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tellerluna-stories · 2 years

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episode 03: boss dog to the rescue!

CONTENTS: 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. m.list!

TW/CW: there is bread and it is eaten, and it is an important part of the plot. idk how to explain it in a way that doesn't sound absurd,,, BASTA MAY TINAPAY DITO HAHAHAHA

A/N: this chapter is dedicated to the stars to my moon, the lovely @byeol-ssi!! hope you enjoy the fluffiness hehe <33. also!!! I probably won't be able to update regularly for a while because some majour stuff came up irl and I don't think I'll be able to write until everything's settled. thank you for understanding~~

“Good morning!”

“Do you need help with that?”

“Oh hey, wanna walk to class together?”

“See you tomorrow!”

For the past few weeks (yes, weeks), your ears had been ringing with the sound of barking— er, the chipper sound of Thoma’s voice as he kept hanging around you. You didn’t know exactly why he was so insistent on going out of his way to talk to you, but he didn’t seem to have any ill intentions or ulterior motives, so you let him do whatever he pleased.

…That, and perhaps he had grown on you a little bit. Just a little.

Anyway, today was a weekend, so you wouldn’t see the puppy-boy. The weekend was a precious, precious time for you, whose social battery was easily drained; it was a time you reserved solely for yourself to recuperate after all the stress that the weekdays brought. So on this fine day, you decided to venture into The Great Outdoors on a great and noble quest to purchase the finest rations that a relaxing weekend would require. In this case, that meant freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery.

There was a lively spring to your step as you walked, mouth watering slightly as you thought about all the warm bread that awaited you; normally you preferred to stay indoors and hide from the light of day, but today was different. It was the perfect weather to walk outside— on days like these, the sun’s rays chose to play hide-and-seek over rooftops and through tree-branches, without scorching everything to death and blinding you for no good reason.

Hey, even someone who normally shunned the light of day would want to go outdoors once in a while, right?

You took a deep breath and savoured the gift of your senses; feeling the pleasant contrast between the faint warmth of asphalt through your shoes and the soft breeze that cooled your face, admiring the vibrant colour of lit by sunshine— and most importantly, smelling the bewitchingly sweet aroma of fresh bread that signalled you were close to your destination.

One step, two steps… just a few more paces before you completed your quest.

"Whoa, Taroumarou, slow down! Don’t tug on the leash like that, you’ll hurt yourself—"

You froze in your tracks, your entire body stiffening at the sound of a voice that was unfortunately all-too-familiar. Coming from just around the corner— no, it couldn’t be. You were hallucinating.

“Taroumarou- ugh, don’t pee in that flower-pot! That’s not your toilet!”

(Okay, maybe you weren't hallucinating, because if you were... was it possible to file a complaint to whatever part of your brain was in charge of creating hallucinations? Could you just ask to have this particular hallucination replaced?)

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you tiptoed to peek around the corner, praying fervently that you were mistaken. But still another part of you fluttered anxiously with hope— as to what you were hoping for, it was still unsure.

Blond hair that shone like gold in the sunlight.

Emerald-green eyes framed with long, sun-kissed lashes.

A pair of strong, slender hands that grasped onto the leash of an absolute unit of a fluffy dog, who was blessed with fur that almost matched the colour of his owner’s hair and was almost as fluffy.

Lips that curved into an exasperated smile, gently reprimanding said dog as his owner tried to persuade him to change his choice of toilet.

It was almost comedic, really— just an ordinary student struggling to walk his dog on a fine afternoon, an ordinary scene that you’d pass by without a second thought. On any other day you'd have ignored him and continued to walk through the world in your own protective bubble so you wouldn’t get invested in the lives of other people... yet here you stood, absolutely spellbound by this stranger.

The puppy-boy laughed and shook his head, leaning down to scratch his dog under the chin, and a strange shudder ran down your spine. It was like scales had fallen from your eyes, revealing the Thoma that you had never seen before— or perhaps never wanted to see until now.

Your heart knocked against your ribs, once, twice, and then paused a beat.

“Thoma?”

His name slipped from your lips before you could catch yourself, and the boy eagerly perked up at the sound of his name, just like when you had first met. “Oh, it’s you! I didn’t expect to run into you here.” Thoma tugged on Taroumarou’s leash lightly, gently nudging the dog forward with his foot. “Taroumarou, say hello to my classmate.”

“Ah… hello, Taroumarou.”

The dog trundled towards you, snuffling around your legs and shoes till it was satisfied and gave an approving woof.

“Looks like he likes you,” Thoma grinned, squatting down to scratch Taroumarou behind his ears. “It’s not that easy to get the approval of Boss Dog over here, so you must be quite extraordinary for him to favour you like this.”

“Is that so?” Squatting down at a carefully calculated distance from Thoma (for decency's sake, you rationalised), you leaned closer to peer at Taroumarou’s dark eyes and fluffy cheeks. “Say, Taroumarou, may I pet you?”

(Now, under normal circumstances you'd have retained your more reserved persona around people you weren't close with, but in this case... what could you do? There was a very cute, fluffy dog just within reach, and if it wasn't obvious enough, you had a particular weakness for puppies.)

