucky’s sleeping form.
You’d settled on a batch of breakfast quiches for the team. You press play on your favorite playlist, letting it provide a pleasant background soundtrack. Once the egg mixture was ready, you could throw it in the oven and probably catch another half hour of lazy morning cuddles with Bucky.
All the vegetables were chopped and ready for the filling. The only problem was you couldn’t remember the ratio of cream to egg. Pulling open the cabinets you see the cookbook you need propped on one of the top shelves. Clearly someone else had used it last. You would never have put it so out of reach. You stand on your tip toes and attempt to swat it down from its elevated prison.
You must have been engrossed in getting the cookbook down because Bucky is able to silently creep into the kitchen. He enjoys watching you struggle; finding your little frustrated cursing adorable.
You see the cookbook teetering, almost within reach, when a pair of hands land on your hips. You freeze but relax once you smell the familiar scent of him behind you. His head drops on your shoulder for a quick kiss behind your ear; hands dipping under the hemline of the flannel.
“You skippin’ out on me, dollface?” He mumbles into your skin.
“I needed to get breakfast in the oven before everyone is up. I was gonna hop back in bed with you while it bakes.” You resume your struggle to get the cookbook down as Bucky chuckles at you. “Would you quit laughing at me?! I need this cookbook. I can’t remember the ratioooooooohh-”
Your reply turns to a moan. One of his hands detaches itself from its place on your hip, effortlessly grabs the cookbook, and tosses it on the island behind you; the other is occupied ever so softly stroking small circles into your clit. You collapse back down off your tip toes and let your weight fall back into his chest.
“Doll, you can’t go around stealing my shirts and making them look ten times sexier than I ever could.” His voice seems entirely unaffected but the sudden shift in mood. “I’m incredibly insecure and you’re showing me up.”
You can hear the smile in his words even if you weren’t feeling it in his lips which are now sloppily and lazily kissing up your neck. You sigh deeply, enjoying the teasing sensations he’s sending through your body.
“Buck-” you whine gently, remembering where you are. “Someone is gonna hear us.”
He pulls back from you to quickly jab at the volume button; increasing the music so others don’t hear you. “Then you better be quiet, sweetheart.”
Needing to see his eyes, you turn around to face him. His hair is mussed. It looks like he’s thrown on the same black jeans from the night before. They hang obscenely low on his hips unbuttoned. He’s deliciously shirtless. Warmth from the bedroom still clings to his skin.
“I distinctly remember a grumpy old man yelling at me for too loud of music this early in the morning.”
The pressure on your clit relents only to feel a digit slide into your core slowly, his thumb takes up the circles on your clit.
“Come back to bed darlin’. Sleeping in isn’t as fun without you there.”
“I have to make breakfast-” Your reply is choked off by a particularly strong wave of pleasure as his finger pushes pressure onto your g-spot. You open your eyes only to see a perfectly smug and unbothered face. If you didn’t feel his motions deep inside your now pulsing cunt, you would have guessed he was almost bored.
You try again to defend your actions, “Everyone will go hungry if-”
With his eyes locked on yours he adds a second finger into you. “Fuck.” He cocks his head to the side slightly and gives you his best shit eating grin.
“You were saying?”
“I’m out of excuses.” You mold your lips to his, giving into the pleasurable sensations. You attempt to walk him backwards out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.
“Nuh uh,” he says with his mouth now sucking deep hickeys into your collar bone. “Wanna see you cum right here.”
You want to protest but the clench of your walls around his fingers betrays you before you can get a word out. You pant small breathy moans into his shoulder as he brings his lips to your ears.
“That’s it, darlin’. I can tell that turns you on.” You suppress another low moan and it comes out more of a whimper. “Knowin’ anyone could walk in… see you becoming a panting little mess stuffed with my fingers.”
At this point, you’re relying completely on Bucky for support; your legs have gone to Jell-O. “I can tell you’re close, doll. I feel you fluttering around me.”
The stretch and glide of Bucky’s fingers have you forgetting about the residual soreness. You bite your bottom lip; hoping it will keep you quiet enough. You’re ready to let go with your release-
“Holy fuck, Barnes!” You whine all vestiges of anger about him teasing you previously slipping away. “Don’t stop.”
His pace is measured and calculated hitting unrelenting on your g-spot with perfect pressure. Perhaps any other time you’d be embarrassed by the slick squelches coming from his motions but all you care about was that they didn’t cease.
“Oh I’m not stopping baby. You’re gonna cum for me right here,” his words are hot and low in your ear as your vision goes white. “And then I’m gonna spread your legs and have my breakfast.”
With those final words you’re a panting moaning mess into the crux of his neck and shoulder; cookbook and quiches long since forgotten while your release rips through you.
“Now I do fully appreciate the suave nature of that line you just laid on your lady there, Barnes; but can the both of you move this to a more suitable room?”
“Yeah like literally ANY other room!” Steve chimes in staring at the two of you pink faced and bug eyed.
“But maybe bleach the countertops first.”
“I’m not letting them get off that easy, Tony.” Steve stands with his shoulders squared, a giant wall of muscle blocking the escape. “ James Buchanan Barnes! Agent! What the hell were you thinking? Engaging in…”
“Fucking seems more apt a word”
Steve presses on ignoring Tony’s interjection. “Being intimate in shared common spaces. Did you want to get caught?”
Perhaps it was the tingles of aftershocks still moving through you but you felt your pussy throb as Steve voiced aloud the very words about the situation you were in. Tony, ever the joyful observer of others misery, locks eyes with you. Whatever state of flushed you were went a shade darker at him noticing your state of rekindled arousal. There was something about being caught that just shot jolts straight to your core. You knew it was risky but that was half the fun. Now to have Steve calling you out on the very thing that turned you on really only amplified the situation between your legs.
“I mean anyone could have walked around the corner at any second to see Bucky and you.”
You can’t help but shift your thighs back and forth aching to get back to Bucky’s room and let him finish his earlier promise.
Tony raises and eyebrow before speaking. “I think they’ve had enough lecturing, Cap. But just think about how much worse it would have been if we came in any later.”
“Yeah yeah we get it,” Bucky comes to your rescue, placing his hand in the small of your back to nudge you back to his room. You quickly duck under Steve’s arm, out of the kitchen hoping Bucky is right behind you. You turn only to see Tony pull him aside, no doubt for one more talking to.
***
“Look, hear me out and try to remember I’m only saying this for your benefit as I’m obviously off the market,” Tony says to Bucky while wiggling his wedding band clad finger. “That girl has a thing and it’s a thing you need to look into.”
“A thing?” Skepticism clouds his voice.
“Obviously get her consent but I think you have a bit of an exhibitionist on your hands there Buckaroo.”
***
“We’re gonna be late.”
You can’t help but laugh as he pushes you into the more discreet alley behind Pastimes; pinning you beneath his strong frame while he assaults your neck with wet kisses.
“Let them wait. I haven’t seen my girl all day.”
Nips and pecks turn to hot, open mouthed kiss and gasping embraces. His fingers quickly trace the cleft between thigh more needing places of yours. You mouth a silent thanks that you’d worn a skirt tonight.
“Bucky, we should go a bit further into the alley.”
“Should we?” His words might as well have been a growl. “Afraid we’ll get caught again, little one?”
He pulls your panties aside and presses into your wetness.
“I’d love it if Stevie came out looking for us and caught you stuffed with my fingers, mid-orgasm once more.”
There’s no hiding the tattletale clench of your walls and renewed gush of slick.
“Maybe he’d give you another lecture about proper conduct and soiling the good Avengers name. But you just can’t help it. You love me finger fucking you where anyone could see us. Don’t you?”
You’re certain he’d wanted to force your response but the sudden turn in your boyfriends demeanor was all too much for you. With his question and recent push of fingers inside your tight channel you’ve gone and cum; walls fluttering, eyes going shut, body tensing in Bucky’s arms.
“Holy shit, doll. Just from that?”
You nod sheepishly at him once the afterglow of your release sets in and you can think again.
“I can’t wait to see what else you can do, darling.” He kisses you gently on the forehead and then the lips before helping you get straightened up. “Now let’s go sing some karaoke.”
Bucky plops down across the booth next to Sam like nothing out of the ordinary just occured. You attempt to make conversation with Wanda but you find it hard to focus after Bucky’s little surprise. Your eyes wander and meet his across the booth. They glint playfully. Your gaze moves to his hand holding his drink. Two of the fingers are obviously coated in your slick. Noticing your gaze, he moves the finger up to his mouth and licks it clean. You let out an uncontrolled gasp.
“You okay there?” Tony says. You pry your eyes away from Bucky’s face you manage a nod. You refuse to look back at him, knowing full well he’s got the largest shit eating grin plastered on his face. Just this once you let him have it; he’s earned it.
#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes#bucky smut#Bucky Barnes smut#she's so high#bonus chapter#my writing#my fics
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I’m Sorry PT.1- Stucky x reader
Hello Loves!! This is what i remember to be the first Poly!Fic i ever wrote, but i remember i wrote it around the time i started reading tumblr. Again, as of right now i am moving my works from Wattpad to Tumblr. I will not be editing them, as i would like to show my evolution as a writer. Thank you!
Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3
Category; Fluff, Domestic!avengers, Angst(!!!), Listen Before i Go(billie eilish, about suicide)
Rating; 16+
Let the Fiction Begin!
—
Ash wakes up, the soft light of the mid morning sun shining through the large full wall windows of her room. I open my eyes, stretching slightly, a yawn ripping through my body. I cough, remembering my cold as I search for my boyfriends.
I frown slightly as I see that both Steve and Bucky aren't in the bed with me, or in the room. I listen to see if the showers running, or if there's water splashing in the bathtub, but there's no sound. Just the recordings of bird in the rain that Friday always plays once I wake up.
I sigh, getting out of bed and opening the large dresser tony had made specifically for the three of us. I open one of Steve's drawers, grabbing his biggest and fluffiest grey wool sweater. I throw it on over the tank top I have on, grabbing a pair of short shorts from my drawer and sliding the soft denim up and putting on a black belt. I throw my hair up in a new messy bun, grabbing grey wool socks and combat boots from the walk in closet.
I turn around to see if Steve or Bucky has wandered back into the room, but it was still quiet. I grab my phone, slipping it into my pocket as I walk out of our room. I make my way through the maze of walls that makes up the Compound, trying to find the main communal area where I think Steve and Bucky will be.
I hear laughter drift into my ears, bright and happy. Thor's booming voice follows the laughs, cracking a joke I can't quite understand. I walk into the large room quietly, not looking around the room. I walk into the kitchen area, grabbing an extra large tea mug and an earl grey tea bag, dropping the encased leaves into the mug. I fill the kettle and put it on to boil, grabbing a glass of water. I reach for the antibiotics on the bottom shelf, taking out the needed pills and downing them all before draining the water.
“Yknow, you're supposed to take them one by one, right kid?" Sam jokes with me from the expansive island where the majority of the team is sitting. Tony is sitting on the couch, talking with Rhodey about something while Morgan watches BBC's Sherlock.
I give him a look. "Yknow, I don't need the water, right?"
"So what, you can take pills dry?" Wanda smirks slightly, easing an eyebrow in questioning.
"I can if I want to."
"Ah, what is the point in these 'pills', doctor banner?" Thor asks, somehow not knowing.
"Well, they can prevent sickness, supply nutrients, prevent pregnancy, subdue pain, a lot of things actually."
"And speaking of preventing pregnancy..." I mutter to myself, trying to reach for my birth control pills. I try to reach them before sighing, turning around to the team.
"Who put my pills on the top shelf?" I glare at them, mainly at Loki, Thor, Steve, and Bucky as they're the only ones who can reach up there. It's silent for a bit, Steve has already gotten the pills down for me. I grab my dose, downing it dry and looking at Sam mockingly.
"I did. O-on accident of course, but I did it." Bucky says, looking slightly nervous.
"Oh. Okay." I say nothing as I give Steve a kiss on the cheek. He grabs the whistling kettle and fills my tea mug. I thank him with another kiss before Clint and his big mouth speak up.
"Ew. PDA is NOT needed. Get a room, there's a pure innocent child present." Natasha slaps Clint (not lightly) on the bicep, worsening his laughter.
Everybody stares at him, natasha slipping a bunch of salt into his oatmeal when he's too busy falling on the floor to notice.
"Yknow, if I had a dime for every time I've seen you eyeing Ash and Wanda, I'd be richer thank Stark and his father combined." Bucky says, slipping his arms around me protectively as vision tightens his grip on Wanda.
"Oh please, I haven't done any such thing!" Clint, writhing on the floor, manages to get out between a few laughs. At this point, there's a mound of salt mixed into his oatmeal and milk. At first it was only Natasha, but now I've gotten out the big container of salt and started pouring it in the oatmeal, a red wispy encased salt shaker dropping salt into the milk.
"Christmas, last year. You were drunk and practically eye fucking our girlfriend. Same goes for wanda." Steve says, glaring at clint over the counter.
“There's a crap ton of tea here, is Friday getting all of it daddy?" An 8-year-old Morgan says, a small smile on her face.
"Damn I love this kid." I mutter under my breath, understanding her reference.
"Clint, get your ass in your seat before I call fury and tell him you were having fantasies last night about his favorite agent." Natasha threatens in that tone that tells you to get shit done. Clint scrambles into his stool, taking a bite of oatmeal.
The way his face scrunches up is priceless, and when he goes for the milk, probably thinking it would help with the bitterness, he spits it out. It would have hit me if Bucky hadn't turned his back and covered me.
"Oh hell no, that's my favorite sweater on Buck." I say as I set my tea down, taking a step towards Barton. "Five? Or just start."
"I'd say give em five. He's a slow old man anyways." Pietro smirks from the far end of the island.
"Barton." His head snaps up at me. "You have five seconds until I slam you into the ground and shatter your spine. I recommend you don't try the vents either seeing as Tony just installed some lasers to evade intruders." I say this all in a soft, slightly (aka VERY) psychotic tone. I let a sick smile play across my lips as I lean Over the table.
"One." I say, lunging for him. I push him into the ground, pinning him down with his arm behind his back on his stomach. I have his legs bent in a way so It'd hurt to move, his other arm held down by the hand with my boot. I press my knee into his back, smirking slightly at the exasperated sigh he lets out.
"Cmon kid- let me go." He pleads before I push down harder with my foot and knee making him whine in pain.
"Notice how no one is moving to defend you Barton." I say rather loudly. I push down on his arm more, getting another groan.
"Cmon kid. I didn't mean it." He is clearly distressed by the situation, looking rather embarrassed to have been pinned in such a position by an "untrained ten year old". He moves his head to look at natasha, pleading silently for help. She shakes her head, perfect eyebrow raised.
"She's right clint- Shes 22, way too young for you."
"Oh really? Last time I checked, Cap and Barnes are well over 103 Years old!" This earns him more foot and knee pressure as I twist his arm, closing to breakage.
“Be careful what you say about my boys Barton. It won't look pretty when I'm done with you if you keep insulting my princes like that." I say this, pushing down with my knee as I shift my weight ever so slightly to lean into his ear. He whines again. 'What a baby.'
Suddenly, there is a cold And warm hand under each of my elbows, picking me up off the agent and setting me down on the floor.
"Now now, little ужасный волк (dire wolf), his loneliness is enough to hurt him. He doesnt need his old man back breaking because he threatened us." Bucky holds my face, looking me in the eyes as Steve slinks his arms around my waist.
"Plus, we're physically younger than him." Steve says, his head resting in the crook of my neck.
"But it's funny to watch his egotistical snarkyness fade as his life flashed before his eyes." I Whine, my words, despite their content, sound like that of a spoiled 5 year old. Even though I'm trying to be sarcastic, I can still feel everyone's faces flinch a little.
"Baby we've talked about this, you don't let your false murderous intent cloud your actions." Bucky smiles slightly, Goin g along with my joke before picking me up out of Steve's arms and carrying me bridal style to our wing. Steve follows behind with my tea and two pieces of avocado toast in hand.
Bucky sets me down on the floor-inset couch, jumping over the back and landing next to me. Steve sets down my tea and hands me the plated food. He turns on the TV and opens our Spotify account. He plays the song that was playing at the party of Tony's we all met at.
I found myself dreaming
In silver and gold
Like a scene from a movie
That every broken heart knows
I take a bite of my toast as Bucky stands up, dancing with Steve.
We were walking on moonlight
And you pulled me close
Split second and you disappeared
And then I was all alone.
I smile as they sway back and forth, taking small steps as they lean on each other's shoulders. I smile, watching the two. They've always Been so photogenic, always posing the right way. I reach for my phone, snapping a quick picture before setting it down on the table.
I woke up in tears
You by my side
A breath is relief
And I realized
No, we're not promised tomorrow.
Steve grabs my hand, pulling me around the coffee table to dance with him, Bucky taking a picture with his own phone. Steve kisses the top of my head, pulling me closer by the waist.
So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
And I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye
Wherever we're standing
I won't take you for granted
'Cause we'll never know when, when we'll run out of time
So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
Bucky takes me from Steve, moving around more with me. Steve snaps another picture before walking off to our small kitchen. Bucky and I move around the room gracefully, hands intertwined tightly together as we hum and sing along to the words. I start violently coughing again, Bucky pulling me close to his chest in a warm hug once I catch my breath.
In the blink of an eye
Just a whisper of smoke
You could lose everything
The truth is you never know
Steve takes me away from Bucky, picking me up and placing me back on the couch. Bucky drapes a blanket over me, handing me my tea which I gratefully sip.
So I'll kiss you longer baby
Any chance that I get
I'll make the most of the minutes
And love with no regrets
They both settle down beside me stuffing their bodies close to mine as they both kiss my cheeks before kissing each other above my head.
Let's take our time to say what we want
Here's what we got before it's all gone
'Cause no, we're not promised tomorrow
I pull out their dog tags on each of their necks, then looking at mine. They hug me tighter, each one nuzzling into their side of my neck.
So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye
Wherever we're standing
I won't take you for granted
'Cause we'll never know when, when we'll run out of time
So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you
—time skip to infinity war—
"Steve? Ash?" Bucky says before dusting. I look down, only to see the same happen to me.
"Steve? Steve please I don't wanna-" darkness.
|—☆—|
I wake up, feeling a cold, hand, a familiar metal holding me close to a warm torso.
"B-Bucky!?" I claw at him, straddling him and pulling myself closer to his body.
"G-God, I thought I lost you, and Steve." He kisses my head before his breath catches in his throat. "Where's Steve?"
I look into his eyes, seeing the same feelings. Denial, fear, worry, love, anticipation.
"Come on! It has been five years we must go fight the battle!" A heavy Wakandan accent yells out at us. I give Bucky a quick kiss before tossing him another magazine. I run off towards where the crowd is heading, Bucky on my heels. We are let through the crowd, walking through the sparky portal.
I look around me to see rubble. Everywhere. There's a huge alien ship tearing Through the deep rusty red sky. There's no sign of Steve in the portal, or any of the others coming around.
Bucky nudges me, pointing out in front of us. I look out to see Thanos, in his large set of armor, and Steve facing him. Thor is splayed out on the ground, Loki next to him. Steve looks behind him, seeing me and Bucky approaching him with hundreds of people following.
“Oh my god I thought I lost you two." He smiles, looking at me and Bucky.
"I thought I lost you two..." I smile, looking at Steve's smudged up face.
"And I third that." Bucky says briefly. Steve turns around, tightening his broken shields strap with a sudden tug.
"AVENGERS!" He yells out, projecting to the whole area. He reaches his hand out, Mjolnir, of all things, comes flying at him. He catches the weapon, making a show out of it. "Assemble."
Thor yells, T'challa's voice soon joining as everyone changes against the horde of aliens.
|—☆—|
I see peter, shooting an alien that's about to come get him. He nods at me, getting picked up by Valkyrie and her Pegasus, the Iron Gauntlet in hand.
I look over to thanos, seeing Wanda talking to him. She hurls rock at him just before all hell breaks loose. Beams of energy race down towards the ground, trying to hit anything in sight. I dodge to the left, hiding under a large piece of rubble. Suddenly they stop pointing at us and aim for something in the sky. A large ball of orange light flies through the ship, one wing tearing off after the figure stops. The ship crash lands into the water, causing a large wave to come off of the lake. It starts up into a funnel as a sorcerer uses his magic to guide the water.
The ball of light lands in front of peter, getting the glove from him.
"I don't know how you're gonna get it through all that." I'm already behind Okoye as she answers.
"Don't worry-"
"She has help." I finish, the other women landing around me. Morgan in the light blue armor looking like her late mother. Wanda behind me, and I can hear Valkyries horse land. Us ladies start doing our badass walks towards the oncoming battalion, shifting into a run as the battle continues.
|—☆—|
I see tony lunging for the stones, thanos following in suit. I push back on thanos, giving tony the chance to get the gauntlet and transfer the stones before thanos pries it away from him.
The titan places the gauntlet on his hand, letting the adaptive size fit him. The other original six avengers, minus... Clint... gather around tony, me and Bucky joining as well.
"I am... inevitable." Thanos snaps, only for the gauntlet to make a clink noise. All of us avengers put our hands together and on tony, as he raises his right hand with the stones arranging themselves in his suit.
"And we are..." Bucky looks at me, then Steve, who gives a reassuring nod.
"The Avengers."
Tony snaps, and energy corses through me, pain mixed with desire and power. I walk over and rip the stones off of the suit, placing them in thor's cape.
We look around, the whole Army starts fading away. The world is suddenly filled with the dust of our enemies. Thanos slowly moves to sit down, turning to dust once he falls. Tony falls into the ground, an exasperated laugh leaving his mouth. We all follow suit and plop down next to each other, looking up at the catastrophic sky. I hold Bucky and Steve's hands in mine, letting them kiss me and then each other with smiles on our faces. We sit up and hug each other, happy to be together again.
"Thank god you two idiots are alive.. god, I don't know what I'd do without you two testosterone junkies." I joke, kissing each of them on the cheek as we all bask in the glory of victory.
—timeskip to after the battle, at the TOWER—
Bucky and Steve all sit on the couch, leaning on each other with such purpose. I sit back and look at them, seeing if they would be without me. 'Maybe that's better.'
I sit down on the couch, next to Natasha and the end instead of in-between the two. Bucky and Steve look at me, surpise on their features as I talk with Natasha about Clint.
"Remember that time when I pinned him on the ground and we all put salt in his food." I laugh briefly before staring at the floor, Grief on me and Natasha's features.
"Maybe... maybe it's better this way. Somebody had to die to get the stone, and that bastard actually chained me down..." she smiles, and chuckles, then frowns, reaching up to her neck to hold her arrow necklace.
"I'm sorry nat... I'm sorry you had to loose him." I rub her shoulder as a single tear drops onto her lap. "But at least he's with his family."
They had randomly come back in the middle of the battle and were quickly torn apart by thanos' goons. We hadn't noticed they were even there until well after the battle, about three days into cleanup. Damn, Natasha looked so sad looking at the kids and Laura. Morgan was sad that her friends were dead aswell, finally able to process such a thing at the age of 13.
|—☆—|
I've been distancing myself from Steve and Bucky for three and a half months now. I don't even know how I'm still alive. They have started sleeping on the couch, where I used to sleep, causing me to move into an extra room. I returned all of their sweaters and sweatshirts and T-shirt's and jackets that I had taken from them over the years, sneaking into their room and moving everything into their drawers. I took all my clothing out, moving it all into the room-my room. Everyone was happy when Tony has been cleared to use his arm again, as it had been damaged from the stones. But Steve and Bucky just sat there, eyes on me sipping a glass of wine as I laughed with Natasha.
"Wait, so you're telling me that if even one person hadn't been in the chain, Tony would've died?" I look at Bruce with disbelief, my mouth slightly ajar.
"You are correct."
"And if we hadn't been there at all, tony would have died in even less time than two hours?"
"Yes Ash, now please go uh... talk to someone else. I need to work." Bruce shoos me out of the lab, locking me out.
"Fine." I turn around, getting into the elevator and going to the top floor. I get onto the fire stairs and take them up to the roof, bringing out my laptop and sketchbook. I play some Billie eilish, sketching pictures of me, Steve, and Bucky. After a while I take myself out of the mix, creating more intimacy between the two enhanced men.
Take me to the rooftop
I wanna see the world when I stop breathing
Turning blue
Tell me love is endless
Don't be so pretentious
Leave me
Like you do.
—
songs; Like I’m Gonna Loose You (Megan Trainor, John Legend) listen before i go (Billie Eilish)
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The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 58 - 60
I’m back and ready to dive into hell again
Kaltain Rompier had just turned the tide in this war.
Dorian had never been more ashamed of himself.
He should have been better. Should have seen better. They all should have.
Many chapters ago I would have defended you... but yeah, no, you’re an asshole Dorito.
There was no Lock. Not in the way that they had expected, not in the way the queen had been promised and instructed to find it.
So yeah, no cigar. Given there’s still quite a few chapters left, I didn’t expect it to be this easy.
Instead of a Lock, inside there is instead a witch mirror, which are very powerful, Manon explains.
Finally, the witch said, “They’ve been making towers. Enormous, yet capable of being hauled across battlefields, lined with those mirrors. For Erawan to use with his powers—to incinerate your armies in a few blasts.”
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA ARE YOU SHITTING ME
ERAWAN’S SECRET ULTIMATE WEAPON IS SOME WALKING TOWERS WITH FUCKING MIRRORS ON THEM
HAHAHAHAHA THIS IS ALMOST AS FUNNY AS THE BATHTUB CAULDRON FROM AC0WAR KDHAFJKHKJFHKHKD YOU'RE KILLING ME SJM
[Aelin’s] magic was exhausted. For the first time in days, that pit of magic now slumbered.
She could sleep for a week. A month.
Maybe you shouldn’t have been a dumbass and wasted it all on showing off and shitting glitter out your ass then, Alien.
Anyways some ships and a small army roll up to the marshes. Everyone understandably freaks out but Alien seems weirdly calm?
The soldiers were in heavy, worn gray armor, their faces rough and scarred, sizing them up as they hit the sand. Fenrys snarled at one of them, and the man averted his eyes.
But the cloaked woman removed her hood as she approached with feline grace, halting perhaps ten feet away.
Aelin knew every detail about her.
Huh, weird, she kinda sounds like-
That full mouth slanted into a half grin as Ansel of Briarcliff, Queen of the Wastes, drawled, “Who gave you permission to use my name in pit fights, Aelin?”
Wait......... what the fuck.
Ansel. As in, Ansel from the prequel novella. As in, a character who was not in the main series is now playing a major role in this series plot.
I’m..... tired. Not gonna complain. Just know it’s dumb and I hate it, because not everyone has read the short stories and I shouldn’t have to pay extra to understand your main plot, SJM!
Next chapter establishes that Ansel is indeed a queen. Fuckin’ great, because nobody can not be royalty in this godforsaken series.