Boss Dog yipped, and Thoma leaned closer to listen as if he were the dog’s official interpreter. “What was that, boy? Can my- ew, don’t lick inside my ear! Gross!”

Both puppy-boy and puppy toppled onto the pavement as Taroumarou happily jumped up to lick Thoma’s face, and you couldn’t help it, you really couldn’t— you burst into laughter right then and there.

Not the polite, canned laughter that you used around people, no— it was the roaring, dying wheezes of someone who hadn't laughed this much since grade school, and your stomach muscles sorely paid the price for it. You barely stopped yourself from collapsing onto the pavement and howling like a hyena, but it didn't help one bit that the Boss Dog still kept jumping around Thoma like a little imp intent on eating earwax for a snack. Your lungs pleaded for mercy and your face ached from all the smiling, but all you could do was to laugh even harder.

Meanwhile, the source of your laughter froze rigidly, his brain slowly processing what was going on as Taroumarou frisked around him. It was the first time he’d ever seen you smile, let alone burst into a fit of laughter that had you whacking your palm against the concrete and tears rolling down your face.

Well, technically it wasn’t the first time, but still— the smiling, giggling version of you that stood before him now, it was because of something he (and Taroumarou) did. You were smiling because of him.

“Ah- I’m sorry.” You wheezed, brushing a stray tear from your eye. “I promise I wasn’t laughing because you fell. It just was so funny to see Taroumarou hopping around like that…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you there.” Thoma’s face lit up eagerly, his own nonexistent tail wagging behind him. “But he’s not always this crazy, I promise! He’s usually more well-behaved.”

“It’s alright.” Smiling, you scratched Taroumarou behind his ears and reveled in the fluffiness of the Boss Dog. “He seems to be a good boy, whether he’s frisking around or being polite. Aren’t you, Taroumarou?”

Thoma’s furry look-alike rubbed his cheek against your leg and yipped happily. Letting someone from school see you like this was out of character for you, but for some reason you didn’t care anymore.

It suddenly occurred to you that you had no idea on how to proceed from here; you had greeted your classmate, laughed in his face, and from there… what did people even do when they encountered an acquaintance outside of a school or work setting? You didn’t know the standard procedures, but you were pretty sure that it required small talk and some sort of food.

Speaking of food... you'd almost forgotten the reason why you had set out on this journey today.

"Do you like bread?" You suddenly blurted out, realising how stupid the question sounded as soon as it left your mouth (ah, your gift for eloquence was truly unmatched). "There's a good bakery nearby, and they usually bring out the batch for the evening around this time."

Taroumarou perked up at the suggestion, while Thoma's eyebrows shot up in interest. "As a matter of fact, I do like bread. Even more so when it's fresh."

Your mind went completely blank. You had no idea you’d get this far, so now what were you supposed to do?

“That’s good!” Stiffly, you jumped to your feet and marched off in what was hopefully the right direction. "It’s this way.”

Behind you, the dog and his owner exchanged glances before Taroumarou lurched forward. With a strength that could've rivalled King Arthur himself when he pulled out the sword Excalibur, the Boss Dog practically dragged Thoma to follow after you.

“Taroumarou, wait!” Thoma stumbled, just barely catching the leash that nearly slipped out of his hands. “You’re acting really weird today, boy…”

If only you could go back in time and smack your past self. Or say thank you. You no longer knew which one was the more practical option.

For some reason, you had thought it was a great idea to share your closest-guarded secret, the source of all baked goods divine… with a puppy boy. A very nice, friendly puppy-boy who you could admit was not bad-looking, but he was still an outsider.

A piping-hot bag of assorted bread sat on the little portion of bench between you and Thoma, effectively acting as a barrier to prevent your sanity from disintegrating completely. The look the owner had given you when you’d arrived with a pretty boy in tow was embarassing enough as it was.

This was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful afternoon, you lamented as you nibbled on a piece of bread. You could barely taste it.

“Whoa, the bread here is delicious!” Thoma exclaimed, blissfully oblivious to your inner turmoil. He tore off a tiny piece and tossed it to the ground for Taroumarou to taste. “Here boy, let me know what you think.”

Judging from the way the Boss Dog greedily licked up the little chunk of bread, this bakery also had his paw-print of approval.

“Well, uh… I’m glad you like it.“ You felt the eyes of the store-owner lasering in on you from all the way behind the counter— as far as you knew, she was just an excellent baker who gave you discounts for being a regular, but the fact that you could feel the intensity of her gaze from where you sat outside the bakery made you question if she was secretly some sort of superhuman. “Not a lot of people know about this place, so it’s rarely crowded.”

“You’re joking, right? This place is a hidden gem.”

"In a way, it's also a blessing in disguise. No crowds, no long lines..." Sighing in contentment, you slumped against the back of the bench a là shrimp posture. "I kept this place a secret ever since I found it, just so that it would stay that way. Haven't told a soul."

You froze the minute the words left your mouth; saying it like that might imply that you were entrusting some important secret of yours with Thoma. What if he misunderstood your intentions and thought you were flirting with him? That had been an unfortunately common problem among all your advice-seekers, and it would be humiliating to have to clear up the misunderstanding after you'd scolded so many people for doing the exact same thing.

“Yeah, I kinda understand why.” Thoma mused, his attention wholly fixed on his food. If he had misunderstood you, he showed no signs of it. “Seriously, this is amazing— I should take notes for the next time I bake bread.”

“…You can bake?”

“Yep. It’s kind of like my hobby, along with cooking and cleaning.”

The most absurd image come to mind— ‘Everyone’s Thoma’ opening a window while dressed in full housekeeping gear, complete with rubber gloves and a handkerchief to keep his hair out of his face. You briefly wondered if he was the type to wield a feather duster or a broom as his weapon of choice (for cleaning, of course).

Come to think of it, today was the first time you’d seen him outside of school. In school he was always well-behaved and a perfect gentleman, the dreamy student who everyone adored. It was Thoma’s natural disposition to behave the way he did on campus, but… there was something that was just a touch off from his usual self.

"You seem more relaxed today," You remarked, eyeing the boy who sat next to you. Taroumarou eagerly sniffed the ground, tangling his leash around your shins in his search for fallen crumbs.

"Well, I do suppose so. Weekends are a way for me to destress from the weekdays and all the worries that come with it." He replied, munching thoughtfully on the piece of bread. "I don't want to sound ungrateful for the things I have but... there are a lot of people who have expectations for me, and I don't want to let those people down."

Oh.

You'd had the impression that Thoma was just some generic popular boy who all the students swooned and sighed for, like the male love interest straight out of a cheesy high-school romance story— but apparently you had misjudged him.

Similar to your reputation as a relationship counselor, being 'Everyone's Thoma' was a burden, though one laden with good intentions and well-wishes from others. Because he always looked after everyone and brought joy to hearts of people around him, it became something those people began to take for granted and then even expect from him. It never crossed their minds that sometimes, the person who did all of these things might get worn out; in that sense, he wasn't so different from you, except that it was only even further magnified because of how many people looked up to him.

You had the privilege of slinking into the shadows and disappearing unnoticed, while Thoma... didn't.

Shame flushed hot in your face, gnawing at your stomach with pointy little fangs of guilt. "It must be tiring to deal with all of that."

"Ah, well... not most of the time. It only gets particularly draining on my bad days." Thoma popped the last of his bread into his mouth and smiled cheerfully, as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’.

The people who tell you not to worry about how they feel are usually the ones you should worry about most, you incorrigible pup.

Of all the people and relationships you'd seen and encountered, it always was the ones who disregarded their own feelings who suffered the most. You'd seen one too many girls weeping over a foolish lover not worth their time, pushing their feelings of hurt and grief deep down inside just because they thought that that was how it was to be in love. It was the same with friendships, and in Thoma's case too; if one person disregards their own feelings of stress and emotional pain in order to please the other party, then there was a high chance that the relationship wouldn't last unless something was done about those feelings.

"You know, every once in a while you should live your life for yourself. It wouldn't do you any harm to take care of yourself first."

The words were almost the same as what you had told many of the advice-seekers who begged for your assistance. Take care of yourself first, prioritise yourself— you'd said it so many times till the phrase was hollowed out into an empty formality, lingering on the tip of your tongue like a bitter pill. Over time, your advice became a poison that numbed the senses of the one who gave it out.

But for some reason, you had a faint notion that things had changed.

"Well, this is just my opinion, and well... I don't..." You scratched the back of your head, trying to think of the right words to say. "I don't know if I understand your situation entirely, so I may get things wrong."

He smiled as he fished for a new piece of bread, the corners of his eyes crinkling up like freshly-bloomed flower petals in a way that sent an electric shock tingling down your spine. "It's alright, really. I'd like to hear your thoughts on it anyway."

"You're- well... you're kinda like this bread."

Brilliant. Harvard would be begging on their knees for you to attend their university if they heard you now.

All three of you stared at the half-bitten piece of bread in your hand, although the expression on Taroumarou’s face looked more hungry than anything. Judging from the extremely judgemental aura radiating from behind, the owner had also overheard you.

"How…” Thoma blinked uncertainly. “How am I supposed to take that?"

"As a compliment...?" At that moment, you wanted nothing more but to melt through the ground to be absorbed into plant food. That way you could at least contribute to the well-being of any future ecosystems and make something worthwhile out of your embarassing existence.

The Boss Dog nudged Thoma’s ankle and whined softly, giving you a beady side-eye that would’ve made a grown man cry; compared to his master, Taroumarou was certainly not as merciful to your feelings.

"…Uh, would it be too much for me to assume that you're implying I'm a snack?"

"What— no! That's not what I meant." You spluttered furiously, flailing your hands about as you tried to deny any existence of an unintentional pick-up line. "That wasn’t my intention at all, I promise!”

He snorted and turned his face away, using the bread in his hand to act as a shield (like that would have done anything to conceal his laughter.) “No worries, I’m just joking. I figured you didn’t mean it like that… unless you actually did—“

“Don’t remind me!”

“Haha, alright, alright. I’ll let you finish.” Thoma lowered his bread to reveal a lopsided grin, a slightly teasing lilt to his tone of voice. His golden hair floofed up like a little cloud, giving him the illusion of two puppy-dog ears sprouting from the top of his head.