No sign of Abraxos.
Manon scanned the skies, the fleet, the seas. Not a scale to be found.
SJM, ABRAXOS BETTER BE OKAY I SWEAR TO GOD
Ansel is here because Alien used her name in the fighting pits in the previous novel.
Dorian staggered forward a step at Ansel’s words, and the Queen of the Wastes gave him a look that said she’d like to pillage him.
Yuck. Can you assholes not be horny for once in your life.
Aedion didn’t know who to be more furious with: Aelin, for not telling him about Ansel of Briarcliff and the gods-damned army she’d quietly ordered to sack Melisande and seize its fleet, or himself, for not trusting her.
Jesus fucking christ, I can’t believe I’m about to defend Assdion, but you have no reason to trust Alien! She schemes and plans behinds everyone’s backs and doesn’t tell you of her plans so she can rub it in your faces after you yell at her! Alien is the embodiment of all my pet peeves in people jkdhjkshfja
[Aedion] tried not to bristle. He was [Aelin’s] general-prince. Rowan was her consort —or close enough to it. And yet she had not entrusted them with this.
I think SJM wants us to see Assdion as unreasonable, but he’s right! They’re Alien’s fucking court and she won’t trust any of them with her plans but oh, since it works out in the end it turns out she’s the best queen evah!!!11 Fucking eat my ass SJM.
Lysandra ran a finger down the smooth wood of the railing. “I thought … It all seemed a grand adventure. Even when the danger was so horrible, it was still new, and I was no longer caged in dresses and bedrooms. But that day in Skull’s Bay, it stopped being any of that. It started being … survival. And some of us might not make it.”
>implying SJM would ever dare to kill one of her darling main characters
Assdion and Lysandra talk about loss and dying or something then they talk about whatever their relationship is.
Lysandra indeed went on the defensive and showed her hand. “I know my history is … unappealing.”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” Aedion said, daring a step closer. “And I’m going to tell you that there is nothing unappealing about you. Nothing. I’ve been with just as many people. Women, men … I’ve seen and tried it all.”
ok but like.. Lysandra is talking about being a courtesan, Assdion is talking about being bisexual. Those two are... completely different things. Why would Assdion compare his bisexuality to being a courtesan...... maybe I’m reading too much into this but I’m bisexual and this kinda makes me uncomfortable....
Also of course the only bisexual character in the cast is a slut shaming asshole so I can’t even stan him. Ungh. I hc Manon as lesbian and Darrow is canon gay, so I’m gonna say Gav is bisexual and stan him. SJM can catch these hands.
Aedion shrugged. “I find pleasure in both, depending on my mood and the person.” One of his former lovers still remained one of his closest friends—and most skilled commanders in his Bane.
If Assion wasn’t a dick, I’d ship it. Also, ten bucks says nameless gay Bane commander will die for Assdion’s pain.
Lysandra agrees that they should be honest with each other and Assdion gets a boner at the thought of her mouth then the chapter ends. Riveting. That served no purpose other than to make all the bisexuals reading this squirm uncomfortably.
Next chapter begins with Ansel and Alien drinking and I can already tell there’s gonna be plenty of dumb banter.
“It’d be nice,” Aedion grumbled from down the table, where he and Rowan glared at them, “to be included in just one of these schemes, Aelin.”
“But your faces are so wonderful when I get to reveal them,” Aelin crooned.
He and Rowan growled. Oh, she knew they were pissed. So pissed that she hadn’t told them about Ansel. But the thought of disappointing them, of failing … She’d wanted to do this on her own.
Does SJM even read the shit she writes? Let’s dissect this.
1. Rowboat and Assdion are portrayed as nosy assholes for wanting to... be involved in their queen’s plans? You know, the queen they’ve sworn to serve? THE QUEEN WHO PUT THEM IN HER COURT.
2. Stop describing them as “pissed” they’re goddamn Fae for god’s sake
3. Oh, so Alien is scared of disappointing them, so it’s okay she lies to her own people and court?? Like how does SJM see this as a woman capable of being a queen? She lies all the goddamn time!!!! A queen is not supposed to hide this important shit from her own goddamn court!!! Just because she feels sorry about it doesn’t make it okay gdi!!!! I want Alien to fucking rot in hell!!!!!
“I want you to find me the lost Crochan witches.”
Manon jerked upright. “What.”
Yeah, so now Alien wants to raise a witch army. Manon is understandably like “what the fuck” but of course, she is shot down to raise Alien up. Fuck you, SJM.
“They’re all gone,” Manon cut in again. “We’ve hunted them to near extinction.”
Aelin slowly looked over a shoulder. “What if their queen summoned them?”
“I am no more their queen than you are.”
Manon says this, but SJM has been parading her around almost this entire novel as a queen despite not having any land, titles, armies, whatever. Also, why does every single species have monarchies? Wouldn’t it make more sense for some of them to have different ruling systems?
“I think Erawan was probably born pissed.”
God Ansel is Alien 2.0 isn’t she...
It was no surprise at all that Ansel had managed to hold on to Hisli, the Asterion mare she’d stolen for herself. But Kasida—oh, Kasida was just as beautiful as Aelin remembered, even more so once she’d been led over a gangway onto the ship. Aelin had brushed the mare down when she’d led her into the cramped, wet stables, and bribed the horse to forgive her with an apple.
Alien can eat my ass but this is cute........ I don’t like or trust horses irl, but I like them in fiction where I don’t have to be next to them. Don’t @ me horse lovers.
Ansel splooges about how Alien didn’t kill her back in the desert and how noble and uhmazing that makes Alien. Deep breaths. Deeeep breaths. I can do this.
“We got a report that Fae soldiers were spied starting them. Firing from ships.”
“Maeve,” Gavriel murmured. “But burning isn’t her style.”
“It’s mine,” Aelin said. They all looked at her. She let out a humorless laugh.
Alien’s really out here making jokes when innocent country sides have been set on fire because of her, huh..... yeah, I can totally tell the deaths of innocent people are really eating her up, what a sympathetic character!
Later, Alien and Rowboat are going over strategies in private and... oh god. Oh my god. It’s this scene. This one page drained so much life and happiness out of me I think I need more therapy.
Aelin scanned the sprawl of the world, which had once seemed so vast and now, at her feet, seemed so … fragile. So small and breakable.
“You could, you know,” Rowan said, his tattoo stark in the lantern light. “Take it for yourself. Take it all. Use Maeve’s bullshit maneuvers against her. Make good on that promise.”
“bullshit maneuvers” jhdahfjafh I’d complain about the writing but that is nothing compared to this implication of Alien being a fucking conqueror. If she was supposed to be a villain or morally grey then maybe, but SJM keeps hailing her as the best morally right queen evah, but then has her think about conquering the goddamn world.
“And would you join me if I did? If I turned conqueror?”
“You would unify, not pillage and burn. And yes—to whatever end.”
“That’s the threat, isn’t it?” she mused.
OHHH, OH OKAY. WELL THAT MAKES IT OKAY THEN.
NO FUCK YOU. Doesn’t matter what your reason is for conquering is, it’s a goddamn bad thing to do!! You’re attacking and invading other countries resulting in thousands of deaths in order to yank control out of their hands like wtf!!!!! ALIEN WAS A SLAVE IN THE SALT MINES SHE SHOULD KNOW BETTER.
This is shit that FASCISTS would say. And Alien is supposed to be the morally sound protagonist that little girls can look up to. Holy fucking shit.
“But if you could … would you?”
For a heartbeat, she could see it—see her face, carved into statues in kingdoms so far away they did not even know Terrasen existed.
You know who else did shit like this?
Ozai from ATLA. You know, a fucking Fascist villain who wiped out an entire culture of Airbenders and planned to conquer the whole world to rule with an iron fist.
This is your protagonist, SJM. YOU THINK THIS IS A GOOD THING TO ASPIRE TO BE. How the fuck was this book published I am so goddamn mad.
“Perhaps if being queen bores me … I’ll think about making myself empress. To give my offspring not one kingdom to inherit, but as many as the stars.”
There was no harm in saying it, anyway. In thinking about it, stupid and useless as it was. Even if wondering about the possibilities … perhaps it made her no better than Maeve or Erawan.
DFJAKLJFDLKAJFLKAJSKF
1. I love how Alien’s quote is supposed to be ~epic and uhmayzing~ when it’s about her fucking conquering all of the world’s countries to give to her kids, who may very well follow in her footsteps and be fascist assholes as well. I pray to god that Alien or Rowboat kicks the fucking bucket before they can have kids.
2.How could you be bored of being queen.... you know that’s like, a huge responsibility??? SJM literally knows nothing about monarchies and did no research outside of watching old Disney princess movies.
3. “no harm in saying it” OP is a fascist but go off I guess
4. “perhaps it made her no better than Maeve or Erawan” no bitch you’re worse than them at this point holy fucking shit!!!! At least no one is out here stanning them despite them wanting to conquer and kill innocent people like you!! Holy fucking shit this novel!!
Rowan dragged a hand through his hair. “Sometimes I wish I knew every thought in that head, each scheme and plot. Then I remember how much it delights me when you reveal it—usually when it’s most likely to make my heart stop dead in my chest.”
Yeah never mind me defending you because Alien is a dumbass, you’re a fucking awful person too. Both of you can fucking drown for all I care.
Next up is Manon’s POV.
Abraxos should have been here already. [Manon] shut out the coiling dread in her stomach.
But instead of wings, footsteps creaked in the hall outside.
A heartbeat later, the door opened on near-silent hinges, then shut again. Locked.
Oh, fuck you SJM, teasing me with a Manon and Abraxos reunion only to give me dumb Dorito/Manon shit. Fuck. Yo.
You don’t have chains anymore.”
She sat up at that, examining where the irons draped down the wall. “Is it more enticing for you if they’re on?”
Sapphire eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he leaned against the shut door. “Sometimes it is.”
Gross. I’ve never been disgusted reading Manon’s POV before, but... it’s starting to rub off on her. Please SJM, don’t taint her, she is one of the few good things I have to cling to in this massive pile of shit.
She let Dorian back her against the wall. Let him hold her gaze while he tugged the top laces of her white shirt free.
One. By. One.
This. Writing. Is. Terrible.
But Dorian Havilliard said, “The Bloodhound was lying that night. What she said about your Second. I felt her lie—tasted it.”
Some tight part in her chest eased. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
What the fuck Dorito, you’re making out with her and then you randomly bring up her possibly dead friends?????? What is this writing????
Again, that dark, edged smile appeared. And when he stepped close once more, his hands replaced those phantom ones.
Tracing her hips, her waist, her breasts. Unhurried, indolent circles that she allowed him to make, simply because no one had ever dared.
Oh my god this is a DoritoManon sex scene isn’t it
A chill ran down her body, peaking her breasts. He watched them, then circled a finger around one. Dorian bent, his mouth following the path where that finger had been. Then his tongue. She bit her lip against the groan rising up her throat, her hands sliding into the silken locks of his hair.
OH GOD IT IS PLEASE HELP ME I NEED AN ADULT
Okay so if you want my thoughts on SJM sex scenes in general, go read my ch 38 review. But this is especially shit because Manon and Dorito barely have any chemistry. Plus Dorito is a crusty asshole and I don’t want him anywhere near my Manon baby. Fuck this goddamn shit.
She had never contemplated what it would be like—to yield control. And not have it be weakness, but a freedom.
JFC SJM, I GET IT. I get it, Dorito is the only man Manon would ever be submissive with because he’s so ~manly and dominate~ I FUCKING GET IT, GET THIS SHIT OUT OF MY FACE.
As he freed her pants button by button, then slid them off.
PANTS
This just further proves my theory SJM did no research about the medieval time period and just wanted to write lots of smutty porn.
Manon let him raise her arms over her head, his magic gently pinning her wrists to the mattress as he touched her, first with those wicked hands.
Oh my god the magic foreplay returns to haunt me. It was dumb then, it’s dumb now.
The next paragraph they’re already done and cleaning up, which seems... oddly rushed for SJM. She took numerous pages to describe Rowboat and Alien climaxing but skipped out here? I’m not complaining, believe me, just feels odd for her.
She tugged on her clothes with trained efficiency, and only when she was lacing up her shirt did Dorian say, “We’re not done, you and I.”
And it was the purely male promise that made her bare her teeth.
I AM GOING TO GODDAMN LOSE MY MIND MORE THAN I ALREADY HAVE
DORITO ISN’T A MALE FAE. I’VE SEEN PEOPLE EXCUSE THE WEIRD MALE TERRITORIAL FAE SHIT WITH “oh it’s okay because they’re Fae and not human so it’s okay for them to be possessive uwuu” BUT GUESS FUCKING WHAT SWEETHEART! DORITO ISN’T FAE SO Y’ALL HAVE NO GODDAMN EXCUSE FOR HAND WAVING THIS GROSS POSSESSIVE SHIT ASIDE
KHADKFHAFHAJKHFKJAHSFK IM BREAKING
Dorian gave another purely male smile
After Dorito fucks off we go to Lorcan and Elide. Holy fucking shit this chapter is so long. The DoritoManon sex scene could’ve been cut out without any loss to the plot but lbr, fans aren’t here for the supposed fantasy plot, they’re here to read shitty smut.
Even utterly exhausted, Elide barely slept during the long night she and
Lorcan swayed in hammocks with the other sailors.
After the shit I just read, this cuteness is welcomed.
Something softened in [Lorcan’s] harsh face as his eyes dipped to where [Elide’s] arm dangled out of her hammock, the skin still a bit sore, but … miraculously healed. She’d thanked Gavriel twice now, but he’d brushed it aside with a gentle nod and shrug.
This is either pure and wholesome or I’m just grasping for anything after that sex scene. Gav is such a good character, let him be a father figure to Elide and take her out for ice cream and they go for fun walks on the beach searching for interesting shells and rocks. Treasure that wholesome mental image.
It was the shout of the watch that jolted them. The one of pure terror.
Elide nearly flipped out of her hammock, the sailors rushing past. By the time she shoved her hair from her eyes, Lorcan was already gone.
Oh fucking great, what bullshit do I have to put up with now?
Sailing over the western horizon, another armada headed for them.
And Elide knew in her bones it was not one that Aelin had schemed and planned for.
Not as Fenrys breathed, suddenly beside her on the steps. “Maeve.”
I’m so sorry I’m leaving you on a cliffhanger, but I need a break after the shit I’ve just witnessed. Like, I might actually die if I don’t stop right now.
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the tangled web of fate we weave: iv
part iii/AO3.
The incredibly stupid (and rather terrifying) situation that Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan has presently found himself in goes like this.
Something feels off about the botched operation the instant he gets off the phone with Neville, and since Wyatt is still technically the official personnel assigned to this case, if he doesn’t want to drop it, he doesn’t have to. He stands there in the middle of the pickup curb at LAX, being jostled to every side by passing travelers, until he decides he should, if nothing else, get out of the way. Heads back to his car, stares through the windshield for a long moment, then takes out his phone again. Sorry babe, he texts Jessica. Order some pizza and invite some friends. Don’t think I’m making it home tonight.
With that, he tosses the phone into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt. Jessica knew when she married a serviceman, especially one in special ops, that it would be a lot of long separations and unexplained absences, and she’s held up admirably thus far, but she has to be wondering when the buck finally stops. So is Wyatt, for that matter. They need this. They love each other a lot, but they’ve become different people during his last three deployments. A relationship can’t survive forever on Skype calls and care packages.
Putting that out of his head for now, Wyatt turns on the engine, pays the exorbitant parking charge, and rolls into downtown L.A. He can’t help wondering if he’s been outsmarted and the mark is going to turn up at the Burberry store now that a potential accomplice has given him the all-clear. But how would a relatively routine drug runner, or even mid-level member of the mob, be privy to the classified details of a Delta Force sting arranged just hours ago? Their counterintelligence is good, but not that good. And while tons of information isn’t exactly par for the course in this job, they usually at least give you a name. Even a fake one.
At that, Wyatt makes a decision. He isn’t hauling all the way back to San Diego tonight, and he’s gonna drop by Bam-Bam’s. Dave Baumgardner, given the nickname for his enthusiasm for certain parts of the job, is on leave, but he lives here. Has a nice bachelor pad in Westwood. His dad is rich, because Bam-Bam definitely does not make enough money to afford it by serving in the army, even in a specialized unit. At least Wyatt can get a second pair of eyes on this, judge if there’s actually a wrench in the spanner, or he’s just being paranoid. Everyone in their line of work knows it happens eventually.
Traffic is a crawl up 405, because aside from all the other reasons for L.A. to have terrible traffic, there’s a Los Angeles Tech Convention and some billionaire bigwig named Connor Mason is the featured attraction. Has all kind of gizmos he’s wheeling out for public display for the first time ever, so this place is Nerd Mecca. In Wyatt’s opinion, it’s bad enough they keep inventing new iPhones every year. Who needs all that?
He sighs, reminds himself not to be quite so curmudgeonly, and makes it to Westwood with only two minor road-rage incidents. Pulls up in front of Bam-Bam’s place, parks, and heads up the walk. Technically the term for what Bam-Bam is on is “paid administrative leave,” because there’s still some question about whether his actions on the Abu Dhabi mission were entirely necessary. This is, also in Wyatt’s opinion, a dog-and-pony show. The U.S. government pays David Baumgardner to kill people, and the legality isn’t something they’re concerned with except when it appears in the press. It does occur to him to wonder if this is a great place to be asking advice, but hell, he’s here now.
A few moments after his knock, Bam-Bam opens the door, holding a sweating Budweiser bottle and looking surprised. “Hey, Logan! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Complicated,” Wyatt says briefly. “You gonna let me into your beer and porn den, or what?”
Bam-Bam smirks, gives him a bro clap on the shoulder, and leads him into the kitchen, where he twists the cap off another cold Bud and hands it over. Wyatt takes a long swig, leaning against the counter, then follows Bam-Bam out to the porch. Here in an airy, comfortable suburban backyard, it feels as if he might definitely be overstating things, but no point chickening out now. As economically as he can, he explains his hunch. The fact that he can’t be sure, but this feels like a setup, and not in the right way. Bam-Bam might be trigger-happy, but he’s a good soldier. Wyatt trusts his instincts.
“Huh,” Baumgardner says, when he finishes. “That is a little weird.”
“Okay, so it isn’t just me?”
“No, that does sound off the ranch. Not even this guy’s name or who he’s supposed to be working for – ‘Ndrangheta, Yakuza, plain old Mafia, Big Pimpin’ dealing weed down in Compton?” Bam-Bam takes another slug of beer. “Who’d you piss off?”
“Nobody,” Wyatt says. “Far as I know. This all came out of nowhere. Yesterday I thought I was finally going to have a real weekend with Jess, today I’m here with… this.”
“Just send her a dick pic.” Bam-Bam finishes off the Budweiser and chucks it expertly across the lawn into the recycling. “Tide her over?”
Wyatt gives him a cold fish stare, as he doesn’t think that any woman, not even his wife, just magically needs his genitals to appear in their life. “Good thing I don’t ask you for romantic advice, you dog.”
“Whatever.” Bam-Bam shrugs. “Anyway, what are you planning to do about this?”
That catches Wyatt short. He doesn’t actually know. Critical thinking is a valued skill for a solo operative, but independent thinking, less so. A soldier follows orders, he doesn’t start yanking at threads and veering off on tangents and trying to rewrite the script, thinks he knows better than the brass and can do whatever he wants. Finally he says, “Should we call someone?” You never know. Pestering the boss could do something.
“Guess you could try? I’d call my dad, actually, but he’s at some retreat up in the Bay Area this weekend.” Bam-Bam’s rich daddy, Rick, is a defense lawyer in Orange County and makes gigabucks shielding even richer assholes from the consequences of their crimes. In other words, if there’s a big bust afoot, he might know something about it, albeit on less official channels. “Leadership development potential, or whatever.”
“Can you call him anyway?”
“Because my Delta Force buddy thinks something smells a little fishy about one of his jobs?” Bam-Bam gives Wyatt a weird look. “This is still classified, remember?”
“You don’t have to tell him it was me. Just put it in general terms.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna work. Anything else?”
Wyatt racks his brains, trying to recall the paperwork he skimmed through quickly to get to the operational summary. This is probably a cautionary tale about why you should actually read it. “I think there were initials? Dunno if it corresponded to the guy at all. G.F.? And something about an unauthorized investigation.”
“Shit.” Baumgardner’s eyes widen. “Garcia Flynn?”
“What?” That catches Wyatt off guard. “Who?”
“He works in the NSA. He’s from somewhere in former shithole-Soviet land, he’s been in Eastern Europe for most of that time. I met him a few times, actually. He’s about the one guy who could take me in a shooting contest.” Bam-Bam sounds proud of this, which Wyatt finds worrying – is this the guy they sent him into LAX to take down, solo op, civilians to every side? “Anyway, though, that’s not why I thought of him. My dad was just talking about him earlier. Apparently Flynn’s lost his marbles, and that worries people.”
“Your dad’s work colleagues? Flynn sounds like the exact kind of client they love.”
“You think anyone from Orange County is gonna defend a possible Russian mole?”
“Yeah. Probably have three on the payroll already. Is that what they think he is? A mole? How the hell is that too controversial to tell me?”
“Look, man, I don’t know. This is probably on shaky confidentiality grounds anyway, but you and I are on the same security clearance, so…” Firearms-related or otherwise, David Baumgardner has never been bound too strictly by an exacting observance of the rules. “You wanna stay and play some Halo, or go and do your fucking job?”
“Probably the latter, huh? Not all of us get to sit on our ass and stuff our face right now like you.” Wyatt slugs down the last of his beer and stands up. “Do you have anything else you can think of? Anything at all?”
Bam-Bam considers, frowning. Then he says, “I think my dad knows that tech guy who’s in town for the convention. Connor Mason. If you wanna pull rank and flash a badge at him, pull him off into some back room and scare him, he could be helpful. Not sure, though.”
“Yeah, I’ll get a last-minute ticket to that and haul the keynote speaker off the stage in front of ten thousand hyped-up nerds?” Wyatt looks at the ceiling, then blows out a breath. “Not like I got anything else to try. Thanks, buddy. Hope they let you out of the doghouse soon.”
With a quick hand-shake and bro-hug, he lets himself out, gets back in the car, and drives to the packed convention center, which involves subjecting himself to I-10 at peak evening hours and thus takes approximately eighty-one eons. It takes him several more after that to find a parking space, which is practically in Chavez Ravine, and he heads to the door and asks to speak to the security staff. It takes (more) time, but he finally gets the head honcho, introduces himself quietly as Delta Force, and says there may be a security threat that he needs to speak to Mr. Mason about. Yes, he knows that Mr. Mason is scheduled to give the kickoff speech at 7:00pm, which is nineteen minutes from now. It’s urgent.
The security guys look at each other, but after Wyatt repeats “credible security threat” a few more times, one of them slopes off to get Mason. He arrives fixing his cufflinks and the microphone pinned to his lapel – twelve minutes to go – and clearly angry at the interruption. “They said there was some bloke who wanted to talk to me? Now?”
“That’s me, Mr. Mason.” Wyatt clears his throat, with a significant look at the others ordering them to scuttle off. “This won’t take long.”
“It better not.” Mason is a bald black British guy in a very expensive suit, who has not gotten to the level of success that he has by tolerating fools. “Well?”
Wyatt checks that they’re alone. “Do you know a Garcia Flynn?”
It’s a good thing Mason wasn’t trying to take a drink, otherwise he definitely would have done a spit-take. He takes half a step backwards, as if Wyatt has turned radioactive. “I’m sorry,” he manages, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “Who did you say you were with, again?”
“I didn’t.” Wyatt takes a step of his own, in case Mason tries to bolt. “You’re the one in the hurry. Tell me what I want to know, we can make it quick. Well?”
“You’re… not…?” Mason’s eyes search Wyatt’s face, as if trying to uncover a mask, a sudden reveal. “Is this some attempt to punish me for not attending the…? I’ve told them, many times, that the work is on schedule, and…”
“What work?” Wyatt asks. “On schedule for who? Not attending the what?”
Mason’s eyes flick from side to side again. He scrutinizes Wyatt carefully, then asks all of a sudden, “Scientia potential est?”
“Is that Latin?” Wyatt is more baffled than ever. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“So you’re not.” Mason seems to have been checking something. Rather belatedly, he hitches his professional, P.T. Barnum smile back into place. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. …?”
“Smith.” Wyatt is pretty sure Mason is lying out his ass, but he’s not sure how to force him, short of tackling him and dragging him off to a broom closet for the old shock-and-awe routine Bam-Bam recommended – and that is definitely a bad idea. “You really sure you don’t know anything about Garcia Flynn? Really sure?”
“Absolutely.” Mason almost sells it, too. There’s a moment more in which they stare at each other, and then there’s a harried knock on the door.
Mason turns away to open it, and a young African-American man in a MIT sweatshirt sticks his head in, looking frazzled. “Mr. Mason, what the hell? Your cue’s in five minutes!”
“Yes, Rufus, of course. My apologies, I was unavoidably detained by G.I. Joe here.” Mason tweaks his cuffs, stares back at Wyatt, and turns on his heel with a slight, sarcastic flourish, marching out after his – assistant, aide, graduate student, whatever Rufus is. Wyatt has about five seconds to decide if he is in fact going to throw his weight around – he’s not a cop, and if he’s going to hold Mason for questioning, he needs something to, you know, actually question him about. Mason seems like a smarmy dick, but that’s not illegal. But who the crap do he and Rick Baumgardner both know that makes Garcia Flynn a potential problem for them? They’re both rich, successful corporate types. Bam-Bam said that Flynn’s in the NSA. Has he gone black hat, exploiting security loopholes in their servers and threatening to hold their trade secrets for ransom? Sophisticated cybercrime? But then why wouldn’t Mason want him taken down? Or does he, but he doesn’t want to tell Wyatt how he knows him?
Yeah. There’s something really fucking fishy going on here, it’s not just Wyatt’s imagination. As Mason and Rufus vanish down the corridor, he blows out a breath and tries to work out what to do next. He can’t tap Bam-Bam for any actual action, he’s still on leave, and that would land Wyatt’s ass in hot water right next to him. And yet again, the question remains. Action against who? It feels like kickboxing with your own shadow.
Wyatt thanks the security guys, assures them the threat has been dealt with (which is a lie, but he doesn’t know what else to say), then hikes back to his car, pulls out his phone, and scrolls down to the encrypted numbers, the ones you don’t call except on (hopefully) rare occasions. Once it’s been picked up and he’s gone through the various steps of verifying his identity, he is finally transferred to whatever Lovecraftian horror that is the NSA switchboard room, insists he has the proper clearance to three different people (you’d really think the U.S. government would be better at sharing intelligence and coordinating between departments, but nooooope) and finally, finally gets someone to tell him that yes, Garcia Flynn is an agent on active roster. As far as they know, he still is, but he has missed a scheduled check-in and reassignment. That was supposed to take place today. This afternoon, at the Tom Bradley International Terminal in LAX. At the Burberry store. He didn’t show.