Cute, a small part of you remarked.

Once you realised what you had just dared to think, your plans to become compost were immediately placed at the top of your priority list. That’s it, you were definitely losing it and it was all his fault.

“Anyway, as I was saying.” You cleared your throat and gestured to your piece of bread. “You’re like this bread.”

“How so, prof?” He shifted to face you, crossing his legs and propping his chin on his hands like he was listening to a teacher. Emerald-green eyes sparkled with such attentiveness that it was starting to make you feel embarassed all over again, which was not helpful at all.

“…Do you want the long or short explanation?”

“I’d like the short explanation, please.”

“You- well…” It was somewhat awkward to say it aloud, but you had already dug your grave and now was the time to lie in it. “I don’t know exactly how to phrase it, but you sort of have the aura of fresh-baked bread. Like... when you’re around other people.”

Thoma’s eyebrows shot up in confusion, his nonexistent ears flopping to one side as he tilted his head. Taroumarou followed the example of his master, looking at you with such adorable confusion that you almost lost your cool. The audacity of these puppies to be so cute…

Luckily your counselor side took over before you had another meltdown, allowing you to continue without incident. “I think that’s what makes people gravitate to you so easily. Do you see how everyone swarms to buy bread in the cafeteria when there’s a fresh batch?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s always difficult to buy anything during that time.”

Your brain was running on fumes at this point— just what exactly had been your point here? It had been quite some time since you’d counselled someone and you hadn’t had the time to prepare yourself as you usually did. The expectant look on Thoma’s face as he gazed intently at you… well, needless to say, it was not helping your thinking process.

But you wanted to at least tell him something that would make him feel better; you didn’t know why, or how you would do it, but you just knew that you wanted to do it.

And fine, maybe you were just a bit worried about him. Call it sympathy from one reliable person to another.

“The thing is… you’re not just some object that can just be pushed around and argued over like the cafeteria bread. You have thoughts and needs just like everyone else, and I don’t think it’d be particularly fair to yourself if you kept pushing those aside for what everyone else wants you to be.” You said quietly, lowering your hand. “You may be similar to freshly-baked bread, but that doesn’t mean you always have to keep giving your time and effort to other people."

Thoma didn’t reply, merely continuing to look at you with an odd, melancholic expression on his face. One finger slowly tapped against his cheek, tracing absent-minded circles there as he gazed into your eyes.

“Ah- I’m sorry. I think I overstepped there.” Hastily you shoved your bread into your mouth, focusing all of your effort on chewing and swallowing so that you wouldn’t have to deal with reality. Without even realising it, you’d slipped into complete counselor mode while talking to him— it seemed that your old habits still remained.

“There’s no need to apologise.” One side of his mouth quirked up into a wry grin. “I was just thinking about what you said, that’s all.”

“If anything about what I said was incorrect, I apologise for assuming. Just- I suppose you can forget about it.”

“No, it actually made me really happy to hear that.” Thoma replied, the little smile on his face growing even further. “Just as I thought, I really am in good hands when I’m with you. Thank you for looking out for me.”

Your face burned hotter than an oven; this puppy-boy really was out for your neck, wasn’t he.

“Ah, the bread’s almost gone! Here, have another piece— you’ve barely eaten anything.”

A piece of bread was promptly thrust in your hands, still warm to the touch— though you had to admit that it wasn’t as warm as the feeling spreading in your chest. Thoma crossed his arms with an air of satisfaction, looking like a proud housewife who had just fed her guests with her hard efforts.

It almost made you want to burst out laughing all over again.

This side of him is definitely different, you decided. But it was a nice side to discover, one that made him a little more human than all the achievements and gushing flattery that were attached to him by others.

Unconsciously, you smiled a little as you bit into the bread he had given you. Oddly enough, it seemed to taste better than when you'd sit on this very bench and eat in solitude— perhaps there was some merit to the saying that food tasted better with company.

"Hey, I just thought of something." Thoma said aloud, nudging Taroumarou slightly with his foot in order to stretch his legs.

"What is it?"

"When you explained the sort of aura I have around other people, I started thinking about what kind of feeling you would have. I've come to the conclusion that you're just like this bakery."

"...How am I even supposed to take that?"

"Well, same as yours. It's a compliment." A different facial expression crept on his features— a look that you almost would've described as sly, if it weren't for how angelic his face naturally looked. To you, it was both amusing and unnerving at the same time.

You paused mid-bite to give him an unimpressed stare. “At least I explained why I thought you were like bread. Where’s your explanation?”

Thoma hummed softly, an amused look in his eyes as he rocked back and forth in his seat. “Maybe another time.”

“Well that’s unfair.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely explain it to you. Boss Dog here is our witness.”

Taroumarou barked in agreement, wagging his tail eagerly as he eyed the bread in your hand. You finished off your bread with a resigned sigh, accepting your fate; maybe making you squirm was just another part of Thoma’s personality.

Quietly, you admired Taroumarou for a few moments, running your fingers through his soft fur and savouring the fluffiness against your fingertips; a small part of you wondered if Thoma’s hair was fluffier, but you quickly dismissed the intrusive thought.

Still, your fingers twitched impulsively as you stole glances at Thoma’s loose, fluffy locks, and you decided that perhaps it was best for you to retire before you did anything rash. You already had several close calls today, and you didn't want to create any more memories that would cause you to scream into your pillow at night from sheer embarrassment.

“Sorry, but I can't stay too long. It's already getting late.” You brushed off the crumbs from your clothes and stood up.

“Oh... I see.” He looked almost regretful at the thought of you leaving (or perhaps it was just your wishful thinking). “In that case, don’t let me keep you.”

“It was… nice to see you today.” The words were no empty formality, you realised; you had genuinely enjoyed getting to see him today. And even more strange was the fact that your social battery was still full, perhaps even revitalised after running into Thoma and Taroumarou.

“Likewise.” Taroumarou yipped happily as Thoma did a little salute and grinned, sending your heart skipping like a lovesick school-girl’s. “Boss Dog says it was nice to see you, too.”

"Ah, um... if it's possible, could I see Taroumarou once in a while?"

"Just Taroumarou?"

You turned back and stared at him, completely lost on how to even respond to that question.

"Ah, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to." Thoma leaned back against the wall and gave you an amused smile, a perfect picture of relaxation in the fading sunlight. "I always walk him around this area, so maybe you can see him the next time you go out for bread."

“That- that’s a great idea.” You gave him an awkward thumbs-up in response, cringing at how stiff you sounded. Something in your chest melted into a mushy, gooey puddle as soon as Thoma tilted his head to face you, his sparkly puppy-boy eyes in full effect.

"We should do this again sometime. Taroumarou really seemed to enjoy getting bread with you today." He lightly shook Boss Dog's leash and patted him on the head. "As did I, of course."

His sincerity took you off-guard, as it always did; how could he live like that, with his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see? Yet at the same time, it didn’t seem like such a terrible way to live.

If all he had given you was his honesty, then it was only fair that you pay him back in a like manner— that was how you rationalised it, anyway.

“…Hey, Thoma.” The following words sat heavily on your tongue like a lump of iron; you weren’t sure if you were close enough for you to say something so… brazen.

"Yes?" A soft smile bloomed over his features, his eyes aglow with warmth that made your heart skip in strange ways and filled you with a strange, reckless courage; did Thoma always smile so gently when he looked at you?

"See you on Monday." You finished the outrageous statement with what hopefully passed for a friendly smile, and waved goodbye. Before Thoma could answer, you scampered off, your stomach twisting in knots as your words burned themselves into your auditory memory permanently— oh, you really hoped you didn’t just embarass yourself. “You can have the rest of the bread!”

The Boss Dog wondered why his subordinate sat there for such an extraordinarily long time, an unmoving statue even as Taroumarou wriggled himself into Thoma’s lap. His eyes remained dazed and unfocused despite Taroumarou’s best efforts to rouse Thoma from his stupor— what a strange boy. Was Thoma behaving this way because of the other human?

He tilted his head and sneezed, the scent of bread wafting temptingly in his nostrils; Taroumarou was a dignified dog of noble breeding who scorned to behave in a way that was beneath one of his pedigree, but for the sake of his subordinate he had nobly sacrificed his dignity in order to gain extra time with the strange human. Begging for crumbs, yanking on his leash in an undignified manner, even going so far to stall for time by peeing on a flower-pot when he had smelled the nice human from around the corner. Taroumarou recognised the scent from all the times his subordinate came home from school with a giddy smile on his face, the distinct smell of that particular human still lingering on his uniform.

Everything he had done was all because Thoma had seemed so happy when he saw that person— if his subordinate had been a dog, his tail would’ve been wagging non-stop. But now Thoma was very still, like one of those garishly-painted statues in the garden that Taroumarou had deemed as his sworn enemies.

The Boss Dog thought long and hard, pondering as to what could have brought his subordinate into such a state; could it be that this was Thoma’s first time courting?

Well, that seemed to be the only logical answer; the only other answer that Taroumarou could think of was that Thoma really had become one of those urban nightmares also known as the garden gnome. The Boss Dog whimpered slightly— he didn't like that notion at all.

He nudged Thoma’s arm once more, desperately hoping that his efforts would not be in vain. Finally, just when Taroumarou was about to bring out his genius last resort (which was to pee in Thoma’s lap) in order to save his subordinate from an eternity spent as a statue, Thoma spoke.

“Taroumarou, boy…” A strange, giddy smile curved upwards on Thoma’s face, the thrumming of his heartbeat reverberating through his entire body. “I think I’m in big trouble.”

Taroumarou rolled his eyes in a mixture of relief and disgust, nuzzling his snout into the crook of Thoma’s knee. Humans were strange creatures.

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steele-soulmate · 1 year

Text

Tattooed Wings Kinktober 30, Cockwarming

WORDS: 1717

“Hey, hey, hey there now everyone, what’s up? This is Mollie, reporting live from Santigo Stadium in New York City, where I am sitting with Type O Negative’s lead singer and bass player, Peter Steele and his soulmate and wife, the always lovely, ever enchanting, Mary Claire Ratajzck!”