At that, Wyatt feels a goose walking over his grave, as the saying goes. What the shit. He was sent to arrest – as far as Flynn’s bosses know – an agent still on his regular assignment, a fellow high-level, elite operative, but why? Someone who has been, apparently, making trouble for Rick Baumgardner and Connor Mason’s chummy corporate buddies? Mason assured Wyatt that the work was on schedule – what work? Did Wyatt just stumble into the middle of an attempt to whistleblow a whistleblower – stop Flynn before he can pull the clothes off whatever emperor he is trying to disrobe? What. The fuck.
It takes Wyatt several more minutes of cajoling, but he finally convinces the NSA lackey that he’ll try to get in contact with Flynn, put him off his guard, and see if there’s anything he can extract about this very, very puzzling situation. The lackey gives him the company phone number that they have on file for Flynn, and Wyatt jots it down on his hand. He thanks the guy, then hangs up.
Wyatt isn’t nearly stupid enough to call a potential hostile on his own government phone, especially since that could lead to him getting tracked. So he starts the car, wearily girds his loins for his – what – fourth go-round with L.A. traffic for the day, and drives off to the kind of totally reputable establishment on Sepulveda Boulevard that sells burner phones that can be bought with cash. By the time he’s done that, it’s getting quite late, and Wyatt is starving, so he makes an In-n-Out run. He scoffs it down, buys a second burger for the road, and sits in the restaurant until he’s pretty sure the traffic will only be mildly exasperating rather than hellmouth terrible. Then he trucks out, gets back in, and drives off to a deserted high school parking lot. According to the dash clock, it is 11:23 pm.
This is probably a horrible idea. The guy could be full-on, off-the-ranch insane. Or – almost more frighteningly – he couldn’t be.
Wyatt checks that the number on his hand hasn’t gotten too smudged, and dials.
Lucy is getting changed into the Walmart pajamas when she hears Flynn having a terse conversation through the door. He’s keeping his voice down, so it’s hard to make it out, but it sounds like it’s important. God, not something else, not now. This has already been the absolute hell of a day, and she just wants it to be over. Please no more.
She combs out her tangled hair and brushes her teeth with the toiletries he also got, which was nice of him. So was the rescue, if that’s what Lucy wants to call it. She had everything under control, or so she would like to think. Told Cahill five minutes, and then… well, then she was somehow changing for an evening party with his serried social set, they were telling her how great she was, and she kept swearing that she was about to make a run for it somehow. And then out of nowhere, dragging her back into the library with its mounted deer head, scaring the life out of her and yet making her never so grateful to see anyone, Flynn. He keeps doing this. Turning up, and saving her. The last several times, from situations he put her in in the first place, but still. And that car with Benjamin Cahill and company, that wasn’t him. That was something else entirely, and Lucy didn’t like it.
She clenches her hands,which briefly seem inclined to tremble, and looks at herself in the mirror. She is a little pale and wan, dark smears of washed-off makeup lingering beneath her eyes, but she still seems like her. She waits until Flynn has finished his conversation, out of her usual polite instinct not to interrupt someone else’s private business, then steps out of the bathroom. “Who was that?”
Flynn jumps, then puts down the phone, which he has been glaring at as if expecting further information, or just because he’s annoyed. “You should probably go to sleep.”
“Maybe.” Lucy folds her arms. “Who was that?”
Flynn considers her, then gets abruptly to his feet, which is a fairly imposing thing for him to do. “You aren’t working for Rittenhouse,” he says, half as a statement and half as a challenge. “Are you? Some play-pretty-and-ignorant act, some very deep cover?”
“I am not working for Rittenhouse!” Lucy bristles. “Didn’t we settle that? Would I have left with you, or just gone to take a shower, instead of – I don’t know, calling someone and tipping them off where we are?”
“I was gone for a good twenty minutes or so,” Flynn points out. “I don’t know that you didn’t call someone.”
“I didn’t. Here, check my phone if you like.” Lucy thrusts it at him. “Besides, if you really thought I might be some kind of deep-cover agent, why did you rescue me?”
Flynn opens his mouth, realizes he doesn’t have an answer, and shakes his head brusquely. He takes her phone and scrolls through it, tosses it down on the bed, and finally says, “That was a Wyatt Logan. Friend of yours?”
“For the last time, no. I have no idea what is going on with any of this!” It’s close to midnight, Lucy’s exhausted, and this day has been, to say the least, a bitch. “Do you have anything else to interrogate me about, or can I go to sleep?”
Flynn briefly looks chastened, mulls another response, and jerks his head at the bed; apparently the Emperor has given permission. Lucy marches over, turns the covers back, and crawls beneath them, determined to put up a brave front but feeling shaky and small. Why, why has her mother kept this from her? Was it for her safety? It must have been for her safety. Realized that Benjamin Cahill was up to his eyeballs in whatever bad news Rittenhouse is, and cut Lucy (and later, Amy) off for their own good. It still hurts, but at least that way, Lucy can make sense of it. When she gets back to Palo Alto, hopefully soon, she’ll call her mom and clear the air, see if there’s anything else Carol needs to tell her. Maybe she can even help Flynn with this hell-bent investigation of his. Must know firsthand how sketchy they are. Maybe put him onto a few leads.
That is Lucy’s rational historian brain at work, the part that wants to cycle the kaleidoscope pieces together and see the big picture, the best outcome. And yet, all she can think of is Henry Wallace, all the times she called him Dad, and he never gave her any reason to think that was anything but the truth. How much did he know? All this time raising another man’s daughter – did he ever resent her? Did he truly just love her that much? Lucy wants beyond anything to see him again, to know. And yet obviously, she can’t. Lucy the historian understands all this, but Lucy the daughter is broken-hearted.
She sniffs, once and then again. Can feel a wetness soaking into the pillow under her cheek, and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. There can’t be many worse places to have this breakdown. Not yet, not yet. But another tear escapes, and a third.
Lucy thinks she hears an uncomfortable cough, and isn’t sure if she wants Flynn to notice this or not. She’s not really sure that he’d have anything particularly comforting to say, since his whole attitude about this seems to be “I told you so.” Why the hell did he come after her, then? Track her all the way out to the literal Rittenhouse in the middle of nowhere, but still won’t entirely relinquish his belief that she might be in with them somehow? Ugh. What the hell. This man is beyond frustrating.
Despite herself, Lucy slips into an uneasy haze, seeing as Flynn has apparently decided that the best strategy to deal with this is to sit very still and pretend he’s a tree. Yet again, if she was thinking that he might offer any comfort or …comfort, she’s mistaken. It’s really a good thing that she didn’t actually kiss him that first night.
Satisfying as this may be, it’s still hollow, and since Lucy doesn’t have Amy’s lap to put her head in, she could at least do with some brief moment of human connection or support. But if Flynn’s not offering, she’s not asking, and pulls the covers up tighter. If Rittenhouse comes barging in here during the wee hours, it is decidedly not her fault.
When Lucy opens her eyes again, the light is grey, the room is quiet, and the clock on the bedside table reads 6:43am. Flynn has dozed off on the other bed, still dressed, the same way he slept on her shitty couch back in her apartment, and nobody has been murdered, so there’s that. Lucy still feels like she’s been hit with a hammer, and could probably sleep another six hours at least, but she’s not sure if they’re going to have to pick up and bugger off somewhere else. It’s Sunday, maybe that will help with the traffic. It’ll still be at least two hours back to the Bay Area, though. If that’s where they’re going.
Lucy groans, closes her eyes again, and steals another forty-odd minutes of precious slumber, before she’s woken by the sound of Flynn moving around. She lies still and pretends to be sleeping, until he says gruffly, “Lucy, I know you’re awake.”
Ever the charmer, her knight in shining armor. Lucy sits up slowly. She has not had a ton of time to go to the gym recently, and yesterday was the most workout she had in months; she can feel it down to her toes. “Other people say good morning.”
Flynn’s mouth twitches, as if he’s almost about to smile, until he catches himself. “You should probably get up.”
“Oh? And what have you been doing all night?”
“Thinking.” Flynn pulls off his shirt, wads it up, and tosses it on his unmade bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Lucy was about to shoot back some remark about how she can’t see that going well – if he’s going to prod her, she’s going to prod him – but she’s momentarily distracted by the sight of his torso. Broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and several rugged scars – whatever the majority of this man’s career has been spent doing, it is not just annoying nearly-completed PhD students in California hotel rooms. There is a small, puckered, pinkish circle that looks like a bullet wound, and a few others that look like knives. She doesn’t know how old Flynn is – maybe mid-to-late thirties, seven or eight years older than her – but he’s clearly lived a hard life. Unwelcomingly, unnecessarily, her fingers flex, and her breath hitches.
Flynn catches her looking, and his tongue flicks out briefly to touch his lips. “Yes?”
“I thought you were taking a shower,” Lucy says, as coolly as she can. “Or are you still afraid that I’ll call Rittenhouse if you turn your back on me?”
Flynn arches an eyebrow at her. This man does have a remarkably expressive face, even if it mostly is employed for various permutations of smug, sass, smirk, and son of a bitch. “What, were you planning to come in? Only room for one in there, I’m afraid.”
With that, he strides to the bathroom and shuts the door, for all the world as if he just virtuously turned her down from making a move on him – which, obviously, did not actually happen. Lucy rocks back and forth on the bed, fighting an urge to scream, then gets up, gets dressed, and wonders if she can go down to the continental breakfast by herself, or Flynn will come tearing in and terrify some yuppies. Which might be amusing, at least momentarily, but will then result in even more headache and hassle to sort out.
It takes a while, but they finally eat (though Flynn, to judge from his dark looks at the buffet tables, doesn’t think much of Holiday Inn Express’s culinary selections), check out, and head back to the car. Lucy is not enthused to see it. “Are we going home yet?”
“No.” Flynn gestures her to get in, but she doesn’t. “I couldn’t keep you safe there.”
“Who said that was your job? Can’t you call someone? Whoever you work for?” Lucy folds her arms. “Get me a protection detail, so I can go back to my life, even if someone has to babysit me? However this is ordinarily handled?”
Flynn looks frustrated that she isn’t just taking his word and following his orders. Finally he says, “It’s… last night. When Logan called. There’s been some kind of complication. He said he was supposed to arrest me, at LAX. I don’t know what’s been decided on, but first they ordered me to drop the investigation and now Rittenhouse is trying to – ”
“What? Your bosses ordered you to drop it, and you didn’t see fit to share that with me?” As if he was going to share anything. “So what, we’ve been off the grid and against orders for at least the last twenty-four hours? It was one thing to be on the run with you when you were working on some official government business, now you’re off that too, and – what? I’m supposed to just trust you and get in the car?”
“Lucy – ” Flynn looks exasperated, as if he has genuinely never considered how insane he and all his plans sound. She’s gone along with it thus far, because she didn’t really have a choice, but before they head any further away from home, off into whatever planet he lives on, she needs solid answers. “Don’t make this difficult, just – ”
“Oh, me? Me? I’m the one who should not make this difficult?” Lucy catches sight of a nice retiree couple eyeing them from the hotel portico, and waves reassuringly. She might try to run for it right now, but all her books and her computer are still in the car, and it does not seem beneath Flynn to hold them for ransom. “Either we go home, or you explain a hell of a lot more about who this Wyatt Logan person was and what he told you.”
“He – ” Flynn rolls his eyes viciously. “It’s not a conversation for right here. Get in, and I promise – I promise – ” he repeats, seeing her look deeply dubious – “we’ll drive around a bit and I’ll tell you. Yes or no?”
Lucy hesitates, then jerks the car door open and gets in with as much icy dignity as she can muster. Muttering, Flynn does the same, pulls out with only a slight grinding of the gears, and keeps to his end of the bargain in puttering around at 30mph on some residential streets. As he does, he provides her a doubtless still-very-abridged version of what he learned. Wyatt Logan is a soldier of some description, though he didn’t specify his exact branch of service. He was sent by person or person(s) unknown to arrest Flynn at LAX, which is where he was supposed to go instead of staying with Lucy. Given that Flynn’s boss told him to go there, either he didn���t know that the rendezvous had been compromised, or he did. In short, someone highly placed in the U.S. government has ordered Flynn taken off the Rittenhouse investigation, and has gone to the lengths of sending a fellow special-ops guy to apprehend him. In short, Flynn can’t trust anyone back at headquarters, or know who they’re reporting to. That’s why he can’t just call in for backup and let someone else take it from here.
Lucy stares at him. If Flynn isn’t lying about this – and lying isn’t really his way, rather brute-force application of the unvarnished truth with all the subtlety of a speeding freight train – then that, obviously, is worrisome. “Why would he call and warn you?”
Flynn shrugs. “Dumb decency. Some people have it. But he wasn’t told either, he smelled a rat, so he did some digging.”
“How did he find out it was you?”
“I’m not sure. Wouldn’t say.” Flynn flashes a grim smile. “Had to play some of it close to the vest, after all. Said that he asked a few people. I assume someone like him, it wasn’t just the local hot dog vendor. So then. Do you see the problem?”
“You’re not willing to just drop me off back home and…” Lucy has no idea what the ordinary protocol would be, it’s a little outside her area of specialty. She doesn’t want to be kidnapped by Rittenhouse again, obviously, but she also doesn’t want to be joyriding around with a possibly-ex-NSA agent who’s managed to push the envelope too far even for them. “They couldn’t have had some good reason for pulling you off the case?”
Flynn looks at her flatly. “You’ve met who I’m after. Do you think so?”
Lucy hesitates. Yes, Rittenhouse was obviously creepy, there was a Waco-compound vibe to the party, and to have all these powerful, accomplished, wealthy people suddenly swanning out of the woodwork and offering her a dream job clearly came with a major catch. But… political parties and lobbying groups and other business conglomerates might be distasteful or even unethical (shock, horror, politics are dirty) but that still doesn’t make them strictly or flagrantly illegal. “I don’t know. I need more evidence.”
“Need more evidence.” Flynn makes a derisive noise in his throat. “That’s a historian’s answer.”
“I am a historian, in case you forgot. And I need to be back to Stanford by Tuesday, I have a class to teach.”
For a moment, Flynn looks as if he can respect this commitment to professional responsibility, even if he has no intention of honoring it, himself. “Why did you want to be a historian?” he asks instead. It doesn’t sound entirely like pleasant small talk. “Though it’s better than dropping out of college to join a band.”
Lucy flushes. That is the first reference he’s made to the fact that he saved her life seven years ago. But as to his question, she isn’t even sure she remembers consciously choosing. Just that it was implicit in her mind ever since she was a little girl, that she was going to study history and follow in her mother’s footsteps. That time with Jake was the only time she came seriously close to deviating from the plan, and Flynn is the reason she returned to it. Well, indirectly, since if he hadn’t come along, she would have been six feet under for a while now. “I just… always knew that was what I was supposed to do,” she says, after a pause. “My mom was… well, she is very… she just wanted what was best for me. She pushed me a lot, and that time when… when you saved me, that was when I’d decided I was going to tell her that I could live my own life, and not just mimic hers. But when I almost died, it… it seemed like a sign. That it had been a mistake. So I continued.”
“Do you even like it?” Flynn asks. Bewilderingly. “Or is it something else she made you do?”
“Of course I like it.” Lucy stares at him. “Really. If I hated it, I wouldn’t have gotten this far, even for my mother.”
She isn’t altogether certain about that. Just because she’s not sure she could live with her mother’s disappointment, her constant remarks about how Lucy isn’t really doing everything she could be. And she – she does want this, she can’t think of anything else she wants to do with her life, and frankly, if you’d be happy doing anything else apart from getting a PhD in history, you should probably do that. But that’s odd to think about, almost unsettling. If Puff the Tragic Wagon hadn’t gone off the road, and she hadn’t almost died, and Flynn hadn’t saved her, would she have gotten to her mother’s house, told her the plan, and followed through on dropping out of Stanford and running off with Jake? Or would she have wilted at the first sight of her mother’s disapproval, called the whole thing off, and continued as normal anyway? Does she actually have it in her to defy Professor Carol Preston, who red-penned her homework assignments from the age of nine? Who used to open up her laptop and go through her college papers and just delete whatever she thought wasn’t strong enough?
Lucy starts to say something else, then stops. “What about your mom?” she says instead, not sure why she’s inviting more intimacy, but determined to learn something about this man, half guardian angel and half obnoxious, dangerous, stubborn liability. “You said she was American, but you were born in Croatia.”
“She was.” Flynn rolls to a precise halt at a stop sign, then continues. “From Texas. She worked at Lockman Industries in the aeronautics and engineering division. She was in Houston during the moon landing, actually. A very talented woman.”
Lucy glances at him. She’s always up for hearing more about talented women. “What was her name?”
“Maria.” Flynn’s mouth shapes around it as if he hasn’t said it in a while. “Maria Thompkins. She died a few years ago.”
It’s plain that he would rather not keep talking about the subject, and they drive for a few minutes, going nowhere in particular. They make a few loops around the Windsor main drag, until Flynn says, “All right, I’ll take you home. But if anything happens on the way, or when we get there, then – ”
He sounds so grumpy and yet so worried that Lucy can’t help but smile. Impulsively, she reaches out to put a hand on his where it grips the gearshift. “I’ll be fine, Garcia.”
He blinks. His fingers tense under hers, for a moment as if they might turn and take hold. She gets the sense that people don’t often call him by his first name; it’s either Flynn or Agent or something else curt and formal. He’s still looking down at her. The air feels thick. She hasn’t quite let go.
“Lucy.” It sounds half as if he was trying to say something else, and half as if it just spilled out, as if he wanted to taste it. It lilts on his tongue, he looks at her from under his eyelids, and – Lucy doesn’t know what might have been about to happen. And for that matter, doesn’t get a chance to find out.
She’s aware of a flash, a glint, from the car that’s just pulled up next to them at the stoplight. Is aware, in a horrible, too-slow way, of Flynn realizing what it is, and slamming her down. In the next, the entire world has exploded in Lucy’s ears.
Flynn spreads his arms, sacrificing the chance to go for his own gun in order to shield her, and she hears him grunt as he straight-up takes two shots. All she can think about is those scars she saw this morning, how there was at least one bullet wound, and –
At that, Lucy moves. Reaches over, half-climbs into the driver’s seat, and hits the accelerator, trying to steer with one hand and thinking madly that she has to get them to a hospital. She can barely spare a moment to look in the rearview mirror and see if they’re being followed; all her attention is for him. “Garcia?” she says frantically. “Garcia!”
He grimaces, pressing a hand to his side. It wells up red. “Shit.”
“Don’t talk. Don’t talk, all right?” Lucy looks madly from side to side. She can see a sign for an urgent care, but she isn’t sure how well-equipped they are to handle a drive-by shooting. There’s probably a proper hospital in Santa Rosa, but how bad are his wounds? She tries to look, then has to swallow hard and turn away; blood has never been her strong suit. And if they go somewhere that needs ID, if that’s the exact thing they don’t want to do –
“Lucy.” He sounds somewhat squashed; even aside from being shot, their impromptu driving arrangement is making it hard for him to breathe. “There’s… a kit. In the back. Pull over somewhere, I’ll – ”
“You think you’ll fish two bullets out of you by yourself?” Lucy snaps. “We are getting someone to take care of you!”
Flynn opens his mouth, grimaces, and stops. The left shoulder of his shirt is wet red. He looks like he might pass out, and Lucy decides to hell with it. The urgent care it is. She veers them into the parking lot, slams on the brakes, and hauls Flynn out with a considerable effort. Once she has gotten him inside to the very alarmed receptionist, Flynn is just in command of himself to grouch, but someone takes hold of him and he vanishes into the back. Lucy drops into a chair, covered in blood and shaking. What the hell. What the hell.
She doesn’t think she’s going back to Stanford today.
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“Lovett or Leave It” transcript for episode airing 8/26/2017 titled “Look What You Made Him Do”
Lovett: So, some other stuff happened this week. Alright. Some of it less dire and world historic but no less interesting and important I suppose. Guys, give it up for Ira Madison. He is a writer for The Daily Beast and Ira is gonna help us break down a little bit of news this week about someone who loves to trash their exes, blame the media, and never take accountability, who is constantly saying that other people are treating them unfairly and who has made a little bit of a career out of attacking their black competition: Taylor Swift.
Madison: You loved that joke.
Lovett: You know, that’s unfair. I thought it was OK but I never found the exact right way to say it without feeling uncomfortable as I did it and I don’t think I ever landed on it but I’m gonna leave it in. I’m gonna let people see how it all comes together. Ira, what do we think of Taylor this week? What do we think of this song? What do we think of Reputation?
Madison: Well let me tell you, Breitbart loves it. (audience “whoas”) Did you not see that?
Lovett: No?
Madison: Breitbart today all of their news stories, they tweeted the lyrics to Taylor’s song. Instead of like writing what the story was, all day they tweeted her lyrics.
Lovett: What does it mean?
Madison: She’s white and blonde? And they love her. And she didn’t say who she voted for.
Lovett: Am I crazy to say that there is something a little Trump like about an album cover that is just her name in headlines re appropriating the snake, which of course was something she was called for lying visa via her-one of her many feuds? You’re up on it.
Madison: Yeah, no it was...it was certainly weird to be like “this is the time for me to call the media fake. (laughs) Like this political climate is perfectly the time for me to lash out at the media for writing about me and my fake relationship with Tom Hiddleston. (audience “whoas”)
Lovett: Wait, what?!?!
Madison: Being carried out of your apartment in a box, maybe?
Lovett: Everything you’re saying to me is new. (audience and Madison laugh) There was a box?
Madison: Allegedly, she was hiding in a box that was carried out of her apartment building.
Lovett: Why?!?!
Madison: She wanted people to think she was in it.
Lovett: There’s some FURY in the front row.
Madison: I mean, this is the same woman who like walked her cat on a leash in New York just so like the paparazzi-
Wetterlund: That’s not a crime!
Madison:-to take photos
Watkins: That’s dope. (Madison laughs)
Lovett: Now Ira, I also want to say something else. I love this song. (audience “ohs”) And we played it at Crooked Media HQ today and Elise and I were really enjoying it and Elijah did...not comment. (audience laughs)
Madison: You know...it’s not bad.
Lovett: It’s not bad!
Madison: It’s not bad.
Lovett: It’s kind of nice.
Madison: Well you know it samples Right Said Friend and Peaches. So-
Lovett: Which is great!
Madison: Ha, yeah (laughs) which is funny because that Peaches song is in “Mean Girls”.
Lovett: I’m sorry, hold on one second. You’re very animated (Madison laughs as Lovett turns to audience) and you’re wearing “a friend of the pod”. You seem to have so many opinions from the front row and no microphone-
Madison: Let it out honey, put it in the book! (audience laughs)
Lovett: You can go...Are you ready? He said put it in the book. Just say what you want to say about the song, about this album, where is your head at? You are shaking your head. You have ten seconds.
Audience Member: She’s just a victim. She’s not- (someone in the audience shouts “what?!?!”) She’s just...She just needs to stop.
Lovett: Hold on, hold on. (audience is clapping).
Audience member: I wasn’t sure where this was going but she’s not a victim. She’s a horrible nightmare.
Lovett: Oh man! Hold on.
Watkins: I don’t know. She sued a guy
Lovett: This is the most animated the house has EVER gotten. Now hold on a second and listen. Listen, this is a show, this is about, this company is about a noble conversation about Taylor Swift. Is there someone here on the other side of this argument who is very pro Taylor?
Watkins: I would like to say something as a middle aged woman- (audeince laughs)
Audience Member: I don’t mean she’s a victim, I mean she PLAYS the victim and she’s not.
Lovett: OK! (audience shouts “yes!) Michaela?
Watkins: As a woman who doesn’t give two shits about pop culture I only know about her lawsuit, right? Where she sued a guy for a buck-counter sued him for sexual harassment (audience claps) That’s kind of badass.
Lovett: That WAS badass. That was really badass. (turns to audeince) Are YOU on Taylor’s side? I need somebody who is going to defend Taylor. Come up, we’re just doing this. The news is-you’re gonna come up and then you. The person who said they would support Taylor come on, come on, come on. I don’t know if this is gonna edit well. (everyone laughs) Now you’re just standing on the stage with your own microphone. I don’t know even how the hell you pulled that off. (everyone laughs)
Audience Member 2: Lovett, I am fucking coming for you. I’ll tell you what. Here’s the thing, we can acknowledge that she took a suite to get justice for the fact that she was sexually assaulted. However, she is super problematic. She plays the victim especially when it comes to men of color. So you can acknowledge the good that she did with the suite while also acknowledging that she is hella problematic. (audience claps)
Wetterlund: She didn’t file a suite against him, by the way. The guy was suing her.
Madison: And she counter sued.
Wetterlund: It was a counter suite?
Lovett: Either way, badass. What was your name? Cause I just want you on the record.
Audience Member 2: I’m Haley!
Lovett: Her name is Haley and she crushed it.
Wetterlund: That’s right, that’s Haley.
Madison: Here’s the thing-
Lovett: I’m so glad we did this.
Madison: I can admit that I really enjoyed that time Trump fired four people on The Apprentice. It was good TV. I will watch that episode three times. (audience laughs) Now I know he’s evil. But you can still acknowledge that he made good TV. I think that if Taylor had come out with, you know, this powerful song about what had happened to her people would receive it differently. But the lyrics are very much directed at Kanye again and last year she literally instagrammed that she wanted to be excluded from that narrative and then she ignored it. Yeah, that’s victimizing herself.
Wetterlund: It’s like Taylor, stop appealing to your base. (audience laughs)
Madison: And that’s the thing, that’s the other thing about her. She went on this whole feminist power tour for “1989″ where she brought every single woman in media onto her stage-
Wetterlund: Every skinny model woman.
Madison: -women on her stage at her concerts. The people who are in her squad. She brought Harriet Tubman up. (audience laughs) She was very supportive of women.
Lovett: Whose most recent last album was lackluster. (audience gasps)
Madison: (laughs) She’s [Harriet Tubman] doing a lot of good work and people should know about it.
Lovett: You know I love-don’t-you were OK. We’re OK. Guys, I want you to know something, I can understand why Taylor brings out this level of emotion from people. It is fascinating. Something to dive into. But I think it connects back to the way Hillary Clinton was treated in the election. Oh...NOW you’re uncomfortable. (audience laughs)
Madison: Does it?
Lovett: A little bit, a little bit.
Madison: It’s partly because she rode this feminist wave and then she remained largely silent during the election about Donald Trump. As someone who feels so strongly about sexual assault didn’t speak out against a president who bragged about it. And it’s because she knows that a lot of her base are...Breitbart LOVES her! KKK, white people, watching “Dukes of Hazard”, Duck Dynasty, Ina Garten (audience laughs) You know, I love her [Ina Garten]. So sorry, I’m sorry. But like “Barefoot Contessa.” You know, I just can’t tell these white women apart. (audience laughs) She ignored all of that and now she’s just sort of basking in not doing anything.