“Dia dhuit!” Mary Claire chirped from her place on Peter’s lap, her arms tossed causally around his neck as she sat on his bare cock. Peter held a glass of red wine in his hand almost lazily, his arm slung around his wife’s slender waist as he hugged her in closely to his broad chest. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

Peter just grunted as he held up his cup as though saluting the viewers tuning in for the live broadcast. He told Mary Claire that he wouldn’t say anything unless absolutely necessary, for great fear that he would give away his wife cockwarming him in ‘secret’.

“First off, congratulations on tying the knot you two! But I do have to ask, why a courthouse wedding?”

“I have really bad anxiety,” Mary Claire began. “So bad in fact, that sometimes I legit thinks I need to be hospitalized. The very idea of having a wedding- of any size, mind you- made my mind race thinking of all the things that could go wrong, so when I expressed a desire for a courthouse wedding, Peter was quick to agree to accommodate my wants and needs.”

“How do your families feel about you two being married? I’d imagine the age gap weirds out a lot of people.”

“Peter and I don’t really care about what other people think,” Mary Claire answered sweetly. “The number one thing is that we’re both fully consenting adults. Though it would be weird if I was a minor, which thankfully, I’m not. Peter is double my age and at first, the age difference kinda made me a little bit weirded out because what if he thinks I’m too immature? and what if he finds someone who’s closer to his age and they clique really well with each other? just… you know?”

“Reasonable fears. Now, tell me about your families. What do they think about PeteClaire?”

“Oh, is that what Peter’s fans are calling us?” Mary Claire laughed. “My daddy is really cool with Peter- whenever we’re over at his house, they spend hours down in his workshop, doing- whatever is it that men do inside garages. My brothers on the other hand, gave him a bit of a hard time when they first met him, however, time has since made them kind of adopted him as an older brother. My little sisters like him well enough, Jackie enjoys talking cars with him and Sammi tells him wild stories of what happened at the tattoo parlor where she works. Peter’s sisters now, they seem to really adore me,” Mary Claire said, purposely leaving out her abusive mother’s thoughts on her oldest daughter being married to a man double her age.

“Remind me how many brothers you have and what they all do for a living? Speaking of which, what do you do for a living?”

“Adam is a navy SEAL, Benjimen is a MMA fighter. Caleb is a professional boxer, Daniel is the quarterback for the New Orleans Saints, Ephraim is CIA, Frank is SWAT, and Gideon took the smart way out and followed in daddy’s footsteps and became a lawyer,” Mary Claire listed, making her soulmate dig his fingers into her waist as he recalled how nervous he was at meeting her seven terrifying older, physically bigger brothers.

“They were going to kill me when I first met them all,” Peter deadpanned, earning him a playful smack on the chest from his talkative wife.

“Adesso basta con te amore mio,” scowled the petite redhead, clenching her walls a little bit and making the older man bite back a savage growl, instead taking a long sip from his wine glass. “Anyways, to answer your second question, I’m a published author with a set niche in the young adult fantasy genre. My latest book is coming out on January 6th, so be certain to keep a lookout everyone!”

“Wow, that’s really impressive! Switching the subject really quickly, Peter, I understand that you’re writing a new album. You said before that you’re going to try and branch away from the heavy metal/ hard rock style of music and lean more towards gentler tunes. Do you care to elaborate a little bit more on that for me?”

“Certainly,” Peter shot the interviewer a charming smile. “I am dedicating this new album to Mary Claire Ratajzck, the love of my life, and she has stated before that she’s really not a big fan of Type O Negative’s usual style of music, so I’m going with something a little bit tamer. I really hope that everyone likes it.”

“Well, I’m certain that I’ll like it! Tell me about the first time you two met!”

“Well, I won a ticket to go see Type O Negative live in concert, and long story short, I suffered a really bad panic attack,” recounted the redhead, leaning into her soulmate’s chest. “I was honestly pretty terrified when I first met him, because he’s close to six foot eight inches- meanwhile, I’m pushing four foot ten inches, and I knew without a doubt that he could seriously hurt me if he wanted too, and I didn’t want to take that chance. Looking back now, I’m really happy that I didn’t run away after finding my soulmate.”

“Wow. My last question is for Peter- you recently signed up on Instagram and the first book of pictures that you posted were of your courthouse wedding to Mary Claire. Tell me a bit about that.”

“Well, my woman here is constantly showing me funny videos and stuff on Instagram and TikTok,” Peter answered after taking another quick sip of his wine. “And I decided to sign up for Instagram so that way I could show people my life behind the scenes of having such an amazing, smart, quirky, funny soulmate.”

“Before I wrap up, I have some screenshots of the photos from your Instagram, why don’t you two tell everyone what the story is behind these snapshots?”

“Oh, these are from our courthouse wedding,” Peter smiled. “My wife looked absolutely stunning that day, she wore her high school graduation dress and family heirloom wedding pearls that have been used for every wedding on her dad’s side for many generations.”

“I think this picture here was from my brothers helping move my stuff from the apartment that I shared with my little sisters to Peter’s house,” Mary Claire remembered. “Adam- he’s my oldest brother, he brought his twin daughters with him to give his wife a break with them. They loved sitting with their little hands pressed against me when I was pregnant with little girl.”

“Oh, I love this picture,” Peter smiled at the sweet picture. “Mary Claire had just gotten done with feeding little girl and had fallen asleep while still holding her. I quickly snapped this picture before I took her to her nursery to sleep in her crib.”

“I think this is the last photo,” Mary Claire announced. “I think Slitzy took this picture. Peter was onstage at the St. George Amphitheater in Maryland playing at a concert and he had invited me and little girl to accompany him. This picture was of him playing- I think Black No. 1? and I was standing in the wings where he could see me, as how the sight of me is more than enough to help my husband with his stage fright, and I’m holding little girl, and we’re just rocking out to the live music.”

“Well, there you have it people! Peter Steele and Mary Claire Ratajzck, the love story of the century! Catch Mary Claire’s latest book, The Princess of Sherwood Forest, out January 6th, and Peter Steele as Type O Negative gets ready to tour the country on their latest tour later this summer!”

~xoXox~

The second the door closed behind Mollie, Peter had flipped Mary Claire so that she was now on her back as Peter began wildly rutting into her, chasing his high that had been torturing him for the past hour or so.

“Oh, yes Peter!” gasped Mary Claire as she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulder. “Fuck, just like that, just like that!”

“You liked that, sweetheart?” Peter snarled as he stared at her in the face, his own hands carefully cupping the back of her head and neck, supporting her delicate body as he ravished her. “Did you enjoy cockwarming daddy during the interview?”

“Yes- oh yes I did, daddy!” Mary Claire’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as she orgasmed, her pink pussy milking Peter’s cock limp as he stilled himself, releasing his steam of jizz into her womanly womb.

“Daddy?” Mary Claire whimpered softly, curling her fingers into his dyed hair.

“Hmmm, sweetheart?” Peter cooed, gently tracing her pixie-like face with his nose. “Did you have fun?”

“Can we do that again?” she breathed out before blacking out limp in her husband’s arms.

Peter chuckled as he pressed kisses to her face, making a mental note in the back of his head to give her a morning after pill the moment they got back home. Even though he wanted kids of his own with his wife to be the one to carry them, he understood that she wanted to wait at least two years to give her body a chance to heal from carrying little girl.

But what both soulmates weren’t aware of was one of Peter’s sperm cells mating with one of Mary Claire’s eggs in a sacred kiss.

Dia dhuit, hello, Irish Gaelic

Adesso basta con te amore mio, that's enough out of you now my love, Italian

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@starchild0985

@xxgreendruidessxx

@red-velvet-black-lace-dress

@angel-cherrycake

@sheris532

#Type O Negative #Heavy metal #Peter Steele #FanFiction #Soulmate AU #Tattooed Wings #Kinktober #31 day challenge

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silver-words-and-inky-secrets · 2 years

Note

Writer asks: 15 and 20

Thanks! : D

15. Your guilty writing pleasure?

Does writing Purple Prose count? Because I know I should cut it down, but- it's fun, at least for me.

Oh, and I'm entirely too fond of the rule of three.

20. 4 sentences from your work that you’re proud of

Um, from any fic or from an Inkworld fic?

This one is from Strangers on a Train*, a fic for a pretty obscure video game:

"The landscape had changed, they had left the town far behind and were now passing seemingly endless pastures. The view was idyllic, but did not keep John's attention for long. His gaze kept wandering, idly following a small streak of dirt on the window pane to the frame, and trailing along the frame to where the other man's shoulder was resting against the wooden panelling. Following the line of his arm and elbow down to a slender, long-fingered hand, John found himself looking at the other man's book with curiosity."

Copying that out now, I feel silly for liking it so much, but I thought about following the character's gaze in a smooth motion and about eyes wandering and how much I like train journeys... Yeah, okay.

Actually, have a part from an Inkheart fic as well. It's from the very last chapter (Number 19? Might become 18 or 17. Titled "Rain") of Hearts of Ash, which might be out sometime in the 2050ies, judging by my writing speed.

"Maybe... maybe he could just walk away tomorrow, find a different master, build a new life. Find a place where no one knew him, and be finally left in peace, no princes, no fires, nothing.

Basta sighed. This was not the time for fancy daydreams."

Fancy daydreams indeed. He's at a really low point, and even when there's hope for him, there actually isn't any hope.

*I have by now found out that that is also the exact title of an actual novel. A psychological thriller of all things, which features a really twisted acquaintance, so not a good fic title for a fluffy first meeting of two very good friends! XD (I'm just way too lazy to think of a new title.)

#personal

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kimtiny · 2 years

Text

More creepybasta doodles

Nina, Jeff and Ben are minors

#creepybasta #creepypasta #marble hornets #jeff the killer #basta jeff #hoodie #basta hoodie #basta masky #basta baggy #basta ben #ben drowned #nina the killer #basta nina #basta slender #laughing jack #basta laughing jack

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bluezey · 3 years

Text

Number Two

Ian has been the victim of bullies before, but he's never experienced the kind of bullying Ercole dishes out.