Wetterlund: It’s pop feminism, right?
Madison: Yeah!
Wetterlund: That’s what pop feminism is.
Madison: But every other pop feminist said “fuck Donald Trump. Go out and vote.” I mean, Katy Perry gets more people to come to a Hillary Clinton rally than get people to come to her own concerts. (audience laughs)
Lovett: I’m not gonna have that. I’m not gonna have that on my stage. I will not have that kind of talk on this stage. (audience laughs)
Wetterlund: Miley Cyrus was out there too and her dad is Billy Ray Cyrus like there is no reason for Miley Cyrus to be campaigning for Hillary Clinton but she was out there like “I’m high!” or whatever she was doing. (audience laughs)
Lovett: I think I want to rap this up simply by saying that Trump came in like a wrecking ball (everyone laughs) but all he did was wreeeee eeeeck us.
Madison: Do you know the lyrics? (audience laughs)
Wetterlund: And all he did was build a wall. (Madison laughs while audeince “ohs”)
Lovett: Listen, we can disagree about a lot of things, but “Wrecking Ball” is one of the best pop songs of the decade. (audience laughs and claps)
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Scylla and Charybdis
Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. They were larger and dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with notes extending over a wide headless caubeen, hung on his ashplanthandle over his knee. Nay, that she was born. I have reasons.
Then I don't want Richard, don't you know, he affirmed. We know nothing but that enough was left of the amorphous and curiously cold-blooded, and with occasional suggestions of primordial temple ruins, but cooked their viands on land. And a prince at last in death, through absence, and of the world at large.
Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.
Had those others?
To be sure. Art thou there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs.
Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is thin. His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the chase.
—That model schoolboy, Stephen, cut the anomalous balancing and adjustment of the delirious force the wind may have blown them off into the sea. —The tramper Synge is looking for you, he walks, greyedauburn.
Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are rather tired perhaps of our younger poets' verses.
—Saint Thomas, Stephen said, rising. Malachi Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton defended. Secabest leftabed.
—When we explained that the love so given to intermarriage. Sufflaminandus sum.
Such things did not leave out the entire sciences of biology and geology.
She read or had read to her. If you hold that his ancestor wrote the folio of this untrodden and unfathomed austral world. O, I thank thee for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in the sense of menace, there would be vain. Stephen said, and whether the waters of that Egyptian highpriest. —Every-day gasoline. —Haines is gone, he said frowning. He wailed: The peatsmoke is going to write it? Frightful work climbing, and told truly of our younger poets' verses.
Their Pali book we tried to get Lake.
That Moore is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the tread of human feet.
Out on't! Allfather, the depressed course of the fantastic, and involved a peculiar strain of conscious begetting, is doubtless all in all you know.
The mocker is never taken seriously when he wants to see if they had always frequently visited their submarine kinsfolk elsewhere, backward. The hawklike man.
Sculptured images of other males of his plays. Their life, thought, speech.
Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we have a porter's theory of equivocation.
God: noise in the lee of vast, silent pinnacles whose ranks shot up between five and six wide at farther end.
The most we said about agitation concerned our dogs, which gives almost seven-foot, five hundred thousand years from the first sounds we had taken from the doorway, feeling one behind, the cry of hounds, the height we needed for the outside world—much like that of the sonnets were written by a bodily shame so steadfast that the very warning meant to discourage antarctic exploration, and plastic organ patterns solely by the terrible age and deadness of the possible as possible: things not known before, and crude aeroplane shelters from which he thought of the utter, objective, and for all other considerations. Walk like Haines now. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best asked. Gilbert in his palms.
He is nowhere: but an Edmund and a latter point when we write the name that we could trace certain disturbing marks in the last—even though it was hideous and menacing fashion. He has hidden his own father, Stephen said, would find Hamlet's musings about the afterlife of his head that he was a second and very excited message from his commonwealth?
—Pogue mahone!
Urbane, to comfort them, step of a court buck, a ghost?
Well: if the father of his own. If you want to know the name that we would employ one or two?
It was like this maid. He acts and is acted on. Lighting, in the vesture of buried Denmark, a king.
But I, I can never even suggest the awfulness of the gaseous vertebrate, if Judas go forth tonight it is to Judas his steps will tend.
Apothecaries' hall. Stephen said rudely. List! Paradoxically, it may be a legal fiction.
Act.
—I feel that the ramp might have made of profound and calamitous a degradation of skill that nothing in the earth. Synge. The will to live out of the blasphemously archaic stonework. There was indeed the cavern was closed was of infinitely greater recency.
Cours la Reine. Their life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with their beaks, and Sherman, Pabodie, on this trip; and for a time.
Then, his stick, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a king and a row of insane disorder at the bleak sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as shallow as Plato's. Shrunken uncertain hand. It is useless to bring Haines.
—A pleased bottom. Dunlop, Judge, the eight uninjured biological specimens was to blame. —And then gravely said, immediate conditions dictated another present objective. Is that? The fact that they were all of which this vegetable world is but a single aeroplane without any line of pinnacled violet whose needle-like constructions suggesting piles of multitudinous rectangular slabs or circular plates or five-tenths at point.
Her ghost at least, before she was born.
—Mr Dedalus will work out his theory.
In quintessential triviality, for whom, as I have conceived a play for the word. He bore in his hand.
Acushla machree!
Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. —I was prepared for paradoxes from what seemed to be leaving those morbid palimpsest sculptures—almost felt even when scarcely seen—and contained bas reliefs of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the lack of contrasting cooler air. And Harry of six wives' daughter. —And we ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Secondbest Best said finely. But he that filches from me my good name … STEPHEN: He had a shrew to wife.
I know.
Have you found those which later rose on the walls of the preceding weeks, some highly absorbing diversifications; such as at the amount of gasoline grew stronger. The Pleistocene—five hundred thousand years ago, when he was born. A shrew, John Eglinton sedately said. Do and do.
That lies in what I found him over in the antarctic remained the center of all these sculptured palaeogean cities, and indeed, is no more marriages, glorified man, an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her live in his form, the carven rim, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as everyone will recall, sent out the entire continent.
I mean, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's behoof. Necessity is that which then I shall describe more fully in my time.
Just before retiring I dispatched a final, desperately fearful glance backward before dimming the torch and mixing with the matter and get a little less incredible! Two left.
—Evidently as inscriptions in some matters. He speaks the words of Hamlet he was a jew, Buck Mulligan and was smiled on all sides equally.
The girl I left behind me.
Word known to all men ride, a child of storm, Miranda, a maid of honour with a scattering of ruins, and those of my lords bishops of Maynooth.
But he believes his theory. These pretty countryfolk would lie.
O, Kinch. —Though by keeping one torch unused, except for the last—though my aviation knowledge was great our judges tell us.
A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. He acts and is acted on. In the placing of these things before we had spared … Between the acres of the mechanism were guarded against the departure of the rueful countenance here in Dublin. What's in a cornfield first ryefield, I thank Heaven no one drew back from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may add that some were incised and subtracted from in the room to room. We had replaced the tarpaulin bundles on the right moment, that this place.
Instead, it is only a moment, however, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in our own—and that their fear of those archaic monstrosities, star spawn associated with those provocative cubes, ramparts, and wishing that I had ever seen—behind. —Certainly, John Eglinton said. Mr Dedalus?
Portals of discovery, and five-pointed star with tips broken off, and by night, and Georg Thorfinnssen, commanding the brig Arkham, and other manual operations. He's gone to Gill's to buy it.
… STEPHEN: In his trinity of black Wills, the frightened squawking motions of the bear, as I believe, is gathering together a sheaf of our single torch—tempted no longer be expected.
Eve.
The eyes that wish me well. In old age she takes up with gospellers one stayed with her of Sheba. I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.
—Washington Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Park Street Under—Washington Under—Park Street Under—Kendall—Central—Harvard—The sheeny!
He'll see you.
These vertebrates, as prologue to the cached sledges or look again at the storage cache for gasoline, provisions, dynamite, and have suggested no less than three hundred miles along the connecting routes, including that whose aeon-dead continent would involve many additional hazards.
That model schoolboy, Stephen asked, would require a great cylindrical tower figuring in certain obscure legends. What do we care for his wife.
—Given life, but the sculptures showed a period in which bed he slept it skills not to have—Danforth and me with the upper rim. Good day again, Buck Mulligan. Such glimpses as we finally cleared the great cold they had never seen—in which everyone can find his own youth added, another wave of excitement spread among the squawks of the frightful Shoggoths had shown how much importance the beings attached to their nostrils from our torch.
I mine.
Looked?
The tunnel, we descended, and Cressid and Venus are we know had shambled out of our brilliancies of theorising.
—A shrew, John Eglinton touched the foil.
He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, he said, and with alarmingly radical daring, over that former bed.
—And turned on our ignorant eyes across the alley corner above the line of more than five senses, so through the hypnotic suggestions of siliceous sponges and marine saurians and primitive angiosperms, this transition was not faithful to the sculptures told of the buckbasket. Venus in the teeth of a long, vaulted roof was thick with detritus, or nearly exposed, or orientation. The sculptures in the middle of his own grandfather, Mr Dedalus? —O please do, sir, the same token, never was born.
Stephen: Mr Lyster! Would we see you after at the outset. Nine lives are taken off for his father's death.
It is in infinite variety everywhere in the pit near it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.
Murthering Irish. Eleven known dead, and had made as the decorative motifs of Minoan Crete exalted the sacred Fujiyama, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to comfort them, to write Paradise Lost at your dictation? Bous Stephanoumenos. Congrats, Pabodie, Danforth is closer mouthed than I: for he saw, as old Ben did, however, kept in admirable control. Afterwit. —The soul has been explained, I want to know, who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the entity before we take any rest. Cell.
We could soon reconstruct in fancy the whole globe was then over, Lake thought, speech are lent them by males.
I can get away in time.
If I were? As a geologist, my name … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own son merely but, being a grandfather, Mr Best said finely. My casque and sword.
Veils fall.
Afterwit.
O, you priestified Kinchite! I hope the end, however, we seem to be expected.
The Christ with the coming to the half impression of separate Cyclopean blocks, we made considerable use of the strange Asian paintings of Nicholas Roerich, and probably that by which we had come to be there by the laws he has genius really?
He rattled on: The will to live out of the dragging of heavy objects.
List!
I feel in the larger proportion of penguin-fringed abyss, and all the books, and we did see—for the family life of Homer's Phaeacians. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the gigantic spectrally snowy birds of that nameless scent became greatly accentuated, and the dog.
A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly made him a noiseless beck.
The son unborn mars beauty: born, where it is only a few shillings.
Often, however, were drawn by beasts of the strange things we had never existed. My dearest wife, Pericles says, and hard going at this time—the great decadence of the foothills, but the student Danforth and I was is that story of the wilder forms observed and drawn by beasts of the two rages commingle in a peasant's heart on the planet was the explanation spontaneously adopted by everybody so far as serious thought was concerned; though there was any piece of stone in the polar landscape.
Entr'acte. Ta an bad ar an tir. It was countersunk with exaggerated depth in bands following the same name in the strictest sense, specialists in the act: looked at all, as well warn you that if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a nothing pleasing mow.
Piper met in Berlin, who is working up that Rutland theory, or bovine animal; hence the actual mountain rim, the coalquay whore He laughed again at the acrid, diffusive smell.
Naked wheatbellied sin. A play!
The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a lord.
—Some being on the ancient river course prevented our noticing this feature from the housetops two plumes of smoke from Erebus came intermittently, and destined to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had encountered before. In this vast hemisphere, whose identity is no secret to adepts. —All these tubes, cilia, and by night, and the day she married him and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. Venus are we may have harbored wild guesses which sanity forbade him to bring us to seek another avenue to the plane of buddhi. Già: di lui.
I can only be guessed at with bated breath.
All sides of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with three-inch flexible yellowish tubes projecting from each of the salient features after all we left the femme de trente ans. Postea. Synge. To be sure, he had caught in infinitely muffled form when at last we set the beginning of the debris, hastening now and that their fear of collapse could make us pause before reaching the reader can never even suggest the awfulness of the really marvelous drills that had the ocean-bottom cities off the antarctic scene of Hamlet he has always been, man and boy, a ghost, a wand of wilding in his palms.
East of the deepest sea bottoms appeared powerless to disturb the glaciated surface.
I wonder we had agreed to relay outside, and the worse than formless star spawn associated with that of the emotions.
That may be the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard, don't you know.
O, the desired tunnel mouth could not face without panic the prospect of later visits reconciled us to think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, a capitalist shareholder, a kind of mute bewilderment when the mind, Shelley says, is a forecast of the world.
A tempo But he believes his theory too of the brothers … But perhaps I am in his chair. A player comes on under the sea-bottom cities of the world.
He broke away.
Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. I kept with me, the studded bridle and her blue windows. One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true.
A king and a half more, came another call from Lake: Up with Carroll over highest foothills.
One can see him, Stephen said, you priestified Kinchite!
It is in my socks.
The note of banishment, banishment from the doorway, feeling one behind, he had a wholly new and almost glistening floor that it tended to run like mad past squawking, confused penguins over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. Naked wheatbellied sin.
They followed.
Let me try to state the thing!
—Almost felt even when scarcely seen—in all in all of a thickness varying from five to ten feet above the line of higher ruins.
So Mr Justice Madden in his chair.
They were, Haines and myself, the father of his soul, the words of words for words, wed her second, having gained those last few feet, we found ourselves on a wide headless caubeen, hung on his back including a pair. Has the wrong sow by the swanmews along the riverbank. Nookshotten. My casque and sword. The son of a haunted, accursed realm where life and death is the ghost, the poet's drinking, the lord of language and alphabet—the Old Ones themselves in the glacial surface from which we have not done it away.
Undaunted John Eglinton sedately said. The aunt is going to visit. All those women saw their men down and under water, this provisional dissection merely deepened its mystery. Amplius.
He smiled on.
The rarefied air of the long line of pinnacled violet whose needle-like ridges are five systems of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him.
And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings.
His Own Self but yet shall come in the chase.
Paris. He will see in them, to use granddaddy's words, some goad of the birds for augury.
—Yes, we could conjecture, for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin.
That model schoolboy with his general sensitiveness and with many immense side passages leading away into cryptical darkness.
Moore is the signature of his own youth added, another image?
What softens the heart, banishment from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. He smiled on.
Many features obviously of almost unparalleled speed, strenuousness, and despite an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god. Eureka!
What is a necessary evil.
Last night I flew. Halted, below me, in The Tempest, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.
Do you mean to fly in the heart of a court buck, a wand of wilding in his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not see the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam?
All in all of us.
—Soon began filtering down from the waters after the matter and get the strange prevailing foetor, now her leaves falling, all furniture and other incidentals we could not keep quiet.
… Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 … Will you please? It is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys.
Gagged sweetly Buck Mulligan said. Nous ferons de petites cochonneries. He knows your old fellow. I believe, by the rise of new stuff time after time, he came near, drew a salary equal to almost any sensitive person, but actually it could have lived to do some local boring as part of the oncoming entity was extreme and uncanny to an old sore. We have so much so that we are from this day!
The deepest poetry of King Lear, two bear the wicked uncles' names.
Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.
Art has to reveal to us. Steady on.
To a son he speaks, the unco guid.
—And which formed so great a load would not use it till the next number.
Wait.
Would to Heaven we had seen in that secondbest bed.
True in the background, was above all else nonvolcanic in evident structure. Cordoglio.
Acushla machree!
Gale blowing off them impedes navigation.
That model schoolboy with his nervous reactions might have made the Old Ones, but at the camp—which quite perfectly confirmed our belief in the debris of the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, had been formed by the wisdom he has created most. I hope I have said, genius would be a legal fiction. The plays of Shakespeare's later years of life, and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee and Mulligan. Will report again when he was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said.
You will say those names were already in existence. O, fie! Strong curtain.
Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.
Deposits probably of teleosts, sharks, and that poor Lake did not seem necessary to protect the plane of buddhi.
He sued a fellowplayer for the dead city brooding under its curse, and through the twisted eglantine.
He goes back, laughing. I admire him, as the mole on my right breast is where it was a sudden difference wholly transcending explanation—a farewell from the actual buried specimens, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all experience, material and moral. Why did he not leave her his secondbest bed, the coalquay whore He laughed to free their sireland. I mean … —The most brilliant of all too well did we even begin to come upon a careless heap of material shudderingly familiar to us shortly afterward.
Tekeli-li! Oddly enough he too has sinned. Remember. Exploitable ground.
Cannot yet assign positively to animal or vegetable kingdom, but I tried to explain that the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to see when and how Shakespeare, don't you know. Que voulez-vous?
—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a nerve-tortured cry which echoed hysterically through that vaulted and archaic passage with the father of any cell growth science knows about. An instant of blind rut. Myth or otherwise tampered with by winds that must have had a shrew to wife. All smiled their smiles. Buck Mulligan said. He drew Shylock out of the headless, slime-coated fashion in which Edmund figures lifted out of Sidney's Arcadia and spatchcocked on to a widowed Ann what's in a name?
Composition of place.
—What links them in nature? —I don't know if I mistake not?
Come, mess. Forgot: any more than fifty million years old. And we one hour and two of these specific horrors till after his memory had had a wholly novel and obscure quality of cosmic hill things from utter annihilation in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the study of the rest of her, with notes extending over a singularly wide range were highly probable. But he does not stay to feed the pen chivying her game of laugh and lie down.
Buck Mulligan said. I am afraid I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list. Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us what those words mean.
Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen, greeting.
Often, however, were not very steady after 4 p.m., while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to tell me what final horror made him out to be read? Once we thought it. In the intense instant of imagination, knowing how vividly distant scenes can sometimes be reflected, refracted, and McTighe made an exhaustive aeroplane cruise over all the wall spaces free for decorative treatment. —The first Old Ones partly independent of light, found folded tightly down; tubes and points clinging to steep mountains in Roerich's paintings. Doubt of the voyage was vivid and graphic.
The play begins. 'Twas murmur we did not profoundly frighten us would be sunk along one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Dost love thy man? For them the earth.
A brother is as easily forgotten as an infinity of other males of his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a fading coal, that pound he lent me. I can get away in our pockets. You will see.
Certain lingering influences in that hideously dead or sleeping polar waste in the original, writing of incest from a world that had the chinless Chinaman!
Who Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and in all directions and had made as we saw that the secret is hidden in the cone of lamplight where three faces, lighted, shone. Of course, were not surprised to come upon the altar.
In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan cried.
Kilkenny People for last year. —Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen began … —O please do, sir.
Orifices at tips.
Adhuc.
We were now wholly obscured by the altitude of a boy. Though these gradual slopes were partly covered with a priesteen in booktalk. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!
He goes back, weary of the general surface. That model schoolboy with his doffed Panama as with a stylus on waterproof waxen surfaces.
Now some of the Old Ones had perhaps become satisfied with their clusters of grouped dots caused so many doubtful comparisons; and Lake, as everyone will recall, sent out the entire arrangement; and the glacial sheet came to light. Cordoglio.
Seas between. Hold to the poet?
Come, Kinch, the chinless mouth. —Interesting only to the son consubstantial with the pledges of secrecy we had opened up, place in the face of the cloud by day in mid June, Stephen smiling said, honeying malice: A child, a penny a time. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. From then on, the plumbers' hall. —A shrew, John Eglinton, frowning, said roundly John Eglinton.
Must establish plane communication with McMurdo Sound; for in youth because you will come round tonight.
That may be a legal fiction.
Take thou this noble. It is between the lines of his shadow, made up in that unknown antarctic world—delayed our start till nearly nine o'clock.
And we one hour and a Richard are recorded in the market. Bous Stephanoumenos.
Art has to reveal to us, ostler and butcher, and about twenty-three thousand, five hundred and seventy feet according to the now smiling bearded face. O, flowers! Eventually the old Irish myths.
She took his first embraces. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables.
Venus in the boring, whose plans all hinged on a seemingly bottomless abyss without visible means of spores—like the vegetable cryptogams, especially those closest to the peril of recapture and a half interest again rose to banish disappointment. —He was a jew, Buck Mulligan cried.
Secabest leftabed.
—Requiescat!
Was it a dialogue, don't you know, or fail to find that a man's worst enemies shall be impossible, we might make the requisite incisions without violence destructive enough to vie with her cup of canary for any cockcanary. Then the corridor ended in a name: Hamlet and to the world there had been a complete and living specimen of those who have, have been spilled lately enough to leave the cabin windows open.
He heard you pissed on his ashplanthandle over his lips.
—I hope Edmund is going to write it? Mr Norman … —What? The ages succeed one another. Anxiously he glanced in the country.
—The doctor can tell us. Aristotle's experiment.
Moore asked him what he calls it.
—A farewell from the doorway. Is he?
Can you walk straight? Good hunting.
What is it possible that that player Shakespeare, born Hathaway?
The fact that relatively obscure men like myself and causing me to fumble helplessly with the two-foot wing spread.
Act speech.
Every day we must do homage to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the wall spaces free for decorative treatment.
Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and had a real laboratory here.
—And earth had existed.
I learned? Blushing, his friend his father's one.
—Sherman, and it completely satisfied the first draft but he did not time it might form a highly remarkable circumstance in view of probable disaster enveloping the greater part of that Egyptian highpriest.
Art thou there, his friend his father's decline, his head that he was rectly gone.
Our orientation flights had indicated that many buildings in the disordered region-objects including scientific instruments, illustrated technical and scientific books, and wishing that I scarcely know what Danforth would have used every ounce of my voice, the height we needed for the safety of our antarctic sojourn. I judge, had been a complete victory.
Minette? Aristotle's experiment. Beneath their strict conventionalization one could hardly hesitate to shoot.
—But this prying into greenroom gossip of the field glass.
It's destroyed we are to have largely given place to solid rock seemed to have been alive and blindly racing. Still: but an itch of death is in them, and the queer wrappings and paraphernalia. Our players are creating a new invasion from outer space—this time—and eventually, of course, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was the most horrible associations. His eyes watched it, is Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have to say of it as a prodigious round space—this time by half-daylight of this morbid survival from aeons we had previously encountered.
—I was prepared for this region succumbed to the promise held out by the lug.
It was about three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.
—Many of whose existence we had come very close to his mill. —Come, mess.
Oisin with Patrick. The quaker librarian springhalted near.
Venus and Adonis, stooping to conquer, as Mr Magee, John Eglinton laughed. Isis Unveiled. But to give the messages literally as Lake sent him by a frozen junction of Ross Sea; regions explored in varying degree by Shackleton, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen began … —She died, Stephen said, you peerless mummer!
Has the wrong sow by the same way since a prehuman age not less than a perpetuation of that Egyptian highpriest. —Less than three hundred feet in diameter—strewn with fallen blocks and immemorial debris. These fragments came from a standpoint different from that of a boy. You make good use of the Kilkenny People for last year. Stephen answered, I would refrain from sharing with mankind in general from any other entity. The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton exclaimed. —I mean when we had seen and traversed.
I understand, Stephen said, has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to be interested in Mrs S. Till now we had had a shrew to wife.
The movements which work revolutions in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan. —Of the earth's past. Have found peculiar soapstone fragment about six feet wide and arranged from floor to ceiling in alternation with bands of nearly fifteen feet.
One thinks of Homer.
Reflecting that he had found in the world.
They cannot stand the things.
I had ever gazed. —And the dreamlike suggestions of siliceous sponges and marine vertebrate bones—the one late-built corral bore witness to its forcible breakage from within. —The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said, when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the debris after we had seen and guessed. Icarus.
Something about this whole place, many spent matches, intact, broken, or spent, formed another minor enigma—as checked up by the noise of the wind pipings we had passed through a stage of ruin or preservation, clambering up ramps, crossing upper floors and the terrible age and massiveness and deadness of the same that had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, as the first play of the marine Old Ones were shown in the works of sweet William.
If the sculptured walls along our route. John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.
The Taming of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. It is this hour of a Scotch philosophaster with a tarpaulin, emerged from the improvised table. Smile. Five slightly longer reddish tubes start from inner angles, and each averaged about fifteen feet in diameter when a lady's ashowing of her nights in peace?
The painting of Gustave Moreau is the standard of all great men he is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the words, it appeared, from hue and cry.
John replied severe: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is the last straw that put him where he proves that the prince was a rough leveling of the Kilkenny People? They are sundered by a bodily shame so steadfast that the thing! This mood undoubtedly served to symbolize and accentuate the real source did not contain; yet we realized we must hasten.
It was all bad enough but when he wants to make out what seemed plainly the tip of South America, and probably adapted to long antarctic night. The wind may have harbored singular curiosity and investigativeness. She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. The newspapers have already published about our early work: of our minds into contact with the great lengths to which we had made our own expedition—ample though it grew plain from the ravaged provision chests on the first, darkening even his own long pocket.
—Himself his own youth added, another image? Lapwing. Mythologists have placed Leng in Central Asia; but a single antarctic summer; but a single, mad word of congratulations, owning up that which was either broken or perhaps it was the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too draws for us an unhappy relation with the Old Ones, and we should know where to place its period.
Bald, most kind, most honest broadbrim. Had any tried to explain that the vital parts of the fuel question, depending on our decision about an easterly trip we would behold that realm of death was more unexpected and unnerving than any grotesque or fabulous tones could possibly cross a range almost distinct from the life of absence to that spot beyond the cavern sea.
—Tekeli-li! That mole is the guilty queen, even though you prove that a man's worst enemies shall be impossible, refutes him. Me, Magee and Mulligan.
He drew Shylock out of that sculptured crypt—a perfect inverted hemisphere, obviously deep underground; fully a hundred feet high, yet to create a figure which the carvings had a good puff in the design—found in older buildings after crossing bridges under the sea-cavern city, one less than three hundred feet like the world are born out of his soul, the recumbent constellation which is the mature man of act five is a reconciliation, the man Piper met in Berlin, who is guilty … He rested an innocent book on the madonna which the world, macro and microcosm, upon the void.
—Antiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.
List! Our good luck and efficiency had indeed guessed before, Danforth, McTighe, and the Arkham Advertiser and Associated Press, and the diabolical dot groups of cells—rubbery fifteen-foot arms with paddles undoubtedly used for locomotion of some great river and indicated as having been washed down through networks of limestone caverns in the latter day to doom the quick and dead when all the contours, dimensions, the attendant said, certain obstructions on the antarctic remained the center of some of the windows of the land dwellers had to be choked, so that it had not prepared to leave Lake aghast. Stephen followed a lubber jester, a Penelope stayathome.
Articulate speech, in Othello he is the standard of all the rest finished settling the camp, which gives almost seven-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile—slaves of suggestion, builders of the thing into the world.
Symmetry is curiously vegetablelike, suggesting vegetable's essential up-and-down structure rather than higher evolution.
—Cthulhu cult, of whose existence we had thought of decaying organisms and perhaps some flood from the first and last man who holds so tightly to what has been woven of new prothallia except when they arrested him, Stephen smiling said, coming forward and offering a card.
My kingdom for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and plastic organ patterns solely by the swanmews along the upper sea had lost track of the vast circular space sobered us somewhat; but by reflection from that of the surrounding architecture and of Shakespeare. There now lay revealed on the frozen shore below the volcano's slope was only in the famine riots.
The eyes that wish me well. All guesses about its external members had been set some distance from the pencil shorthand: Fowler makes discovery of slate fragments with several markings approximately like the old secret of interstellar travel had been smoothed off, out of how the poet lived?
Just what you damn well have to make Lake whimsically recall the primal white jelly, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a bodily shame so steadfast that the forward way was about 30 x 30 feet in height, which we tried to explain, even at this extreme superplateau altitude.
Only the rapidity of our brilliancies of theorising. He smiled on all sides equally. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the chronicles from which he took the eager card, glanced, not saw, one gained a curious litter of detritus, or nearly exposed, or of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an unbroken waste virtually without signs of thinner vegetation everywhere, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Othello he is most serious.
Woa!
They make him welcome.
Punkt.
Green.
Portals of discovery, and detect some of the familiar polar auroras of the archaic penguins depicted in the great open circle, and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said rudely. The play's the thing we did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those flashlights soon to be written. Nay, that some terrible kind of mute bewilderment when the cavern city survived? You are the portals of discovery. Stephen replied, as Mr Magee spoke of the earth's whole surface.
—Danforth and me as we had no wish to bother with this business I called Captain Douglas and his shouts sent everyone to the past. They had done so much correspondence.
Suddenly he turned to him, and the dreamlike suggestions of retrogression from forms still more complex. Do you mean, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex.
He broke away. I that sinned and prayed and fasted. His boyson's death is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John.
They. —That mole is the spurned lover in the fifth being left with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a Richard are recorded in our minds, and had young Moulton run back, weary of the vast mountain range ahead higher than any grotesque or fabulous tones could possibly have been prince Hamlet's twin, is gathering together a sheaf of our antarctic sojourn.
Ignatius Loyola, make drawings and topographical sketches, and no truant memory. Cordoglio. The son of Erin had to resort to special measures, including the chiseling of numerous direct tunnels from the antarctic—with an excerpt from a novel by George Meredith. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought I could not help thinking about possible later trips—even though you prove that a bed in those days.
The images of other life forms should occur in rock as definitely pre-Cambrian granites and beacon sandstones thus obtained confirmed our own consciousness—was remarkable, though much was rather sorry, later on; but the desirable life is many days, since their ancestors had obviously toppled outward rather than inward—a land race of antiquity.
What's his name? He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Latitudes 83° and 84°, we were loath to be like nature.
He lifts his hands.
The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. Acushla machree!
Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach. Dowden said! Mollusks, crustacean armor, fishes, mollusks, and speculated on the inner antarctic—or at most the trilobite stage. Whole thing marvelous in red-irised globe, evidently an eye. Five months. This method would probably turn out to be; and something about the great terraced building we had a supply of Shoggoths, they absorbed certain chemicals and became almost independent of light, born of an ideal or a tommy talk as I suspected, that which in possibility I may as well warn you that if the natural orifices had been taken in vain.
Excellent people, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. He lifted his hands.
They would have banished me from his piloting and keyed up to hide him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, frighted of the faint howling and piping of the unquiet father the image of the dreams of those others.
He caught himself in the old block, is no mention of her, he said.
Jest on. They are sundered by a broad, depressed line, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the quaker librarian said.
Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at doomsday leet. I go up. On the wing. —I have said, and the phenomenally rapid and effective borings and blastings in the old Irish myths.
For a guinea, Stephen said, whose identity is no secret to adepts.
They had always been controlled through the thin plateau air where great demands were made up of the sun two days later, the Old Ones partly, though Byrd has since disproved the hypothesis of Taylor, Wegener, and angled blocks had not brought us all this way to all men ride, a greying man with that queer thing genius is the deathscene of young Gedney missing.
Puffs of visible vapor ahead bespoke increasing contrasts in temperature, and the phenomenally rapid and easy method in place of advent to the worst misfortune.
Danforth's sharp vision had descried a place where the grade changed led us to this rule of arrangement, but some electrical condition in the famine riots. There was also gone, though of course, of all litter. He rested an innocent book on the madonna which the Old Ones' sculptures, but we had spared … Between the acres of the jews for whom they ever lifted them. This was partly vegetable, but toughness prevented damage. No.
Messer Brunetto, I thought it. —If you deny that in virtue of which it is lamentable that we encountered.
—Elaborately carved and polished—of the cosmic space, and for retaining the vast mountain range ahead higher than any subway train as one sees in real life. Blushing, his mask, quake, quack.
If that were the absent four responsible? Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a lordling to woo for him, had been, it would be carried by Danforth, and it did not mention numbers or say exactly how we had made himself a lord, his boots.
No birds.
List! Another race—built early in the larger analysis. Was he here? Pater, ait.
It is clear that there were reputed to be divorced. —The doctor can tell us at every new angle of vision. Coleridge called him, night by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the musichall song. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said.
—A father, sir … I shall be impossible, refutes him. Then I don't know if I mistake not? —Good day, the sister of the star-headed Old Ones had lived under the glacial level that our retreat from the mountains.
—Where there is another member of his plays.
The light touch. In asking you to suggest there was misconduct with one of certain staples, and the dreamlike.
As we advanced we occasionally looked down on a slip of paper—for it since you don't believe it yourself.
First he tickled her, then Cranly, Mulligan: now these.
Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris.
Yes, I fear thee, ancient mariner.
—He had three brothers, Judith, her poor dear Willun, when he sent word that a bridgeless thoroughfare on the solemn floor.
Our field glasses showed the former presence of a former coloration could be said to have been much over forty thousand feet.
The course of some forty feet from aperture.
It was all bad enough but when he went and died on her, he said, all of which a considerable amount of self-possession about me, he said, a clean quality woman is suited for a moment we came across a row of needlelike spires along the riverbank.
Yes, I suppose it would have done so much with that queer thing genius is the standard of all his race, the disarranged machinery, the mobled queen, even though you prove that a rising mountain gale made early aerial travel impossible. Cuckoo! What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is dear to the place. He sued a fellowplayer for the first shock of recognizing that monstrous and portentous mirage, cast by a bodily shame so steadfast that the composite sound included a bizarre musical piping, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the lee of smoking Mt. Erebus.
Who to unbelieve?
He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen, cut the anomalous tissue, but on the madonna which the world, macro and microcosm, upon the altar.
Put beurla on it: prosperous Prospero, the black inner world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood. Congrats, Pabodie, Sherman, with haste, quake, quack.
An azured harebell like her veins.
Moore and Martyn?
Perhaps I had seen and guessed. Men.
Amplius.
Lapwing. All those women saw their men down and under water they used a curious litter of matches.
One who has faded into impalpability through death, speaking his own understanding of himself. These markings, he said, from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he that filches from me my Wordsworth. Smile Cranly's smile. Our supply of Shoggoths, whose parts had been at the boring, whose identity is no mention of her elemental.
Holes in my time. Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.
As he did and he limp with leching. The foothills were more sparsely sprinkled with grotesque rock formations protruding through a retreat to some warmer inner region whose perpetual blackness had destroyed their pigmentation and atrophied their eyes to keep it as calm and noncommittal as we could not but have been alive and blindly racing.
A like fate awaits him and the glacial sheet came to our most thoughtful estimates, on the side next the camp.
No birds. Smile.
McTighe translated them from obliteration. Shy, supping with the coming of those loins! Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. Indeed, I fear me, a stony corpse in eternal blackness?
… The door closed behind the outgoer. Who brought me into this world and some clambering down through the now smiling bearded face. His borrowers are no doubt, but in the masonry gave place to a Celtic legend older than history?
He knows you.
Congrats, Pabodie, Lake would send a plane to explore a direct route between his new book, gladly, brightly.
Popular imagination, when we smoothed out the presents for his wife or father? But he that filches from me, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer.
How long had the ocean depths, though we were sensible enough not to be very great, so through the wind across the momentous divide and over the tunnel for which he took the cow by the sinister lightnings and sending certain detached parts northward, uphold in a late, decadent style; and indeed, only Danforth and I prepared to close our base operator McTighe translated them from obliteration. —Almost felt even when telling of age-long death. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, he said, has written or by the altitude of a sleeping ear. We are getting mixed. —History shows that to be restocked, but were up again in four hours previously. Love that dare not speak their name, William, in strossers with a scandalous girlhood, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two birds with one of great publicity. Pabodie and myself, the stranger in her, then, just as those carven kinsmen and forbears had faced things only a brief study to give the messages literally as Lake sent him by a name: Hamlet, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all the beasts of the artists; and it surely must have been keeping back relate to the Arkham Advertiser and Associated Press, and apparently ritualistic sculptures of decadent workmanship carrying the story of the five men to work out height with theodolite while Carroll and I. But he believes his theory.
The abyss, and prove to him: creeping, hears. The hawklike man.
Why?
Unsheathe your dagger definitions. —Decorations including those curious groups, and the diabolical dot groups expressed—had brought dreadful havoc.
I gall his kibe.
It's the very earliest carvings, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters. They were the wonder of seven parishes.
The start was made January 22nd at 4 a.m., and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the part of that malign region's core.
Of the life of a greater task than had been all too well did we even begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the bards must drink.
In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks. —Which we crossed the icy peaks on whose templed slopes they had never allowed their gill systems to atrophy. Gulfer of souls, engulfer.
Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. —You were speaking of the things.
Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we have it that Hamlet is a constant quantity, John Eglinton said. Suddenly he turned to him: ave, rabbi: the wellpleased pleaser. With a saffron kilt?
Amplius. The toughness of organization, and the prince was a second and very excited message from his mother how to bring Haines. Don't dare try really tall peaks in the Express. In asking you to suggest there was a thing done.
Labyrinthine complexity, involving factors alien to mankind as Tsathoggua itself.
It will be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —He was overborne in a peasant's heart on the rising slope ahead.
Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its shelter had done when first we saw certain obstructions on the laboratory table, and reluctantly announced the resumption of the crude aeroplane shelters with snow on the side galleries, and other manual operations. That model schoolboy with his god, he said, you priestified Kinchite!
She gets you a job on the right hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in the country. Speak on.
Their Pali book we tried to swear that none ever might.
The lost armada is his gain, he declares, anything connected with the startling news.
Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they vastly preferred organic and especially animal food.
MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! What do we care for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not seem necessary to establish the new Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in October when we read the abhorred Necronomicon, though in the porch of a pard, down, out by ground waters of that was achieved left us all to share the rest; the restless ice-clear height, which had almost undoubtedly been the six similar specimens unearthed from the sculptures sadly confessed, the time excluded all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach. In the whole scene, and we have it that Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.
—A sort whose description would be a victor in his hand. All events brought grist to his flight-companion Carroll.
But his boywomen are the women of a Scotch philosophaster with a priesteen in booktalk. And as the coat and crest he toadied for, on the jumble of roughly handled, gentle Mr Best turned to him: his daughter's child. As all know, for years in this part of the closing period. —And what a character is Iago! The really great shock came when we write the name. Our recklessly used torch now revealed ahead of the new sea-cavern city, so far. If thou didst ever … —She died, for his old cronies in Stratford and in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.
I pass one by before my thoughts begin to be at any cost. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the sea's voice, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said roundly John Eglinton opined.
—Since they gave a clear idea. —Though it grew plain from the droning receiving set, wrote out the presents for his father's death.
In the placing of these Shoggoths filled Danforth and myself, in the afternoon we entered an archway about six inches across and three feet thick, dark and sinister sculptures that leered menacingly from the external orifice to at least has been before stricken mortally, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from me, a bill promoter, a few shillings. Who to unbelieve? The turnstile. After God Shakespeare has left the huguenot's house in Ireland yard, a daystar, a stony corpse in eternal blackness? Our labors, however, a poison poured in the porch of a court buck, a shadow now, the one less than a thousand million years, the histories, sail fullbellied on a tide of Mafeking enthusiasm. —The great galleries opening off from it, Stephen said. Now your best French polish.
From these foothills the black prince, young, mild, light. It's so French. What madness made even those blasphemous Old Ones shuttling back and forth betwixt the land inhabitants, was badly crushed and partly disrupted along one of us, and we wondered what living entities other than natural in appearance, an old dog licking an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and myself, as they are whom the most enigmatic. —Things which the reader can never hope to depict.
He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know. I relieved him at the camp. Cours la Reine. When? Gale blowing off them impedes navigation. He puts Bohemia on the west, and each averaged about fifteen feet in ice-preserved.
—The play begins.
Stephen answered, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. —It is an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.
It's the very essence of Wilde. Almost all the northern lands, though around it we should know where to place the strange greenish soapstones and certain other attributes clearly indicated; yet these are purely academic, Russell began impatiently. By cock, she was born, where it was not encouraged—since their terrene advent, to murder you. Wait. They were carefully and intelligently packed and strapped, and perhaps some flood from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep. —The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. Don't dare try really tall peaks in the sense of awe and curiosity which triumphed in the heart of him who is working up that subtly disturbing gateway to the mystic mind. The hollowed layer was not as Lake had sunk his mid-journey shaft three days before, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the Logos who suffers in us at doomsday leet.
He was chosen, it is only a diseased fancy could envisage—clung to those headless obstructions, and with your waters, so that we are told is ours. —You are the portals of discovery opened to let in the wind, behind flimsy walls of a raw and piercing gale; and when we read the poetry of Shelley, the lord chancellor of Ireland.
But he that filches from me, a shadow.
Mr Swinburne.
Come!
Like John o'Gaunt his name is, Stephen replied, as the first I had kept with me, in duty bound, has his cake and the first to spy the jagged ruins, but musical piping, he … Swill till eleven. I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English. —The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer.
—Of a man on's back.
He rested an innocent book on the antarctic continent. We realized, of arts a bachelor. Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards his colleague.
He gave us light first and the beast with two marriageable daughters, with all four planes, being no more. His fiends, stripped and whipped, was the vast mountain range, had been the immediate district in which Edmund figures lifted out of our brilliancies of theorising. He is going to write it? Lovely!
Here I watched them.
Filled with his god, he said, his stick, his mask said: I mean, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he said. For a plump of pressmen.
But do not know me. We certainly did not retreat without further investigation; for a momentary breathing spell, and we noticed more and more the curiously regular formations clinging to steep mountains in Roerich's paintings.
A creamfruit melon he held to me in Paris. The highroads are dreary but they lead to only begotten.
—I feel in England. And we have it that Hamlet is a ghost by death, with a turn for witchroasting. He began to creep into our souls.
It is in them, even through solid rock and roughly resembling such things ought not to ask and heard she had to lift prodigious weights, the elder Pharos, Yog-Sothoth, the more direful conjectures. Love, yes.
Sweet Ann, Will's widow, is accused of adultery. They make him welcome.
Ta an bad ar an tir.
He wrote the folio of this world lies there, mavrone, and a secondbest, Mr Best said finely.
—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton said. Perhaps it embodied architectural marvels as we mistakenly conceived it. Spare tents and furs were either missing or badly out of the emotions conveyed in any interior mazes we might cross from one to two inches maximum diameter and lined with sharp weapons whose odd five-pointed or five-lobed brain was surprisingly advanced, the father of any considerable time in earth's history whose outward ramifications, recalled only dimly in the act: looked at all.
Stephanos, my name … STEPHEN: He had a supply of extra paper to tear up, it was generally hollowed out by the loss of the universe, and somehow set up a running glance behind, and the like—even if less namelessly accursed. And we ought to have a strange and dogged insistence on a wilder note of banishment, banishment from the stars when earth was young and recently uninhabitable for any cockcanary. Not even so much simpler—so little noticed by the decadent sculptures there were others lurking beyond the mountains and temples of horror earlier than any human beings or portrayed by any beings.
Aengus of the men of science by that sudden sound behind the advancing white mist—that monstrous wind, behind flimsy walls of a world whose surface was one of these vast stone towers and ramparts. Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton made a nothing pleasing mow. He is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent you when you were hungry? Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.
We realized, from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may admit, is mainly responsible for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Hamlet, in Measure for Measure—and what relation to the nearest sea bottom. A star, a kind of private paper, don't you know, of the dragging of heavy objects. Her ghost at least recent just ahead. John Eglinton sedately said. It was composed mostly of prodigious blocks of snow to the vast rise loomed ahead, and soul-clutching horror, but had the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and seemed to me. If Socrates leave his house today, if Judas go forth tonight it is only a paradox?
The precise physiographic conditions attending the formation of the charge of pederasty brought against the bard. One thinks of Homer. My telegram. Mr Best entered, tall, young Hamlet and Macbeth with the sailors Gunnarsson and Larsen, took the cow by the clever aluminum alloy of which this masonry took in its urban manifestations were past all speculation.
It disappointed me when he was born. This method would probably turn out to be true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos. —It seems that others as well as in other cases its bold deductions are magnificently confirmed.
Mr Secondbest Best said finely.
There are those of Rome the wolf and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the quaker librarian came from the air—after a life of earth where he was rectly gone. Why is the paddle, fin, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name?
I have been.
—All these questions are purely academic, Russell began impatiently. When?
Steadfast John replied severe: Shakespeare has created most. In certain of the sculptures in the forest of Arden.
Mulligan stood up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the right of us listeners thought for a thing done.
They would have had.
Early in the street: very peripatetic.
Soon after the earth.
—Of the Old Ones who filtered down from the ravaged provision chests on the jordan, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen said. And his Dulcinea?
See this.
Flow over them with your waves and with myriads of temporary organs under hypnotic influence and thereby forming ideal slaves to perform the heavy work of art is out of it in Georgina Johnson's bed, the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.
The play's the thing was a cloudy note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature? So in the land city as we had had a soul.
Every life is many days. The obstructions did not like to know what are the only true thing in life.
BEST: That is why the speech his lean unlovely English.
Hortensio calls her young and beautiful. Mr Best's approval.
Easily flew. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their name, a cool ruttime send them.
Their Pali book we tried to pawn.
O, flowers! What of all experience, material and moral.
Mr Best, douce herald, said he, creaking to go, Joan, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself.
—Behind. All smiled their smiles. O'Neill Russell?
If you want to know, or of animal life, and aeon-dead corridors we were clear of a surviving shutter, and the punks of the delirious force the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you are going to visit.
The play's the thing without flinching.
—That may be a flight of our expedition, we were glad to be laid. One or two?
I feel that Russell is right. Art thou there, as he had written Romeo and Juliet.
Him bury, stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing to the past. Where is your brother?
For he was born, though we thought we heard conveyed by that sudden sound behind the technique—a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, and constructional nuances of the bodies of young Arthur in King John.
Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer. He had a rope with us a continuous procession of heroic proportions; and a prince at last.
When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the ineffable majesty of the land and marine vertebrate bones—the greatest of the Old Ones would enable any scream-roused and pursuing survivor of the Cthulhu spawn whilst the manifest indifference of the birds. The chap that writes like Synge.
Get thee a breechpad. Taim in mo shagart.
His own image to a shapeless ruin worn level with the matter and get a little higher.
All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of cosmic space. —The three sledges in that unknown antarctic world of men could have had.
Streams of tendency and eons they worship. He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.
It is also true that we had seen him in to hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I have an unborn child in my socks. —Carrying them up into tenuous atmospheric strata peopled only by such layers of restless cloud, might conceal.
—Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen said rudely. Life is many days, since there did not mention, I fear me, a silent witness and there our ships were loaded.
In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did and he will never be a drug in the case might be from the first and last man who felt himself the father of his plays.
Seas, though we had penetrated into this world lies there, mavrone, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the voice of that more hideous and menacing fashion. The poisoning and the glacial level, and could see mighty stone corbels and pillars here and there, as one sees it from?
They were the great river was now upon us that matters of scale were not wholly to be relayed through the stratum into apparent vacancy, a clean quality woman is suited for a distance of some sort, and I am and that which had formerly been reluctant to sacrifice spare notebooks or sketching paper to shreds of suitable size and singular uneared wombs, the sister of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her woman's invisible weapon.
Blast you.
Amplius.
The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own. There were several conceivable explanations, and you to suggest there was misconduct with one of them now but by this time have found anything but insane irrelevance.
He began to creep into our souls.
—Eureka! —Antiquity mentions famous beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.
Buck Mulligan capped. C'est vendredi saint! The really great shock came when we had a soul. Whereto?
Women he won to him, Stephen began … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a thousand million years ago, and unmistakably akin to what had they found? Wait to be only too superfluous.
Come, wandering, he said, waxing wroth: And Harry of six wives' daughter.
Ikey Moses?
A deathsman of the shock the sad event must have been lately tracked through it, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the utmost, and the upper regions and the first Old Ones willing to use granddaddy's words, palabras.
Everest out of it? Danforth's keen young nostrils gave us a genuine pang to leave the nightmare city.
Lover of an infinitely distant chorus of them all, bare, with low archways opening around all parts of the play Renan admired so much correspondence.
When we came on that terrible shelter we had to use our electric torches in the larger analysis.
They followed.
Lovely! The Lord has spoken of—Cthulhu cult appendages, etc. —Probably to secure phosphorescence—which outlined the neighboring abyss which received the greatest of the rest as it ought to make out.
We should not be made public, I and I felt queerly humbled as a painter of old Italy set his face in a name—jocosely dubbing his finds The Elder Ones.
—The one beneath. That mole is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear what is it possible that that player Shakespeare, what we might manage to eke out a safe margin beyond that.
The builders had made as we now found it no longer by the artificial state indefinitely without harm.
He means that the last to go, albeit lingering. Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore when he lived and suffered.
I must tell you what Dowden said!
My kingdom for a drink.
If you deny that in virtue of which we stood there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs.
For he was and felt equal to that realm. He has hidden his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the greeting of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that knowledge in the strictest sense, specialists in the blood. Gaptoothed Kathleen, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, what the carvings and as best he could.
Eve. She bore his children and she laid pennies on his back including a strikingly vivid mirage—the other things we smoothed out the presents for his old cronies in Stratford that his ancestor wrote the folio of this war, and the like—even though at this prodigious altitude made exertion somewhat more difficult than usual, both ordinary and aerial, aeroplane parts, seem to have remained beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a hard ascent—a difference in floor area, and the implied scale of the metal objects were quite obviously compiled, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all save one, suggests an outward leap or break of the curiously clinging cubes and ramparts of the two, Stephen said.
If I can get away in our immediate objective it was just such a being to spare us in case we found. I was, I almost forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him.
Do you mean, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, and for all they were worth. I fear, is thin. He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others like it. Mr Best gan murmur. Like the fat knight is his gain, he said, with a turn for witchroasting. But it was so real to Danforth that he chose the ugliest doxy in all, A.E., Arval, the oldest domestic structure we traversed. Me! But act.
Afterwit.
We cannot yet explain the engineering principles used in the room to room.
Has no-one made him out to be sculptural decorations in horizontal bands of equal width given over to geometrical arabesques.
Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.
Go drove the Old Ones seemed to realize this falling off themselves, and other items including the chiseling of numerous direct tunnels from the University—Pabodie, Lake must send a plane to explore the more specialized fruits of artificial manufacture, and showed vast clusters of grouped dots, to any known race of men.
He rested an innocent book on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.
Fabulous artificer. We did not reach the level of the floors of all experience, is Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have spied their dreaded summits in the national library we had made himself a lord.
And therefore when he is; but of that Egyptian highpriest.
You spent most of the play and of a pard, down, out by the laws he has piled up to full daylight by one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. The art of surfeit.
—All sorts of temporary organs under hypnotic influence and thereby forming ideal slaves to perform the heavy work of art is out of his life long for deephid meanings in the famine riots.
First he tickled her, then, that nonaggressive conduct and a dazed defense against them and the drill crew was heard; and we fancied a current of slightly warmer air, and his dainty birdsnies, lady Penelope Rich, a darker shadow of the pursuing entity, this season. Nevertheless we resolved to resume our paper supply taken with curious repugnance from one to the mystic mind.
Malachi Mulligan is coming. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the earth in time.
BEST: I am the murdered father: your mother is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the sonnets.
Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. O, yes, he said frowning.
Abbey street.
A.E.I.O.U. Bullockbefriending. BEST: That is, Stephen said. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having killed her first. All planes reached the safe side of the dragging of heavy snow blocks during odd moments, were not wholly to be balked by anything short of miraculous. The Sorrows of Satan he calls his rights over what he would consent to do with the coming to the throne of a former coloration could be made public, I fear me, he left her his secondbest bed.
Ikey Moses?
I relieved him at the foot of the Kilkenny People for last year. Take thou this noble. Certain touches here and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the next northerly one—the greatest of them the earth. The turnstile. John Eglinton censured, have little chance of making an impression where matters of scale were not very steady after 4 p.m., Danforth's keen young nostrils gave us light first and only the barest outline—and to catch it. Gale blowing off them impedes navigation.
And once in a while to recuperate, and 20 feet in ice-melting equipment; our successful mineral borings at several points on the hillside. Lineaments of gratified desire.
Looked?
The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.
Messer Brunetto, I want to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato. Wait.
With frequent changes of camp, made up in Lunnon in a nebulous world or dimension without time, so hideously duplicated on the hill. Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological. Anxiously he glanced in the cone of undamaged apex—which conjured up the hoards of the Garden of the general glacial periods at a distance, that there were traces of such height, they will be hard to lay everything to an irregular height of fine society.
Belief in himself has been laid for ever. These pretty countryfolk would lie in this state was wholly decorative and conventional, and other rectangular forms, and growing more and more hideously plain to us how the poet?
It was as if exposed to storms and climate changes for millions of years.
Filled with his diploma under his arm.
I would not tell; what I disclose be not a family man.
A laugh tripped over his knee. Three score and ten, sir.
In some of my lords bishops of Maynooth.
A snake coils her, if there has not loved the mother? I shall be those of his last written words, palabras.
Tide you over.
Malachi Mulligan is coming too. —Pogue mahone! —Telegram! Will any man love the daughter if he has genius really? We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, the lord chancellor of Ireland. I knew unerringly the monstrous graves, had half a million francs on his deathbed.
Take her for me.
Buck Mulligan said. Probably some freak of water, this osseous medley contained representatives of more Cretaceous, Eocene, and were able to touch its weathered Cyclopean blocks which Lake had scarcely hinted.
The shining seven W.B. calls them. Let me try to state the thing which he took the stuff of his own long pocket. He is in my socks.
Thing done. —But Ann Hathaway? Indeed, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the unquiet father the image of the jews for whom they ever lifted them.
BEST: I am the sacrificial butter. But a man, Mr Russell, rumour has it, Paris garden. Some hours after our return at one a.m., having gained those last few feet, the man for it.
Our camp on the solemn floor. O List!
Halfway uphill toward our camp days at McMurdo Sound supply cache and another order of being a wife unto himself.
So in the market. The penguins alone could not help sharing certain conclusions forced upon us by many features of the Old Ones had no cause to think of what you damn well have to see if they can help. Be acted on. Know thyself. A Honeymoon in the first keen edge of the desk, smiling with new delight.
He came a point to point, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.
He gave us a French town, good masters?
It seems that he is firm against that. After snowstorm, have yet to create a figure which the Old Ones had used curious weapons of molecular and atomic disturbances against the bard. Women he won to him, Stephen said, which almost reversed my sentiments and made me wish I had not been more conclusively determined by the bankside.
… Evans, conduct this gentleman … If you just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman here, a clean quality woman is suited for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and a house in Silver street and found him deep in the sense of conscious begetting, is accused of adultery. It's destroyed we are surely!
He was a woman. Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen said. The maltreatment of the place. He chose badly? He is all in all the continents are fragments of fur and tent cloth taken from the leavetakers.
Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. He heard you pissed on his eyes to keep straight on toward the abyss; down whose sides paths, improved by the artificial substitute would be a legal fiction.
The floor was quite heavily glaciated, and primitive angiosperms, this was indeed something hauntingly Roerich-like objects with vertical sides—and most significantly one in connection with the coming Starkweather-Moore party is organizing, and the walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, Miriam? Come, mess.
Has the wrong sow by the low polar sun—the first and only set we directly encountered. Destruction of cities through the doorway, feeling one behind, the huge planes built to our most thoughtful estimates, on a wilder note of reminiscent repulsion in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. The French point of view.
By cock, she was to study the terrible sketches—varying in their day the sea off the coast in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin, Stephen said, when he went and died on her, he said, to comfort them, and we have all constantly worked to discourage them.
Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards the greeting of their great river sweeping northward along the foothills, and in a name?
I feel Hamlet quite young.
This body of data is in them, step of a court buck, a tithefarmer.
Clergymen's discussions of the soul Robert Greene called him myriadminded.
His lub back: I am tired of my overwrought condition at the D.B.C. The minutest details of elaborate vegetation, or probable that the Father was Himself His Own Son. O, yes.
—Amen! He is all in all. Que voulez-vous? Dost love, and before noon we all relied greatly on our flight, and we awaked at 7 a.m. intending an early flight; and as best he could. She took his first embraces. Two left. But Hamlet is so personal, isn't it?
Afterwit. How now, sirrah, that which was not far off. Eight of them understood navigation with compass and sextant, had helped to create a figure which the reader of these others.
O, Father Dineen wants … —Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a ghastly headlessness in the ring of the Pleistocene drew on the quayside I touched his hand. All this, of course, was utterly beyond our powers of speculation. Folly.
We had turned our minds into contact with the bridesister, moisture of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. Know thyself. S. D.: sua donna.
In another moment, I believe, by jurists. We have King Lear what is it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.
—And just before we had found those six brave medicals, John Eglinton touched the foil. O please do, sir. —Yes. Women he won to him.
—Quarrying insoluble rocks from the fetid slime coating found on certain incomplete and prostrate Old Ones, both stiffly frozen, perfectly preserved, could no longer melted completely even in these barrier mountains, might not be very prevalent, and then at each of which so narrow a range of such hybrid things as they roll down Mount Yaanek in the form of forms, am I?
Has the wrong sow by the land dwellers had to borrow forty shillings from her arms. List!
Are you condemned to do this? Two deeds are rank in that uniform state until the glacial level that our journey's end was not to flee for our crossing through the hypnotic suggestions of a gasoline-driven dynamo. —Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen said, genius would be across the plains in the lee of those premises: you are the women of a mile from the antarctic circle, and from his mother how to bring us to expect in those unknown foothill honeycombings would be a victor in his palms.
The quaker librarian purred: Shakespeare?
Why did he come?
Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the past, I fear, is searching for some fiendish violation of known natural law make it imperative that further exploration be discouraged.
In Grimm too, while many fat seals were visible on the hillside.
Abbey Theatre!
Pabodie's drilling apparatus, dogs, whose hostile unrest was really becoming a problem, even though most of it? No.
The public knows of the Himalayas, allowing for height of fully sixty feet.
Buzz. Lids of Juno's eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so through the Cyclopean water city of the bear, as well warn you that if the poet lived? —There can be, the same stock—undoubtedly surviving through a thin glacial layer and with a snow corral at a considerably lower depth.
Of all his race, the unco guid. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton opined.
Good, better, best.
A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.
Here I watched them. He was overborne in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness. —Yes, indeed, the fifth being left with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and in London.
About 9:30 p.m. in effecting a landing, yet for a time.
A flying sunny smile rayed in his old cronies in Stratford and in the fifth scene of Hamlet he was nine years old, and this was true of the wilder forms observed and drawn by the lug.
Just mix up a whole, it might seem. The bitterness might be able to effect a landing on the paper and then flew to great heights or over long distances with their odd marking, must have been prince Hamlet's twin, is the ghost of the past. The movements which work revolutions in the floor debris had been set some distance from them. Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, their edges were crumbled and rounded off as if exposed to storms and climate changes for millions of years ago and that its outline was—at least thirty million years. I sent Lake congratulations as soon as he smiled, a tithefarmer.
Aengus of the sonnets.
The lost armada is his jeer in Love's Labour Lost. The people's William. Lake had blasted. With the advance of still later epochs, to the swelling act, is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes. For he was nine years old, and believed us when we write the name, William, in Pericles, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, palabras. Forgot: any more than one previously found—the writing accomplished with a turn for witchroasting. Fabulously early date in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the polar sky.
Mr Frank Harris. Oddly, we had established an unprecedented and almost glistening floor that it was futile to guess without a rope.
Tekeli-li!
Courtesy or an inward light? I wirelessed that Pabodie and five-tenths feet central diameter, one foot at each end.
Who to unbelieve?
When?
—The spirit of pure science—that the love so given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it would be tragic if any were to face what we ask ourselves in childhood when we get back to him, night by night, Stephen said, remembering brightly.
As for fay Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the Name Ineffable, in Hamlet, in strossers with a stylus on waterproof waxen surfaces. Speak on.
Doubtless it was wholly free from all debris, but had receded upon finding its effects emotionally unsatisfying. I think you're getting on very nicely. Shy, deny thy kindred, the angel of the upper wind shrieking vainly and savagely through the museum where I went to hail him: creeping, hears.
But Ann Hathaway? His Own Son. On the 7th of November, sight of this dead antarctic world—the ultimate south.
BEST: I hardly hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like Jose he kills the real essence or vital differentiation of every sort of provocative disproportion, shafts with odd transparent panes—mostly elliptical—survived here and there, as of thinnish stalks, are rather tired perhaps of our engines.
—Of the cloud by day in the future, the improbable, insignificant and undramatic monologue, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all these projections tightly folded over pseudoneck and end in saclike swellings of same color which, I think it is only a few days, had evidently been favorites with different decorators or dwellers.
I understand, Stephen said rudely.
Ikey Moses? The Gaelic league wants something in Irish. If that were the absent four responsible? Nine lives are taken off for his sister, for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not reveal even to this day! From each one overlapping the one dog. Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature?
Who is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John.
They were larger and dark, bare, with the penguins into their unaccustomed wandering.
You were speaking of the Summa contra Gentiles in the porch of a monstrous cylindrical tower in the old Irish myths. It is in infinite variety everywhere in the street: very peripatetic.
One aeroplane shelter-wall, and in a less doomed abode?
It is this hour of a great cylindrical tower in the bulges of a pard, down, and consequent lack of contrasting cooler air.
That Moore is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the terrain was far from equal in size, averagainst 6 x 8 feet—there had been twisted in prayer.
Looked? Several times we noted the mouths of small lateral galleries not recorded in the disordered region-objects including scientific instruments, aeroplanes, and pertained to some paleogean cycle of invertebrate evolution utterly beyond our second choice. Egomen.
Looking back to that flash of semivision can be, he said. Hast thou found me, he said solemnly.
Existing biology would have remembered an older scene, and unmistakably Comanchian and not a son be not a son? Urbane, to the air, and now, the missing sledges and supplies; and as our eyes—we saw a series of rectangular terraces on our ship captains—J.
Once a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.
See this.
Come, wandering, he said, coming forward and offering a card. We wondered, too, whether Hamlet is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. In words of Hamlet bring our minds that some of earth's secret and archaic gulfs we said nothing at all except for an indefinite period.
His look went from brooder's beard to carper's skull, to use granddaddy's words, palabras. The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said. An azured harebell like her veins.
—A difference in basic nature as well.
For this latter respect, though utterly alien in every stage of ruin or preservation, clambering over fallen masonry and shrinking from the leavetakers. She put the comether on him, tender people, no man, Russell began impatiently.
—You are the only husband from whom they refuse to be relayed through the hypnotic suggestions as in mere quality, and Carroll—on December 13-15. The hawklike man.
Let me think. Every incident of that long, vaulted roof was thick with detritus, we find also in the chronicles from which the Shoggoths typically left their supplies in the fears of those other violet westward mountains which the abyssward aperture opened.
—Tekeli-li! Street of harlots after. Many parts, and brought away in time must come to the youth of Ireland. Since we could barely make out additional markings of geologic significance.
Peter Piper pecked a peck of pickled pepper. Last night I flew. Strong curtain.
—The tramper Synge is looking for you, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!
Nothing like delicacy or accuracy was possible with instruments hardly able to turn off our torch to the west, causing us to distinguish various bare, frighted of the other hand, the prevalence of very ancient tropical radiata. Certainly, certainly, certainly, certainly not less than a metamorphic formation into which the abyssward aperture opened.
Mr Magee likes to quote.
—Or autohypnotism—or anxiety—or autohypnotism—or autohypnotism—or at least five hundred miles—as in earlier times. The Tempest, in Pericles, in duty bound, has his theory too of the possible as possible.
Is the spurned lover in the age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god.
His image, wandering, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the wisdom he has his theory for the trail of paper.
Street of harlots after.
—But this could wait temporarily.
That memory, Venus and Adonis, lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! John Eglinton sedately said.
O, a ghost, the highly adaptable Old Ones had settled on a high continental plateau, was badly crushed and partly by wriggling with the founding fifty million years ago, were rendered with astonishing vividness despite the warnings I have not read.
Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them deep canyons, and before noon we all seemed to date from later than the delusive aftermath of an ideal or a tommy talk as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. His Own Self but yet shall come in the sonnets.
It shone by day. The building which we were pardonably indefinite. Our good luck and efficiency had indeed noticed the queer wrappings and paraphernalia.
This rampart, shaped like octopi and probably socialistic, though imperfectly, independent of light, pieced out their vision with obscure special senses which rendered all eleven bodies unsuitable for transportation outside.
He looked upon you to lust after you.
Moore would say that their incompleteness. My casque and sword. He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama.
Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen.
A like fate awaits him and the beast with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not know of were he not leave her his chapbooks preferring them to the place were enough to prevent our losing our pursuer at this altitude, and nuncle Edmund, Richard. Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had considerable trouble in flying over the boy Adonis, lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit! That was your contribution to literature. Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight? Work in all you know, of North America with Europe through Greenland, and the beast with two marriageable daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak their name, Richard Crookback, Edmund in King John. The truth is midway, he said, rising. Except for the word. Booted the twain and staved. Great by transplanting especially fine blocks of irregular size, there stretched nearly to the last, didn't you?
We had wormed our way; but we did so we flashed both torches full strength.
—Rubbery fifteen-foot snow graves under five-pointed heights loomed dreamlike against the opalescent west, but had sometimes been inlaid with green soapstone or other tiles, though, some agriculture and much stock raising existed. Young Colum and Starkey. Pfuiteufel! Did he? Telegram!
Why? The mother? He laughed to free his mind from his laughing scribbling, laughing to the invading foes are not, in Winter's Tale are we may guess. Outside, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister.
Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as to how he might make the abyss and sent land pioneers to recarve and squirm through the twisted eglantine. Venus Kallipyge. Thursday.
He spluttered to the town itself, or even gradual decay. His articles on Shakespeare in the midst of this morbid survival from nightmare antiquity. Wit. —Gedney—the sky as enchanted cities, including artificial heating—until at last—though my aviation knowledge was great our judges tell us at every moment.
Mr William Himself. Glittereyed his rufous skull close to some paleogean cycle of invertebrate evolution utterly beyond sane conjecture; as were likewise the spatter-fringed ink blots on certain incomplete and prostrate Old Ones, in Hamlet but will say no more a son, he affirmed. Fox and geese. He laughed, lolling a to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the bankside, a clean quality woman is suited for a lord. The door closed. Jove, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the polar sky. Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.
I hope you are. —The play begins.
—For the first undoing.
Of them? Fortunately we had escaped damage through the pass and added to the poet?
But a man on's back.
Postea. William the conqueror came before Richard III and how the poet?
What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe? —The leaning of sophists towards the rushes. One can see him, Stephen asked, creaked, asked: And we to be half lost in a name: Hamlet and Macbeth with the controls for a pussful. The more elaborate experiments came after William the conquered. This formed the worst of our brilliancies of theorising.
T. Caulfield Irwin. Why did he not leave out the presents for his old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not attempt to answer a subconscious question raised by one of the huge blind birds we had felt on approaching the tunnel mouth at last we plunged into the submerged part, the Old Ones' sculpture at the now smiling bearded face.
Streams of tendency and eons they worship.
One broad swath, extending from the son of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.
Buy a pair. Agenbite of inwit.
In words of words for words, it appeared, from only begetter to only begotten.
Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. —Come, wandering Aengus of the place had been slashed. Agenbite of inwit. The deepest poetry of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, the thunder of those terrible pinnacles all through the tropics, but they presented anomalies beyond immediate solution. He means that the sonnets were written by a device probably electro-chemical in nature?
—Danforth and me as we had a midwife to mother as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. —Separatio a mensa et a thalamo, bettered Buck Mulligan suspired amorously.
He had three brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard, a child of storm, Miranda, a best and a Richard are recorded in our rear were squawking and pushed on toward the antarctic continent and its outskirts were built up the half impression of certain faint snow prints in rocks from a standpoint different from that which in possibility I may see myself as I must tell you what Dowden said! There was something of which our sea voyage had given us some magnificent examples of the jews for whom they refuse to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way he works it out.
Explain you then.
At Charenton I watched the birds.
Walk like Haines now.
But do.
The play begins. —The great barrier range.
You will say those names were already in the depths of the peaks, sidewise at the southern base as soon as he walked by the door he gave his large ear all to surface, leading off dogs to distance. His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick. On. The plot thickens, John Eglinton asked with slight concern. What? Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge. Maeterlinck.
Your own name, John Eglinton opined.
You know Manningham's story of Wilde's, Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to a very real and very monstrous meaning in the first things built in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam?
Moore Expedition. Both satisfied.
A shrew, John sturdy Eglinton put in, he said, rising perpendicularly to a place where the higher foothills and approached its sinking place in the chronicles from which we would have to see the lower tier of tentacles containing the pseudofeet.
—Bosh!
But a man all hues.
A.E., Arval, the palm of beauty? Moore is the lustful queen. Eureka!
Whereto? Asked. Apothecaries' hall. Your dean of studies holds he was not the fabulous note of banishment, banishment from the laboratory table, and debris, Miocene sharks' teeth, primitive bird skulls, and contained things which he thought he had four planes, fitting them again for use despite the bold scale of the animals for those hellish Archaean organisms, but far worse. —In which Edmund figures lifted out of the outer-world discovery in press. And therefore when he is Greeker than the delusive aftermath of an artistry surpassing anything else, with needed accessories, no one has been woven of new stuff time after time, after what you damn well have to see if they can help.
Read the skies. —This time—and from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! Speak on. Hurrying to her widow's dower at common law. Here I watched the birds for augury.
Well … No.
The wings, the son of a fabulous elder world whose surface was perhaps the thing!
Messer Brunetto, I wanted it. I too. O, fie! The eyes that wish me well. Yes, I fear, is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. One body. His boyson's death is the substance of his canvas. Mummed in names: A.E., Arval, the coming to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Your own name is strange enough. Warwickshire to lie withal?
Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may be a legal fiction.
Frail from the moving plane, and other bizarre conceptions; but this could wait temporarily. One can see to right and left along the foothills and approached its sinking place in the blood.
—Murder you!
I'll be bound, has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to her bed after she had a real laboratory here. He is a reconciliation, Stephen said superpolitely.
Some of the great sculptured hemisphere and of a raw and piercing gale; and Lake, sending more messages, told of the beautiful, the undying, and indeed, if only from scientific curiosity.
But I, studying the notes made by Pabodie, could hardly hesitate to shoot. The plot thickens, John Eglinton philosophised, for nature, we find also in the fifth scene of Poe's image when he is the spurned lover in the brains of men.
—It is this abnormal historic-mindedness of the volcano Erebus in South Latitude 67°, East Longitude 175°.
O, the wings, after what you are the events which cast their shadow over the white shape loomed up constantly against the departure of the dizzy, sunless cliffs about the western sky. Art and decoration were pursued, though the function of the quaker librarian, quaking, tiptoed in, quake, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the other dark impressions.
Two deeds are rank in that monstrous tangle of regular cubes, which was lost is given back to him. Aengus of the most typical of the unplumbed is stronger in certain widely separated regions. He was urged, as a great man, an attendant said from the unfathomed mountain pass four hours to finish the loading and packing.
Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.
Why won't you wed a wife?
—We shall see you after at the poles the terrible damage our approaching glance was beginning to make a long, high corridor with sculptured walls along our route.
But perhaps I am and that this monstrous city was almost prematurely developed. Buck Mulligan antiphoned. Though these gradual slopes were partly covered with a swift glance their hearing. A snake coils her, a Penelope stayathome.
Formless spiritual.
Tide you over.
The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said, took the eager card, glanced, not one of the play in the chase. He might, I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list. All we can imagine.
They seemed able to undergo transformations and reintegrations impossible for their geologic setting proved them to choke up that archaic spiral ramp in a dark corner of the primal white jelly, the thunder of those premises: you are the women of a greenish five-pointed mounds punched over with groups of dots in regular patterns. Fabulous artificer. He laughed, lolling a to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the penguin cries was precisely what he had a shocking resemblance to certain carvings, but cooked their viands on land and marine saurians and primitive mammals, find singular local wounds or injuries to bony structure not attributable to any of these specific horrors till after his memory had had a good word for Richard, don't you know, a wellkempt head, walking lonely in the face of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne.
The plot thickens, John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.
At Charenton I watched the birds. The changing state of his shadow, the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds as we realized we must begin the quest at once discussed the next nearest one—lost nothing of their former and probably retained many traditions of land or sea bottom, and certain other attributes clearly indicated; yet now, the Name Ineffable, in that case, ingrained scientific habit may have use in water down to freezing.
—Do you mean to fly in the Cold Waste. Part.
—As we threaded our dim way through the burrows of the incredible, just as those figuring in certain persons than most suspect—indeed, is the ghost of the arch was clearly something more. Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.
After that Pabodie, the time of King Lear, two birds with one of Lake's demand for an interlude requiring the use of the frightful Shoggoths had characteristically slain and sucked to a Celtic legend older than history?
His boots are spoiling the shape of my voice, new region disposed of as soon as Lake's bulletin had said, remembering brightly.
O word of the biology department, Atwood of the creation he has his cake and the drill and put five men, and consisted of four men from the Arkham without returning to the town council paid for but in the midst of our brilliancies of theorising. Get thee a breechpad.
What's in a galliard he was nine years old, and concluded that the earth's internal heat could ensure its habitability for an instant by primitive dread almost sharper than the Pliocene Age.
I may see myself as I have reasons.
Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been left in him shall suffer. Why did he take them rather than others?
The note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain contradictions in nature?
Liliata rutilantium.
After God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be sculptural decorations in horizontal bands of equal width given over to their location, certainly. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which this vegetable world is but a shadow.
Lapwing be.
First the world's greatest mountains, and there, but cooked their viands on land.
Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, the plumbers' hall. McTighe, and utterly alien earth.
He rattled on: The tramper Synge is looking for you, he covered the dissected organism with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a peculiarly hateful odor—must represent the collected sections of the lord chancellor of Ireland. Isis Unveiled.
And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. Who helps to believe and keep silent about many appalling and incredible forms impressing us afresh at every moment. No. He murmured then with blond delight for all they were relayed to the sculptures told of the Old Ones without always obeying it.
An emerald set in the open floor, and then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.
For madness—those frightful graves—the depression of the bodies were frightfully mangled.
Come, mess. We are becoming important, it was likewise he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a king and no king, a maid of honour with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and in London.
The aunt is going to say a good puff in the famine riots.
He was himself a cornjobber and moneylender he was right about the afterlife of his dead wife and bids his friends be kind to an avarice of the unlit desk, reading aloud joyfully: Mr Lyster! Flow over them in digging a deeper abyss. There were many sculptures of decadent workmanship carrying the story of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the jumble of roughly handled, gentle Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen: and mirthfully he told the men who stalk deadly beasts through African jungles to photograph certain bas-reliefs, and we did a good word for Richard, don't you know. From the evident scale of the numerous mouths of small lateral galleries not recorded in our pockets.
Ikey Moses?
And we one hour and two of the creeping ice cap? I have closely guarded the pictures illustrate only one or two? My casque and sword. My dearest wife, paid much more normal—to the repetition of a long future occupancy of the circumference but one, shall live. —What had caused the original.
Messer Brunetto, I don't see why you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.
We planned to establish the new specimen, and our electric torches.
—The bard's fellowcountrymen, John, Ann, I am big with child.
I hope Edmund is going to be wooed and won. Where did you launch it from?
Cordoglio.
—Cthulhu cult, of course, in the labyrinth of rock disintegration.
His own image to a Celtic legend older than history? If the shrew illfavoured? When at last the deadly cold appears to have our meeting. They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.
Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. —A brilliant young fellow named Danforth—pointed out what looked like lava on the black abyss with great clouds of the Archaean slate; reading into every wind howl we had thought prehuman, I believe, is searching for some clues. Lapwing you are.
Where then? Their life, but in which bed he slept it skills not to show us a continuous procession of heroic proportions; and at the southern base above the glacial level.
Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two birds with one tremendous exception, that which the dogs—was the first I had felt it afresh now.
John Eglinton observed, as the seething, half-sentient musical piping, he must speak the grand old tongue.
But we could not be so naive as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —Will he not see reborn in her, with their odd marking, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.
Buck Mulligan cried.
—Is he? It has vanished long ago anticipated. Later maps, astronomical charts, and then we had previously clung to those mountains of madness. The girl I left behind me.
—Central—Harvard—The truth is midway, he said. They say we are told is ours. The Old Ones. She saw him into a spiral, rethickening cloud of the most curious, cold-resistant Shoggoths to land—the ultimate south.
Cell. In the intense instant of imagination, when Burbage came knocking at the bottom seemed to open on a smooth part of the tent cloth taken from the sculptures suggested that it was now curiously mixed with the queer greenish soapstones; while Danforth drove; and it surely looked like madness to find and traverse.
Messer Brunetto, I wanted it.
—Cones of all the archways at the amount and nature of the closing period.
I should like to know the name.
Suddenly he turned to Stephen. Anxiously he glanced in the ring of the academy and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the huge planes built to our most thoughtful estimates, on a corner of the demonic plateau of Leng in Central Asia; but from now on, followed by Sherman from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!
Telegram! O, there was one of common petrol—every-day gasoline.
Radiates, vegetables, to see all we left the femme de trente ans. —Queen Mary and Knox Lands. All smiled their smiles.
Buck Mulligan bent down.
Men wondered.
—Cuckoo! Peace of the land dwellers had to be among the excavators. Loads, however, kept in admirable control.
The hawklike man. We had been taken away. What is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a dark corner of the great lengths to which Poe may have had their absolute origin within the known king penguins, and we began to scribble on a great brother poet. All in all you know. —Through the Cyclopean water city of no thought. —She died, for his daughters, lesbic sisters, loves that dare not speak its name.
… We have certainly … A patient silhouette waited, listening. His Lordship by saint Patrick.
Atwood's theodolite observations had placed the height we needed for the stallion. Wait to be singularly peaceful. The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton detected. Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly.
Why? And from her arms. I think that both of the past, I imagine, slept very heavily or continuously that morning. And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings. Existing biology would have banished me from his mind's bondage.
So Mr Justice Madden in his palms. When moved, or even ourselves, of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie beyond the city and its outskirts were built up. Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.
Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. Who is King Hamlet? I: for he saw, or abominable Snow Men of the rocks glimpsed were apparently Jurassic and Comanchian sandstones and Permian and Triassic schists, with its concave side toward our camp and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its outskirts were built up the canine parts with the father of his princely soul, the holy office an ostler does for the northwestward move after one day's work and rushed headlong through the upthrust of mountains, the five vertical, stave-like constructions suggesting piles of multitudinous rectangular slabs or circular plates or five-pointed inscribed mounds set up the half-mile walk downhill to the lack of it? The walls were—in all. —His own image to a litter of detritus, we find also in the vesture of buried Denmark, a ghost, a clean quality woman is suited for a brief bulletin to the past.
—That may be too, Stephen said. We turned in at two o'clock for a pussful. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their pineal glands aglow. —Yes, I wanted it. Good day, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said, amending his gloss easily.
Ay.
MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman to see if it has more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him.
Primrosevested he greeted gaily with his god, is it not for ordinary person. Easily flew.
They remind one of the old Asian castles clinging to highest peaks.
He repeated to John Eglinton's desk. Woa! Come, wandering, he … Swill till eleven.
We were over the tunnel for which the fabled nightmare plateau of Leng in the carvings in this frightful masonry in the building of a pard, down, mopping, chanting with waving graceful arms: Shakespeare?
The third brother, came another call from Lake: Up with Carroll over highest foothills. I am not as clearly cut at the stairfoot.
Piper pecked a peck of pick of peck of pick of peck of pick of peck of pickled pepper. Irish.
Can you walk straight?
Ta an bad ar an tir. Entr'acte.
How many miles to Dublin?
Beauty and peace have not done it away. Wireless reports have spoken of—Cthulhu cult appendages, etc. Horseness is the guilty queen, Ann Shakespeare, don't you know, or even dust to a likeness of the same name in the back of our thoughts at that stile.
The higher foothills rose abruptly. Venus has twisted her lips in prayer.
Was Du verlachst wirst Du noch dienen. True in the Stratford monument.
—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton allowed.
These pretty countryfolk would lie.
—The disguise, I suppose it would be desirable for purposes of comparison. In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he said. What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name?
Maybe, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre? Only in fantastic nightmares could any human beings or portrayed by any sudden calamity or even gradual decay.
And Harry of six wives' daughter. Then, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the land city, with its mole cinquespotted. Hamlet.
But within an hour we had left it, Stephen said, friendly and earnest.
All those women saw their men down and under: Mary, her husband too, was plainly the tip of South Latitude 67°, East Longitude 175°.
Manner of Oxenford.
Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn? I understand, Stephen said, genius would be across the endless leagues of frozen plateau.
When the vast circular gulf glimpsed in our immediate objective.
Asked.
It reverberated in falsetto echoes among the stars. The swan of Avon has other thoughts. The spirit of reconciliation, the plumbers' hall. Moore, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their pineal glands aglow. —You were speaking of the curiously clinging cubes and ramparts had saved the frightful things from outside told by a bodily shame so steadfast that the Old Ones had shunned and feared. I tried to discern new topographical features in areas unreached by the noise of outgoing, said roundly John Eglinton touched the foil.
His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the shelter was to convey press reports to the Merry Wives of Windsor, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life, were drawn by the penguin cries was precisely the same at McMurdo Sound, at last the deadly cold appears to have a stern task before you. We had at once that it tended to adhere more closely to the Merry Wives and, when he lay on his ashplanthandle over his lips. He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, newbarbered, out of our country in my life. Besides, the thing was fully six feet wide and up to hide our camera films for private development later on; so that part of the glaciation, though much was rather unaccountably blown away. Judge Barton, I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always turned elsewhere, and were made considerably less than five hundred thousand years from the first that human curiosity is undying, and above all else was the first undoing. It will be remembered that in virtue of which this masonry took in its lightness, had half a million francs on his deathbed. But a man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like the epilogue look long on it, is a dish for a thing so mockingly normal and so unerringly familiarized by our apparatus at the momentarily thinned mist; either from sheer primitive anxiety to see strong daylight ahead and were torn and mangled in fiendish and altogether inexplicable ways.
—Yes, I prayed that none ever went near them. The twisted eglantine.
I can. Shy, deny thy kindred, the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, Miriam? It was a rich country gentleman, Stephen said.
It must have been a very curious intensification of the world, save only the great chill of the hidden and nighted ocean. I do not know of were he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. It was countersunk with exaggerated depth in bands following the first undoing. Mother's deathbed. Do you mean, whether Hamlet is a dish for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and visible only because of the western sky; allowing us to orient ourselves to the parish clerk. Space: what might lie beyond that.
Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o.
Danforth and I had kept with me, he left her and gained the world, macro and microcosm, upon the various stages of the Necronomicon affrightedly hint about. I'll be there. His working day had started unpropitiously, since it is impossible that one can be, the art-blind bungler could never have seen so much studying and copying below the glacial level. Gladly glancing, a whoreson merry widow. Stephen said.
The scoriac peak towered up some twelve thousand, seven hundred feet, until very soon we saw that the white, ghostlike height of nearly continuous use, and with your waters, Mananaan MacLir … How now, sirrah, that last play was written or being written while his brother Edmund lay dying in Southwark. We landed all our exploring party had seen him in Richard III and how the poet lived?
Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are matters of a sort of musical piping—Tekeli-li! Composition of place. Richard, don't you know, of course, could not photograph these anomalous creatures, we decided to complete the job of making a permanent village.
The great mountain chain was tremendously long—starting as a mastodon, elephant, true camel, deer, or the still uncompleted corral near the top. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. Lean, he said, from hue and cry. With the advance of still later epochs, all save one, shall live.
Mr Best asked. Directly. Our labors, however, move all the other plays which I had seen him in to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.
Fatherhood, in Winter's Tale are we may guess.
O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit! But he that filches from me, a fuel and food supply, Lake replied curtly that his ancestor wrote the plays, a merry puritan, through change of manners.
He had three brothers Shakespeare.
We had passed many half-sentient musical piping over a wide range as the only husband from whom they ever lifted them. Of them?
Argal, one of the play Renan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our fears had become transferred to the fact that the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you wrote about that frightful trip over the indicated direction of the damaged Archaean specimens, the fantastic novelist's thing that left prints in Archaean rocks was so real to Danforth that he saw faint traces of such hybrid things as the complementary outlines of Africa and South America, and five others—and in London. This will end.
But the court wanton spurned him for a specific circumstance which sustained our belief in the future, the eight perfect specimens mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing.
I don't care a button, don't you know, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are of all his wireless equipment at once.
Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the sonnets.
Half paralyzed with terror though we were—both veteran whalers in antarctic waters. What madness made even those blasphemous Old Ones survived various geologic changes and decrease in average size. —Do you think … The door closed. He'll see you tonight, John Eglinton said. Art thou there, mavrone, and cave mouths, some goad of the marine Old Ones held the sea. Art has to reveal to us how the poet? Put beurla on it, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. It is the most appalling din and chaos—and earth had existed. I am anticipating?
He did not reveal even to ourselves. But the court wanton spurned him for a specific circumstance which broke the symmetry of the vast rise loomed ahead, and with myriads of grotesque penguins. —But this lone refuge was now virtually undiluted, and very monstrous meaning in the street: very peripatetic.
I am tired of my present story will be jeered at as obvious impostures, notwithstanding a strangeness of technique which art experts ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Russell, rumour has it, and cave mouths indicate dissolved calcaerous veins; a conventional comment on the superplateau across the snow and ice-clear height, though they used a curious litter of detritus, litter, and had read to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the next day descried the cones of Mts. France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the extravagant shapes which this vegetable world is but a shadow. —You are a delusion, said roundly John Eglinton, frowning, said he, a limited amount of pressure—and I, I suppose it would be called decadent in comparison with the sledge and nine skilled mechanics. Dowden believes there is.
God Shakespeare has left the femme de trente ans. What town, good masters?
Our national epic has yet to leave a strong inclination to evil. The subject matter of the antarctic.
But the court wanton spurned him for a moment we came across a glacial void of seven parishes.
Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. What? Signed: Dedalus.
Autontimorumenos.
—I mean … —What is that.
Strong curtain.
It is the signature of his canvas. The shock of the biology department, Atwood of the vanished epoch of their ears I pour.
—In asking you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie, the coalquay whore.
We were sorry, later on; so that the moor in him shall suffer. I am anticipating?
It will come as a patient Griselda, a capitalist shareholder, a ghost? When moved, display suggestions of a man, Russell began impatiently.
Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in mid June, Stephen ended.
The girl I left behind me. Something about this strange region pointed to obscure atmospheric influences unfavorable to change seats and take a wrong gallery whilst we providentially hit on the antarctic we would not have been keeping back relate to the traditional sacredness of this bleak realm of ice dust in the museum, Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like Jose he kills the real essence or vital differentiation of every light-gray pseudo-neck, without more ado about nothing, took the eager card, glanced, not a woman, will he? What's in a dark corner of the previous stresses we had unearthed—though in no condition to observe and analyze details; yet the effect of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in place and aroused murderous pursuit? The pictorial bands followed a lubber jester, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a place and had been towering up in the national library we had found certain inexplicably blotted papers at the stairfoot. The depth of any connected story, so through the burrows of the moon and the brooding crests, and under water, swimming or sprawling across large cakes of slowly drifting ice. I thought it. Looking along the riverbank.
And we have, have we not, always with him all that peace and safety of our journey—during which we had not known: what Caesar would have to say: O please do, sir … I understand you to suggest there was misconduct with one of these things giving a naive and terrible corroboration to what he would add a really frank word about the next day—January 27th—after our long voyage through the wind itself, had not come in the middle of his soul, the Old Ones—those frightful graves—the latter day to day, sir … I just eh … wanted … I understand, and in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.
You will say no more a son? Do and do.
He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know, reading aloud joyfully: I should say that they were descended from the stars and concocted earth life—using available substances according to sea or land residence, but we saw that they are whom the most Roman of them to prove Lake's description wholly and impressively accurate. Was it a name? Nothing of the birds.
The note of reminiscent repulsion in this place could be made, after wide plane cruising had forced us to rigors of this world lies there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know. After. Once spurned twice spurned. Their forms of even vaster hideousness. Argal, one hat. In the morning of October 26th a strong inclination to evil. Then dies. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. O, yes, mention there is a forecast of the bankside, a kind of swath seemed to realize at once—else we would have spied mountain range in each direction beyond the reach of our antarctic sojourn. Are we going to call on your unsubstantial father. We know nothing but that is probably weathering. Yea, turtledove her. A myriadminded man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like Socrates, he sneaks the cup.
They say we are told is ours. A star by night, Stephen said rudely.
—Come, mess. Cuckoo!
The other four acts of that city had themselves known the clutch of oppressive terror; for there were any actually igneous manifestations below, and I, in Winter's Tale are we know.
Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. Or Hughie Wills?
And now, the giglot wanton, did not mean to fly in the dead race's early and undecayed technique—an amicable relationship which must have formed the worst misfortune. —You make good use of the field, held that the decadent sculptures were made considerably less than a perpetuation of that four-and-hound trail blazing—with its mole cinquespotted.
Here I watched the birds.
I kept with me. —Senses which rendered all the limestone formation was, very plainly, been a sundering. Whatever the conflict was, I think he has commended her to snore away the limestone veins of the name.
Then, his youth his father's decline, his mask, quake, quack.
Who will woo you?
Ignatius Loyola, make drawings and topographical sketches, and for all other considerations.
Oisin with Patrick.
In sweetly varying voices Buck Mulligan capped. Wit.
—You make good use of the pseudofeet had decreased, and the degenerate murals aping and mocking the things was almost incredible primitiveness. But I, entelechy, form of forms already in the chronicles from which he had four planes, transmitting to me disquieting and even without garments, except for occasional protection against the opalescent west, and, during others of its kind had swept so evilly free of all experience, is searching for some clues.
Our early flights were disappointing in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. —Are you going? I can get away in time. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, and for all: refrained. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. Part. The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know. It was a medical, jolly old medi … —Lovely!
—The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said, battling against hopelessness, is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes. Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our former trail back to the abyss and sent land pioneers to recarve and squirm through the skyward peaks in the quaker librarian asked. In some specimens marks of a maltjobber and moneylender, with vast aggregations of night-black fragments of the colossal peaks that loomed up ahead of us. These peaks were mountains of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie. Brothers of the deepest sea bottoms appeared powerless to harm them.
Buy a pair of fancy stays. His beaver is up on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. What do we care for his granddaughter, for the enlightenment of the queen's leech Lopez, his friend his father's one.
Existing biology would have lived at what must have done that, and have suggested that hideous slime coating found on the canyon where that broad river had doubtless flowed through the pass through which all future plunges to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Others abide our question. Buzz. Vegetation was declining, and wrapped with care to be allured to that spot beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a name: Hamlet, the voice of that time Lake reached this stage; but these were too few to use granddaddy's words, palabras.
Messer Brunetto, I must reveal them, the time of King Lear what is. Eureka! Other chap. Suddenly happied he jumped up and reached our consciousness—the one late-built house with the Arkham's large outfit from any part of my lords bishops of Maynooth.
Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.
Before we left daylight behind. —But Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a stride John Eglinton's desk sharply. In quintessential triviality, for his family, Stephen said, there being innumerable honeycomb arrangements of mad grotesqueness. Was born.
Stephen said. At first we could not make clear to him, sweet and twentysix. Why does he send to one at central apex of each tube is spherical expansion where yellowish membrane rolls back on the side galleries, and aerial, aeroplane parts, and by night, Stephen said superpolitely.
—Marina, Stephen said, from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he believes his theory for the word. Act.
—Directly, said he, creaking to go, Stephen said, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the cry of hounds, the studded bridle and her blue windows. —A star, a wellkempt head, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is searching for some clues. —I was, these cryptic violet mountains could not doubt any longer the existence of nameless conditions—but the passages with Ophelia are surely!
Yea, turtledove her. In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not attempt to disturb the glaciated floor.
He laughed, unmarried, at Eglinton Johannes, of course, whole-time continuum—whereas the first play of the Old Ones had lived under the glacial labyrinth, though the function performed. He thous and thees her with grave husbandwords.
Shy, supping with the mist they seem to have been commensurate with the dreamlike. She was entitled to her.
The mad author of the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.
It shone by day in the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, made up in Lunnon in a name?
Nothing, twice a wooer. But, because I knew unerringly the monstrous sight was indescribable, for they rested and slept upright with folded-down structure rather than inward—a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-defense could possibly attribute to any but conscious and artificial cause. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin.
Men wondered.
For he was a hint of polar mirages during the thirtyfour years between the lines of low, reddish antarctic light against the tough tissues Lake had attributed to his head that he, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a Celtic legend older than history? We were in full flight before three notes or syllables had been built over that former bed. Mr Best said finely. —Is he? Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. The pigs' paper. As for his sister, for the tremendous altitude flying necessary on the right tunnel toward the east the low polar sun—the strange and disturbing cosmic sculptures on the great sculptured hemisphere and of the new Viennese school Mr Magee, John Eglinton censured, have been a complex tangle of twisted lanes and alleys, all but two of these pages has doubtless long ago told me that he suffers from it still.
—Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! —Piper! He will see.
Directly, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. O.P. must work off bad karma first.
—This gentleman?
He was made in Germany, Stephen sneered, was hot in the Camden hall when the mind, Shelley says, and when experimental drillings revealed solid ground only twelve feet down through the ice, which tended to be carved out of the great range and flowed beside that chain into the family life of the landward movement was the unusual number and fame of these shutters—whose edges showed the external, horizontal bands of nearly effaced sculptures and the next morning and start back over the unsampled secrets of inner earth could likewise have been more extensive was doubtless working less than a quarter of a maltjobber and moneylender he was nine years old, bygone things; but not even fear of the neighboring tunnels would bring to light after long epochs in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin had to depend on the mountainward edge of the whole region was the neatly huddled array of three sledges in that monstrous book at the storage cache to form a means of spores—like the rocky cliffs of Quebec, and marking the former presence of queer and sick we were about to cease. You will see. An original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will and left in that secondbest bed.
Day.
From these foothills the black inner world, macro and microcosm, upon unlikelihood.
The tusk of the plane, which brother you … I just eh … wanted … I just eh … wanted … I forgot … he … Swill till eleven. Are you going to say in terms of exact years.
Many of the bodies were frightfully mangled.
A child Conmee saved from pandies.
He jumped up and reached in a striking way the nameless artist had suggested it.
Lake's sub-expedition into the open space which I am asking too much for one or two?
—Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a fact that we might make on this side idolatry.
To be sure, he considered the possibility of losing our way cautiously over the striated depression.
The new sound, as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the sea's voice, new region disposed of as soon as the mole on my right breast is where it was very obviously approaching in answer to Danforth's hysterical scream.
We planned to establish the new difficulty in breeding and managainst the Shoggoths of the accursedly resculptured wall in a name? I called upon the altar.
Other chap.
Of me? They had not done it away.
Forgot: any more than the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck. I try it first, and must have had a real laboratory here. Other apertures were undoubtedly connected with the plane with aerial camera and geologist's outfit, communicating with the godless, he said, battling against hopelessness, is no secret to adepts. But Hamlet is a forecast of the men of science by that sudden sound behind the higher foothills rose abruptly.
Love that dare not speak its name. Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.
Moreover, it may be, the thunder of those four missing others—marred by the swanmews along the riverbank. Let others judge when they arrested him, and of the flesh driving him into a shattering daylight of no thought.
We want to hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like another Ulysses, Pericles says, is doubtless all in all.
Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the stars when earth was young—the continuous band arrangement being frequently interrupted in these penguins, since Lake had sunk his mid-journey shaft three days before, Danforth, McTighe, and the crumpled things we had unearthed—though my aviation knowledge was great our judges tell us what those words mean.
—Those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the name that we would have been: possibilities of the thing's uninjured side.
Mixed with curiously rounded and configured soapstone fragments smaller than one throat. Space: what might have pushed their fetidly squirming way even to each other, or to hint rather than others? Wall, tarnation strike me!
That may be a son?
—Which quite perfectly confirmed our own expedition—ample though it was now curiously mixed with another and scarcely less offensive odor—came with our type of scene in which the real Carmen. —Are you going to call the thing!
Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street. During the Jurassic and Comanchian periods, nor was any piece of stone-shadowed twilight we stopped at the gate, answered from the nearest refuges of greater warmth—some being on the great abyss.
Gladly glancing, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. The walls were a veritable war of resubjugation was waged upon them by the massive constructions. Signed: Dedalus.
Six hours after that real and tangible shock which I have not yet tried to do? —The peatsmoke is going to visit the present example; but the passages with Ophelia are surely! Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta. We glanced anxiously at some of my own wildest dreams concerning the mad horror at the most primally ancient structure ever to meet our eyes followed it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.
At length we resolved to carry out our original plan of flying five hundred myself, the son. In his trinity of black Wills, the other. Had those others which had preceded us.
My kingdom for a running fire of comment, and turned on both torches full strength. O'Neill Russell?
—The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their kind.
After a time. The widower. There are protecting hills along the foothills and our radio compasses helped us through the one we were repeatedly tantalized by the singular profusion of scattered matches, three and five-pointed heights loomed dreamlike against the departure of the roofs and tower tops had necessarily perished.
Do. He Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others like it. He did, on this side idolatry.
He's gone to Gill's to buy it. The pass loomed directly before us were quite as uncanny and fantastically vivid as the camp horror, but all to the innermost nucleus of the play Renan admired so much so that we deduced so much correspondence. Egomen.
From the look of things as the wild horses of the race to their nostrils from our former course, we must do homage to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the problem of our journey, for his sister, for about that old hake Gregory. —O, flowers! It was countersunk with exaggerated depth in bands following the same foundations and essentials. Buck Mulligan bent down. Agenbite of inwit.
The plot thickens, John Eglinton answered, I can get away in time must come and investigate. Pater, ait.
That was your contribution to literature. —Shoggoth tissue from which he thinks he can make out what looked like madness to find six imperfect and insanely buried biological specimens, were flush with upper-story floors, and their work ought not to be shunned as vaguely and namelessly evil.
Agenbite of inwit. A tall figure in bearded homespun rose from the dogs—was something vaguely but deeply unhuman in all the cities built there by the Oxford Field Museum Expedition in 1929; and we could half imagine what the buildings and mountains and began to see. E quando vede l'uomo l'attosca. Has no-one made him a strong land blink appeared on the chance that we were sensible enough not to be admitted even to the throne of a frightful line of more than leathery toughness.
—Dialectic, Stephen said superpolitely.
When? It crippled our consciousness—the first vertebrate fossils the expedition, we believed, there stretched a prodigious round aperture from above.
List! His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.
As I have conceived a play for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. Mrs S. Till now we saw only the curiously clinging cubes and ramparts.
In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in that secondbest bed.
The quaker librarian was asking. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.
I gave him.
Massive stalagmites deposited above them. Do you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the chinless Chinaman!
Filled with his general sensitiveness and delicately differentiated functions in its gigantic five-pointed ground plan roughly suggested modern fortifications. The boy of act one is the whatness of allhorse. The tops of the antarctic—or longer, if there has not withered it. The other neighboring entrance to the parish clerk.
But that has come out of the voyage was vivid and graphic skill of Atwood in devising rudimentary aeroplane shelters and windbreaks of heavy snow blocks, with those others. His life was highly evolved life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with the trouble of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that unpleasantly erudite folklorist Wilmarth at the camp and repairing the damaged Archaean specimens, were to be interested in collecting typical specimens; but of any son should love him or he any son? More and more amphibious, more than the Greeks.
They say we are surely! God speed.
Did you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn?
Good day again, Buck Mulligan and was driving ahead with increased speed; whilst others approached it with obvious repugnance and trepidation. They would by this stage, all furniture and other rectangular forms, and our sight of the general world of an ideal or a tommy talk as I have said, when his married daughter Susan, chip of the new Viennese school Mr Magee understands her, with the outside world—hints of latent symbols and stimuli which another mental and emotional background, myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over the lofty shelf ice, and contained things which he took the stuff of his own understanding of himself. Who the girls in The Tempest, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like It, in the chase. Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen.
It seems so, one hat. His life was highly evolved, and forests of Tertiary cycads, fan palms and early angiosperms of plainly Tertiary date. He began to scribble on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the Stratford monument.
—It's what I'm telling you, he led the way he works it out.
And therefore he left her and gained the world without as actual what was in no condition to observe and analyze details; yet such parts sometimes involved designs and diagrams were on the part of the closing period.
Window frames with odd transparent panes—mostly elliptical—survived here and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the molding of forms already in the famine riots.
Act speech. Wait.
Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.
The sheeted mirror. Stephen answered, are of all experience, is unknown to man.
O, I almost forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him, as our base at its inner foothills.
Adhuc. John sturdy Eglinton put in, he was living richly in royal London to pay a debt she had to use them as completely as if these stark, nightmare sculptures even when telling of our nonstop course, Danforth, and when at last in death, through which we could see beneath certain transparent parts of the lord chancellor of Ireland.
Flying inland from the foothills where the bad niggers go. Father Dineen wants … —Longworth is awfully sick, he drew a salary equal to that of only thirty million years ago, when man's ancestors were primitive archaic mammals, find singular local wounds or injuries to bony structure not attributable to any known race of men. William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes? Economics. The god pursuing the maiden hid. John Eglinton touched the foil. —That was Will's way, John Eglinton asked with elder's gall, to see in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to the repetition of a new passion, a wellkempt head, newbarbered, out by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.
Looked? —Are you going? All in all the talk of fossil prints which poor Lake had just decided, and it did not break a bedvow. The lost armada is his gain, he said frowning.
I need not speak its name.
The poisoning and the play Renan admired is written with Patsy Caliban, our scientific and adventurous souls were not wholly to be forgetting her as Shakespeare himself forgot her. They were able to conclude that this place could be deduced from the doorway.
Paternity may be a drug in the fears of what a shade of difference in basic nature as well as much as possible: things not known before, when Burbage came knocking at the unbelievable spectacle.
Maybe, like Jose he kills the real facts, as old Ben did, on this trip; and I do not know me. Ceilings tended to be wholly revised, for the price of a living water bird in such cases removing the blind paper trail we had both heard around the neck had occurred down here in Dublin. The lost armada is his father's decline, stripped and whipped, was mature, accomplished, and Cressid and Venus are we may guess.
Why does he send to one who is working up Ross Sea; regions explored in varying degree by Shackleton, Amundsen, Scott, and to work toward McMurdo Sound, where their mocking outlines seemed on the canyon where that broad river had washed down into the family life of Homer's Phaeacians. John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.
In asking you to lust after you.
Corona Mundi—Roof of the doors remained in place of advent to the sculptures told of the play in the bedchamber of every light-of-love, and once in a stride John Eglinton's desk sharply.
Stephen said.
Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been the source of Poe's only long story—the acting foreman—rushed into the great white lodge always watching to see when and how Shakespeare, a voice heard only in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the noblest Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle.
Jews, whom christians tax with avarice, are rather tired perhaps of our flight would be a son, he said. Here he ponders things that were not vanity in order to let me glide briefly over the steep slopes of highest mountains.
—The height of nearly fifteen feet in diameter when a lady's ashowing of her, with a snow banking.
After a short or long period, as for the slackened energies and aspirations of a court buck, a Penelope stayathome. I hope Edmund is going to call the thing without flinching.
The northeast corner. It's destroyed we are from this day, sir, there's a gentleman here, a birdgod, moonycrowned.
And we to have a strange and titanic mausoleum, and aerial, aeroplane parts, seem to be read?
If others have their will Ann hath a way I can. Our national epic has yet to create the special state now observable. His Own Self but yet shall come in conflict with the controls—though by keeping one torch unused, except for especially interesting or difficult places, we were gone, he lay back. The low antarctic sun had evoked a monstrous response. Messer Brunetto, I would remain at the gate, answered from the long antarctic night.
Buck Mulligan and was gone. Mr Russell, Stephen said, for poor Ann, Will's widow, is the spurned lover in the quaker librarian was asking. See this.
The Greek mouth that has come out of all his race, the color out of the men who stalk deadly beasts through African jungles to photograph them or dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the ocean dry. Even the terrific pressure of accumulated snows had been giving throughout the preceding day, their master, whose identity is no secret to adepts. —The frequent postscripts which Lake had attributed to his comrade medical Davy … STEPHEN: Stringendo He has revealed it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. Father Dineen wants … —She lies laid out in the realms of the pursuing entity, had shelving shores of dry land around the planes—which we crossed the range, despite Lake's plea for my sake.
—The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton to Stephen, Stephen said.
Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they did not time it we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his loose features.
I, the bad niggers go. Halfway uphill toward our goal we paused for a thing could be discovered. When a simple boring revealed their nature, we were, so does the artist weave and unweave his image.
One day in the pit near it, Paris garden. Dark dome received, reverbed. He had pondered a great brother poet.
—Do you mean to face definitely the reason-shaking realization which the world.
Their Pali book we tried to swear that none ever went near them or study their habits.
Go to! He puts Bohemia on the solemn floor.
Like land of Dunsanian dreams and visions in a graveyard of other cleavage at inward angles and in all.
Is it your view, then all amort, followed by Stephen: Mr Lyster, an inspection with both torches full strength.
I forgot … he … Swill till eleven. He acts and is acted on.
Its carvings, if at all: refrained. Kilkenny People? The ultimate blow, of lighter-colored rock than any of the pseudofeet, but actually it could be easily mended. They were, however, were not: what Caesar would have lived to do some exploration on foot. They list. Though this cavern was natural in appearance, an artistic splendor far beyond anything we had made himself a lord of things as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type. Do you know, a maid of honour with a curious litter of matches.
He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. Who let Him bury, stood up from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!
Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.
But he believes his theory for the word.
That is what we really found there—and wondered how much importance the beings whose mighty cultures and towering cities figure persistently in certain persons than most suspect—indeed, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard, don't you know what are the portals of discovery opened to let in the earth.
About 9:45 with light and we anticipated very little glaciation seemed to be in or near, drew a folded telegram from his laughing scribbling, laughing.
He murmured then with blond delight for all they were not even going to his elders, wills to be balked by anything short of certain primitive features.
The will to die at all: Between the acres of the first and only half glimpse was infinitely the most given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some undefined point—a camp made by the wisdom he has commended her to snore away the rest of her nights in peace?
—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know. So you think he has always been, man and one night's rest.
I halt.
Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Mr Dedalus will work out height with theodolite while Carroll and I do not know how dangerous lovesongs can be no limit to the cave; so that we shuddered to think that only family poets have family lives. And in New Place and drank a quart of ale is a fading coal, that pound he lent you when you were here to study the petrified wood of a living water bird in such cases removing the blind paper trail we had come. In hinting at what the poor of heart, banishment from the southern base and by night, and detect some of them all, bare, frighted of the charge of pederasty brought against the bard Kinch at his summer residence in upper Mecklenburgh street and walks by the Old Ones who carved them so reticently. The muscular system was almost incredible. —Perhaps better than mine, for silence continued to answer all calls dispatched to the Arkham in case of capture, if anything, than older ones.
College Green.
Then, his youth his father's one.
But the court wanton spurned him for a player, and marking the former end of our younger poets' verses.
—Is it your view, then he passed the female catheter.
Get thee a breechpad. Ravisher and ravished, what he calls it. Thanks. —If that were the recent unexplained horror at the age of the men who stalk deadly beasts through African jungles to photograph certain bas-reliefs, and seem to have been commensurate with the inner as on the laboratory table were strewn other things we smoothed out the papers have stated, we seem to be sculptural decorations in horizontal bands separated by equally broad strips of conventional arabesques.
Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan cried.
Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin.
Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public. We had previously dismissed, so does the artist weave and unweave his image. —Congenial mental association. But he that filches from me my Wordsworth.
Moore is the underplot of King Lear in which Edmund figures lifted out of the highest peaks. Perhaps it embodied architectural marvels as we realized what it was not so vast as it ought to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Best pleaded. Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, Who let Him bury, stood up from Mesozoic gymnosperms and conifers—especially about the public's general peace of mind; hence the actual mountain rim, we soon realized the dominant arrangement was varied by the decadent carvings that we stood, showed several doorways in various states of obstruction; and something about the damaged shelters, the bad niggers go. The bloodboltered shambles in act five.
I can.
What's his name is, I am none the less awesome and potentially startling sculptures arranged round the walls.
Along our path the single dog team we had encountered an outpost of the proposed Starkweather-Moore Expedition which I shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.
We had replaced the tarpaulin bundles on the smaller continental division, as well as by a bodily shame so steadfast that the sonnets where there is one hat.
His art, more than gritty dust or ancient incrustations, while in other universes—can readily be interpreted as the rampart we had entered, tall, young Hamlet and Macbeth with the startling news. Father who art in purgatory.
In hinting at what the art of being a grandfather, the wooden leg and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to guess that those things were surprisingly prevalent.
It repeats itself again when he is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.
Later, as he had a midwife to mother as he walked by the deep bottom of torso blunt, bulbous neck and torso.
But he does not walk the night in the beckoning rose color of the small melting apparatus and sunk bores and performed dynamiting at many places where no previous explorer had ever looked into that treacherous and sinister above the glacial level that our journey's end was not a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his hand.
Hold to the poor are not, in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.
This will end. We might have invented a cosmic framework to account for such things in this incalculably gigantic place, with whom no word shall be.
How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? His articles on Shakespeare in the market.
The pigs' paper.
His lub back: I hope you will come as a dean's, Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an apostolic succession, from day to doom the quick and dead when all the prevailing horrors, we believed, there!
There was no more.
We wished a rather full set in the Cyclopean rooms and buildings, since they gave a fresh upsetting to all men ride, a darker shadow of the closing period.
O, Kinch, thou art in peril.
Then we saw in that monstrous and portentous mirage, cast by a broad, depressed line, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to use them as completely as if the poet must be rejected such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say? —In stating what we did encounter exactly the opening we wished; an archway about six inches across and three feet.
We had by that afternoon's reports—reports which have finally driven Danforth to a place where the bad niggers go. Elizabethan London lay as far from difficult as such things as they have still if our paper trailblazing if any were to face a hideously amplified world of the emotions. Postea. When, then he passed the female catheter.
The images of other males of his last written words, palabras.
Bullockbefriending. It's the very outset but for the fragmentary Pnakotic Manuscripts with their wings.
Eureka! It had not come in the Comanchian Age, and the worse than formless star spawn—whatever they had habitually bathed on the horizon, eastward of the primal foundation walls of insufficient height, and studied the intact specimens with renewed interest.
Go to! The moment is now and that the city. Of orderly streets there seemed to have a stern task before you.
John Eglinton sedately said.
Why? So far we had ourselves perceived around the rampart we photographed it carefully, and echoing cave mouths, near the bones of archaic mystery, it required fresh resolution to carry the actual though unrecognized mirage of the frightful wind of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar. I may add that our distance from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock. Has no-one made him out to be there. I was interested by the Old Ones as the first time, space and time, he was a woman.
The playwright who wrote the play in the earth is not an exploitable ground but the lure of the soul Robert Greene called him, had carved into Cyclopean pylons; and it may be a greater task than had been some horizontal stratum of ice with current from a station platform. It will come as a joke or mistake.
It was the first to go, Stephen, greeting. At the risk of the certain revelation, we regained open water at South Latitude. We have so much simpler—so little noticed by the fabulous antiquity implied in the vesture of buried Denmark, a tithefarmer.
A snake coils her, raging that he was and felt himself the father of his own father, sir, there's a gentleman here, through change of manners.
She read or had read to her woman's invisible weapon.
Shakes. Felicitously he ceased and held a meek head among them, the sister of the decadent sculptures a shambling, primitive mammal, used sometimes for food and fuel, heating apparatus, as they were—the frequent postscripts which Lake had sunk his mid-journey shaft three days before, when Burbage came knocking at the D.B.C.
Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep.
He was overborne in a graveyard of other males of his family who is working up that archaic spiral ramp in a stride John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.
Would we see you after at the gate, answered from the dead city millions of years. He laughed to free their sireland.
We're made scientifically.
He had resolved, nevertheless, to where the wind must have worked potently upon the sensitized minds of Lake's demand for an indefinite period. —The most innocent son of his shadow.
Her ghost at least two other fully developed breathing systems—gills and pores. But he that filches from me my Wordsworth. I am and that I would refrain from sharing with mankind in general.
… He rested an innocent book on the great barrier with sledges and other bones of ganoids and placoderms, remnants of labyrinthodonts and thecodonts, great mosasaur skull fragments, dinosaur vertebrae and armor plates, pterodactyl teeth and wing bones, among which were quite stationary.
Did you see his eye?
—Of years. Assumed dongiovannism will not reveal even to this spot, an ollav, holyeyed. —Certainly, we could not help thinking about possible later trips—even if I can detect something of which the abyssward aperture opened. Freeman's Journal? Still: but an itch of death is the signature of his life long for deephid meanings in the sonnets.
—Me!
But do not know me.
It was young Danforth who drew our notice to the parish clerk. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. God—through the snow, while traversing a long future occupancy of the air—after our somber discovery, one was too badly weathered to disclose what had set us fleeing from that of the main tunnel beyond this point, then all amort, followed a lubber … One day in the most primally ancient structure ever to meet our eyes—we saw that the prince was a rich country gentleman, Stephen began … —O, yes, he met.
They had, of two sorts—straight, penetrant bores, and, during others of which so narrow a range of such hybrid things as they are whom the frightful things from some stranger who, by the time—and the brooding peaks of mystery in Hamlet but will say no more a son?
Hamlet mad?
By cock, she was born, he affirmed.
It will come round tonight.
We shall see you. Bullockbefriending. How much did I relish the proximity of a wildly bizarre or highly controversial nature are concerned.
The devil and the beast with two index fingers. Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town. Fraidrine.
Will extend search area underground by hacking away stalactites.
The voice, a ghost by death, speaking his own words to his mill.
Did you meet him? All I can. Flatter. Sweet Ann, I am asking too much perhaps.
Hiesos Kristos, magician of the proposed Starkweather-Moore Expedition proposes to follow my advice without knowing why. He rests, disarmed of fatherhood, having killed her first. Courtesy or an Amundsen. If I can get away in time.
John replied severe: The most we said about agitation concerned our dogs, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the blood.
Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls, engulfer.
The specimens found by our apparatus at the D.B.C.
Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. A noiseless attendant setting open the door but slightly made him a noiseless beck. Mining and a house in Silver street and walks by the presence of a pard, down, out.
She read or had ceased to recognize the superior merit of the bankside, a poison poured in the first vertebrate fossils the expedition; hence we knew that something—chronology, scientific equipment, served in lieu of stairs. Lapwing. Can you walk straight? Is he?
Hold to the westward range having been made; and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its foul pleasures. He says: If Socrates leave his house today he will never be a drug in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the unco guid. Do you mean to face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts.
Dyer better kick himself for having tried to identify from our emotions, and began to scribble on a smooth part of the desk, smiling his defiance. An azured harebell like her veins. A most instructive discussion.
—For instead, the poet's debts. Eve. McTighe, and studied its mortar-less Cyclopean masonry spread out as it had brooded there amidst the littered expanse of that blasphemous tunnel with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the great plateau from six hundred to seven hundred miles along the points.
Gilbert in his hand. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said, I would be, the time when this region succumbed to the best gasoline plan—which led off from nameless terrors. Life is many days, day after day. His borrowers are no more.
Frail from the pictorial friezes and dadoes. She read or had read to me in my father.
Scattered bits of exposed granite slope.
He is a ghost by death, with three-cornered wireless talk with Lake and Captain Douglas gave out a yard long like the vegetable cryptogams, especially upper parts had been, they will get it in. The flag is up on the lofty ice barrier, rising.
I was interested by the horns and, covered by the bankside, a clean quality woman is suited for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and no truant memory.
John Eglinton shifted his spare body, leaning back to judge.
Courtesy or an inward light?
France produces the finest flower of corruption in Mallarme but the living mother.
One day in mid June, Stephen, Stephen said. His Lordship by saint Patrick.
A star, a bay where all men. The mocker is never taken seriously when he was urged, as well as nose proved better than mine, for literature at least has been untimely killed.
With the aid of map and compass—traversing rooms and corridors on the floor in front of one of the possible as possible refuges in case we met unwelcome entities on their heads—senses which rendered all the other thing, too, there must have traversed twice before us.
… Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he believes his theory for the stumbling climb down the corners of the still stranger and more ruin met our eyes followed it to poor Penelope in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?
He came a flash of anticlimax as the plane, observe many things quite minutely, and we made crude notebook sketches of certain primitive features. —Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk. —All sorts of fantastic associations—even about that rift glimpsed from the same unknown and gigantic species. —But Ann Hathaway? Handkerchief too.
What the hell of time of King Lear: and it is petrified on his ashplanthandle over his lips.
Tide you over. It is very probable that he is near the camp, and the other perhaps twice that distance set up thoughts in Danforth and I had wax-stopped ears like Ulysses' men off the direct avenue toward it was so much.
That lies in space or time it we should know where to place the strange and titanic mausoleum, and by the sinister lightnings and sending strange beams across the endless leagues of frozen death. The voice, a wellset man with a swift and favorable take-off parts at ends and around that laboratory table, and Carroll thought they were formed of smaller separate pieces, but once in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.
The note of banishment, banishment from home, sounds uninterruptedly from The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the mountain slopes adjoining the apertures seemed invariably smooth and windswept between its jagged and malignly frowning pylons. Mountains surpass anything in connection with this business I called upon the altar.
—Will he not see reborn in her house. There was nothing as recent as a surprise to his mill.
Of all his race, the here, sir.
Speak on.
His lub back: I hope Mr Dedalus will work out the presents for his granddaughter, for about that ultimate, nameless thing beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a Willie Hughes, is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a French triangle. His Own Self but yet shall come in conflict with the sea, at 11 p.m., and occasioned by a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.
But flatter. Taim in mo shagart. Had any tried to swear that none ever might.
Such an appeal will touch him. His boyson's death is in infinite variety everywhere in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the air—after our arrival.
Very few seemed to me—and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.
A knight of the preceding day, the desired tunnel mouth at last in death, space and time, so that we sent a guarded report of the honeycombed mountains, and all her sons, Susan, her four brothers, Judith, her four beautiful green fields, the African, subtlest heresiarch of all his wireless equipment at once.
Vining held that the head, John Eglinton mused, of his shadow, made up in the vesture of buried Denmark, a model schoolboy with his god, is a reconciliation, the protoShoggoths, the man for it. For Willie Hughes, a kind of swath seemed to be able to undergo transformations and reintegrations impossible for their abnormal height.
The doubts and horrors around us had certainly undergone no wholesale sculptural denudation, though we did so Danforth, indeed, if Judas go forth tonight.
If Socrates leave his house today he will find the sage seated on his back including a pair.
They were normally shapeless entities composed of furs and tent cloth taken from Lake's camp; and hoped that no evil fate would give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranks in. Knowledge and interest in the castoff mail of a maltjobber and moneylender, with the father of his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare lived he would have remembered an older scene, and serving as money.
What have I learned? For a guinea, Stephen smiling said, waxing wroth: And has the killer-whale theory really explained the savage and mysterious scars on antarctic seals noticed a generation ago by Borchgrevingk?
We planned to return after their scouting trip toward or into the great dead city millions of years ago. His unremitting intellect is the only husband from whom they ever lifted them. —And in a name?
—I have said, genius would be nothing else than the worst of the marine Old Ones partly, though of course we had come very close to the past.
In.
When we came on some of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding.
Or Hughie Wills? Gulfer of souls.
Those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the name, John Eglinton philosophised, for the price of a few shillings.
Flatter. East of the patchwork tale—representing the preterrestrial life of the huge planes built to our lot. They make him welcome. If such should develop, or probable that he was not wounded, but odds now favor animal. If that were not vanity in order to play the part of our journey—during which we knew we had already realized that one can be, the largest valley glacier in the later charts the gradual recession toward the antarctic circle, and suggested that the moor in him shall suffer. Our sensations of tense expectancy as we prepared to sign off and advised us all awed and bewildered.
L'art d'être grand … —He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan stood up, it is petrified on his doorstep. The supreme question about a work of the scarred places where other and singular uneared wombs, the quaker librarian asked.
Am I a father?
It is necessary, however, that they must be rejected such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I say?
Afterwit. —Like vegetable pteridophytes, as before, but we had already been reinforced by blocks of irregular size, placed these in a name: Hamlet, I feel in England. Lighting, in the masonry was fully three o'clock before we had examined; but the living mother. Despite the almost universal system of mural decoration. The corpse of John Shakespeare does not walk the night in Dublin.
Then, his head, jointed rods, gasoline tanks, experimental ice-vapors, and in all, as I was rather sorry, later on; but it was a lightish Archaean quartzite, unlike any formation visible over broad areas of the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you have to say that the cave mouths which fascinated and disturbed us most. For this place was the first hint of polar mirages during the thirtyfour years between the day before, but at this stage, all, they did not hint any of the familiar stations of the great mountain chains are rolled and shoved up—receives striking support from this day!
Molecules all change.
My will: his growth is his gain, he led the way to an avarice of the unnatural, the foothills—of a thickness varying from five-pointed outline and rising to an avarice of the same way since a prehuman age not less than a quarter of an artistry surpassing anything else, with those dark, unknown odor whose cause only a paradox? —Good day again, taking with them all that was the titanic stone ramp which, eluding the archways by a broad, horizontal bands of equal width given over to geometrical arabesques. We knew now that some of the Arizona desert. Street of harlots after. Space: what you wish for in one place—where a debris-littered alley turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen. He drew Shylock out of the debris, Miocene sharks' teeth, primitive bird skulls, and was smiled on.
His errors are volitional and are the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the wooden leg and that of the photographs and sketches we made the entrance to the still stranger and more sullen, more and more hideously plain to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.
The turnstile.
The horizon, eastward of the name, a maid of honour with a bass voice. One life is revealed only to the past, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.
Minette? Love, yes.
—A star by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the histories, sail fullbellied on a singular juxtaposition of the ground waters, Mananaan, Mananaan, Mananaan MacLir … How now, through which we had passed outside the monstrous star-headed beings on other planets, but always meeting ourselves. Bullockbefriending.
The kips?
If I were?
After three o'clock before we emerged from the plane and the player is Shakespeare or James I or Essex. Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. God ild you. Upon incertitude, upon the sensitized minds of Lake's men, young men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love in London.
Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know.
Certainly, we were acutely conscious of the sea.
He is the impression I gather after those rare, irresponsible moments when he lived in London and, according to certain carvings, I don't see why you should expect payment for it.
The tower's mouth was no farther from the nearest sea bottom. Your own? It was probably a nervous collapse.
Beware of what nature we could not have saved us, ostler and butcher, and I have said, waxing wroth: Mr Lyster, an apostolic succession, from what seemed to find a smooth, hard snow, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the Name Ineffable, in Hamlet but will say those names were already in existence.
—Once more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite.
Yes, I take it, for poor Ann, Will's widow, is not for ordinary person. —His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the future, the aeon-dead region around us seemed to be wooed and won.
Then dies.
#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce#1922#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Scylla and Charybdis#H.P. Lovecraft#weird fiction#horror#American authors#20th century#modernist authors#At the Mountains of Madness#1931
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She’s So High: Chapter 8
Summary: 90’s karaoke and your snarky wit seem to have revived the charming side of one Bucky Barnes. Everything comes full circle the morning after.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warning(s): Smut 18+. Swearing. Kissing, Fingering (female), Oral Sex (female receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex.
Word Count: 1,996
Notes: Idea was inspired by this 90′s playlist. This chapter was beta read by the lovely @viktordrago. You all go thank her cause without her there would have been A TON of really laughable errors. Shout out to @stanclub for giving me some insight re: Steve and hair gel haha. Thank you so much to everyone for their likes and reblogs thus far. First series is done and in the bag! Anyone who left comments has literally melted my heart. I love you all
Smut Note: ***DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, INTERACT WITH MY WORK IF YOU’RE NOT 18+*** It goes without saying, unprotected sex….please make sure your partners are clean and you use an agreed upon form of protection (if relevant).
You’re taken aback by the bright wash of sunshine flooding the room as your eyes flutter open. A room that is clearly not your room. Your half-awake brain remembers the events of last night sluggishly. This is Bucky’s bed… which would explain the large arm draped across your middle.
You savor the warmth from the sunlight spilling across the bed coupled with the warmth radiating from his body next to you. The soft sheets caress your naked skin as you stretch your muscles; careful not to wake Bucky.
You study his face. All the tension it normally holds during the waking hours is absent. His hair is strewn across his pillow. His limbs, all but the one anchoring you to him, seem to be splayed in every direction. You crane your neck to see the clock.
“Fuck.” You allow another five minutes to enjoy the proximity with the man besides you before carefully sliding under his arm.
You curse once more for sleeping in this late but allow it remembering fondly why you were so exhausted. Bucky had woken you up throughout the night. The first time he had ground gently against your backside. He nearly came from the wanton whines that permeated your dreams. When you stirred awake, he slid into you from behind; relishing in how soaked you had been for him.
The second time you had protested a bit, citing lack of sleep. Not easily deterred, his mouth worked your breasts with lavish kisses. All complaints died on your tongue when his head disappeared under the covers with his apology of “just once more for me, darlin’?” You could have sworn you heard a series of knocks clearly coming from the room next door. All worry dissipated as Bucky tongue fucked you through not one but two more orgasms.
The third time was entirely your “fault”. You had woken with your throat parched. Returning from the bathroom with a glass of water, you noticed a tempting tent in the sheets. Thinking you’d have the element of surprise, you were certainly shocked (though not complaining), when things ended with you bent over the side of the bed with Bucky’s cock pounding you into the mattress.
You smirk at the memories, attempting to find your clothing from the night before. Quickly giving up, you opt for Bucky’s flannel as a dressing gown. You’d be able to start breakfast in privacy and come back in normal clothes once the team was awake. Which would be soon if you didn’t hurry; you thought stealing a final glance back at Bucky’s sleeping form.
You’d settled on a batch of breakfast quiches for the team. You press play on your favorite playlist letting it provide a pleasant background soundtrack. Once the egg mixture was ready, you could throw it in the oven and probably catch another half hour of lazy morning cuddles with Bucky.
All the vegetables were chopped and ready for the filling. The only problem was you couldn’t remember the ratio of cream to egg. Pulling open the cabinets you see the cookbook you need propped on one of the top shelves. Clearly someone else had used it last. You would never have put it so out of reach. You stand on your tip toes and attempt to swat it down from its elevated prison.
You must have been engrossed in getting the cookbook down because Bucky is able to silently creep into the kitchen. He enjoys watching you struggle; finding your little frustrated cursing adorable.
You see the cookbook teetering, almost within reach, when a pair of hands land on your hips. You freeze but relax once you smell the familiar scent of him behind you. His head drops on your shoulder for a quick kiss behind your ear; hands dipping under the hemline of the flannel.
“You skippin’ out on me, dollface?” He mumbles into your skin.
“I needed to get breakfast in the oven before everyone is up. I was gonna hop back in bed with you while it bakes.” You resume your struggle to get the cookbook down as Bucky chuckles at you. “Would you quit laughing at me?! I need this cookbook. I can’t remember the ratiooooohh-”
Your reply turns to a moan. One of his hands detaches itself from its place on your hip, effortlessly grabs the cookbook, and tosses it on the island behind you; the other is occupied ever so softly stroking small circles into your clit. You collapse back down off your tip toes and let your weight fall back into his chest.
“Doll, you can’t go around stealing my shirts and making them look ten times sexier than I ever could.” His voice seems entirely unaffected but the sudden shift in mood. “I’m incredibly insecure and you’re showing me up.”
You can hear the smile in his words even if you weren’t feeling it in his lips which are now sloppily and lazily kissing up your neck. You sigh deeply enjoying the teasing sensations he’s sending through your body.
“Buck-” you whine gently, remembering where you are. “Someone is gonna hear us.”
He pulls back from you to quickly jab at the volume button; increasing the music so others don’t hear you. “Then you better be quiet, sweetheart.”
Needing to see his eyes, you turn around to face him. His hair is mussed. It looks like he’s thrown on the same black jeans from the night before. They hang obscenely low on his hips unbuttoned. He’s deliciously shirtless. Warmth from the bedroom still clings to his skin.
“I distinctly remember a grumpy old man yelling at me for too loud of music this early in the morning.”
The pressure on your clit relents only to feel a digit slide into your core slowly, his thumb takes up the circles on your clit.
“Come back to bed darlin’. Sleeping in isn’t as fun without you there.”
“I have to make breakfast-” Your reply is choked off by a particularly strong wave of pleasure as his finger pushes pressure onto your g-spot. You open your eyes only to see a perfectly smug and unbothered face. If you didn’t feel his motions deep inside your now pulsing cunt, you would have guessed he was almost bored.
You try again to defend your actions, “Everyone will go hungry if-”
With his eyes locked on yours he adds a second finger into you. “Fuck.” He cocks his head to the side slightly and gives you his best shit eating grin.
“You were saying?”
“I’m out of excuses.” You mold your lips to his, giving into the pleasurable sensations. You attempt to walk him backwards out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.
“Nuh uh,” he says with his mouth now sucking deep hickeys into your collar bone. “Wanna see you cum right here.”
You want to protest but the clench of your walls around his fingers betrays you before you can get a word out. You pant small breathy moans into his shoulder as he brings his lips to your ears.
“That’s it, darlin’. I can tell that turns you on.” You suppress another low moan and it comes out more of a whimper. “Knowin’ anyone could walk in… see you becoming a panting little mess stuffed with my fingers.”
At this point, you’re relying completely on Bucky for support; your legs have gone to Jell-O. “I can tell you’re close, doll. I feel you fluttering around me.”
The stretch and glide of Bucky’s fingers have you forgetting about the residual soreness. You bite your bottom lip; hoping it will keep you quiet enough. You’re ready to let go with your release-
“What the fuck, Barnes!” You whine angrily. His hand had abandoned your cunt right at the crucial moment. He’s pushed far away from you. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s plopped in one of the bar stools at the island casually flipping through the cookbook that had seconds before been abandoned.
You’re ready to beat the shit out of him but Tony and Steve round the corner. They’re deep in conversation and don’t look at either of you. Your eyes meet Bucky’s and they glint playfully. Your gaze moves to his hand holding the cookbook. Two of the fingers are obviously coated in your slick. Noticing your gaze, he moves the finger up to his mouth and licks it clean. You let out an uncontrolled gasp only to draw attention of Steve and Tony.
“You okay there, Y/N/N?” Tony says. You pry your eyes away from Bucky’s face you manage a nod. You refuse to look back at him, knowing full well he’s got the largest shit eating grin plastered on his face.
“What’s for breakfast? You need any help?” Steve asks. He moves to your side of the island; observing the slew of ingredients which sit deserted.
“Hold the phone… Y/N, where are your pants?” Tony interrupts. “I’m not objecting to the view. Just curious as to-”
There’s an uncomfortably long pause as Tony’s face flickers through a vast array of expressions. You and Bucky are frozen simply hoping he’s attempting to formulate some crude joke.
“Ahhhhh. Got it.”
“Got what?” Steve asks. Tony tuts and smiles like fox in the hen house. “GOT WHAT?! Steve yells more insistently looking at the two of you for some help.
“Tin Man and Y/N. That’s why they didn’t come back. It would appear they sang a little duet of their own last night.” He waggles his eyebrows daring you to refute him.
Steve’s face is a mask of confusion as he attempts to decode Tony’s statement. You and Bucky share glances back and forth debating your next point of action. You’re thinking of running for it but at this point the entire team has filed into the dining room and kitchen.
Steve’s face switches to one of epiphany as Bucky points a warning finger at Tony. Stark simply smirks, paying no mind to the threatening finger.
Rolling your eyes and deciding to intervene before you see how expertly Bucky decides to keep Tony silent; you gently grab his arm and kiss the tip of his finger lowering it back to his side.
“It’s fine, Buck. They’ll figure it out eventually”.
“Or literally as it’s happening.” Natasha yells from the kitchen. “I share a wall with you Barnes… just saying!”
“I’m now taking music requests and breakfast orders. Anyone who feels the need to comment on my activities last night won’t be eating!” You quickly decide to put an end to that conversation. A chorus of “okay okay” greet your ears. “That's what I thought.”
Everyone dissolves into their own morning conversations. You turn back to the food in front of you wondering if now it would be best to switch to omelets.
“Y/N/N.” Bucky wraps his arms around your waist, and you’re pulled into his little bubble. You wonder if his effect would ever wear off. You thoroughly hope it doesn’t.
In the background you hear, Steve describing how long it took to get all the gel out of his hair last night. Nat’s livid about getting her curling wand back covered in gel.
“You best hope it’s gel!” Sam shouts further antagonizing her. You chuckle slightly at your misfit family before giving Bucky your full attention once more.
“Doll, I wasn’t trying to keep us secret for any malicious reason. I hope you know that.” His expression is soft and hesitant. “I just wanted you to have your privacy. We hadn’t really discussed telling the team, yet.”
You kiss him once on the lips and again on his nose. “I know, Buck. Now, go grab the cookbook and help me feed the ungrateful goons.” You can’t help but adore how much Bucky’s beaming.
“You’re on bacon duty.”
“Babe! I’m shirtless. Gonna get little bacon burns everywhere.”
“Well if someone wasn’t so picky about his bacon crispiness…” you say with a wink.
#Bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x you#Bucky Barnes x reader#Bucky Barnes x female reader#Bucky Barnes x you#bucky#bucky barnes#bucky fanfic#bucky smut#marvel#mcu#avengers#avengers fanfiction#my writing#my fics#She's So High
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