In a crossover of sorts where Ian and Barley from Onward can visit Luca, Alberto and others from Luca

--------

It was another summer weekend where Ian and Barley visited Portorosso. They started easy by hanging with Luca, Alberto and Giulia at the gelato shop after lunch. Then Ian practiced some spells by performing such stunts as making Luca levitate, using a disguise spell to make Alberto appear to be a sea monster on land, and using a water spell to make the fountain perform some pretty neat displays. They also played some soccer with some town kids, and Ian got to play a few games of scopa, even won his first game.

It was dinnertime, but due to the Marcovaldo household being so small, they ate dinner in turns. Ian ate some trenette el pesto with Giulia and Massimo, while Barley, Luca and Alberto set up a tent under the tree in the yard for Ian and Barley to sleep in. (The elves were too big for the treehouse). After Ian finished his meal, he volunteered to help take out a bag of trash while Giulia got ready for bed and Barley, Luca and Alberto ate their dinner.

Ian stepped outside of the stone wall perimeter of the Marcovaldo yard, the wooden walkway lit by a single street lamp, and the sound of small waves from the sea just feet away. Just as Ian finished putting the lid on the garbage can, he felt something grab at his red flannel shirt and slam him against the stone wall. The force was enough to knock the wind out of him and leave him dazed for a moment. As he opened his chocolate brown eyes, he saw Ercole staring him down with a smirk. They were both nose to nose, and Ercole's fists were gripping Ian's shirt tight.

"Well well, if it isn't the blue number two," Ercole said, in a voice that sounded smug, as if he had the upper hand and was enjoying it. "And no magic harpoon in sight."

Ian was still, glaring back at Ercole. "What do you want?"

"I want you out of my town," Ercole stated. "Returning to my rightful place as number one was difficult enough with Spewlia and those sea monsters. It is impossible with Portorosso loving you, your magic and that ciccio brother of yours."

Ian pushed through the soreness in his back to stand up and glare Ercole down. "That isn't going to happen."

Ercole let go of Ian's shirt, but only stepped back a few inches. "Maybe I need to make myself perfectly clear. This is my town, number one." Ercole quickly balled up his fist and slammed it in Ian's stomach. He watched as Ian hunched over, gasping for breath as he gripped his abdomen with both arms. "And number two... I don't want you elfi in it."

Ian staggered back as he felt another hard punch to his face. He tried to keep his balance, knowing this is gonna end badly if he fell down. He's had experience with bullies at home in New Mushroomton. But Ercole here clearly wasn't gonna torture Ian with sophomoric tactics such as wet willies or arm burns.

Ercole smugly watched the slender elf struggle. "Heh. Not such a big shot without your harpoon, eh?" Ercole grabbed Ian by one of his long pointed ears and pulled, hard.

Ian yelled in pain as he was hoisted up by his ear. Ercole then grabbed Ian by his arm and rammed him head first into the stone wall. The elf dropped hard, falling weakly onto his side, seeing both stars and blurriness from getting his head smashed into a rock wall. Ian then gripped his stomach harder as he felt a swift harsh kick to his lower abdomen.

"Please... stop," Ian gasped.

"That's right, elfo," Ercole mused triumphantly as he pressed his foot against Ian's sore side. "Keep begging."

Out if nowhere, Ercole felt a hard punch to his jaw that sent him staggering off of Ian and off of the pier. Ercole fell into the lukewarm sea before calling out in shock, "Aiuto! I can't swim!"

"Good!" Barley snapped, before jumping into the shallow water and slamming another punch into Ercole's face.

Ian's mind was still in a daze as he felt two or three familiar strangers help him up. "Are you okay?" Luca asked in shock and concern.

"I dunno," Ian replied in pain.

"Basta, elfo! Get off me!" Ercole finally wriggled free of Barley's strong grasp and fled straight for dry land and further into town. "Wait til the polizia hear this! You'll never be allowed in Portorosso again!"

"Yeah, keep running, you cowardous unicorn!" Barley shouted back in his most intimidating warrior voice.

"Basta, Ercole! Andare via!" Giulia shouted along with Barley while the bug elf climbed out of the sea.

Barley raced over to his brother and carefully picked him up, carrying him inside the Marcovaldo house. Massimo saw the injured elf in Barley's arms as Barley laid him in Massimo's bed in the kitchen.

"How bad is he?" Massimo asked.

"Pretty beaten up," Barley replied. "Thankfully, nothing a healing spell and some aspirin won't fix."

"Who did this?" Massimo asked.

"Ercole," Giulia scowled.

Massimo thought for a moment, before grabbing his hat and heading for the door. "You regazzi stay here, I'm gonna speak to the polizia."

Ian rolled over and groaned to Massimo, "That's where Ercole says he's going."

"Good. Then they'll have both sides of this story." And with that, Massimo left the house.

Alberto rolled his eyes. "Idioto Ercole. If I wasn't with Luca helping Ian, I'd be right with you beating the-"

"Hey hey hey, I get it," Barley told Alberto. "But heroes don't go looking for trouble, they stop it."

Alberto pouted, but eventually looked up and nodded in agreement to Barley.

Ian was cleaned up a bit, as he got a couple cuts and bruises, but mostly a sore back, stomach and head. Giulia even dug out some ice from the freezer for Ian's head. Ian accepted the ice wrapped in an old rag, despite the ice smelling like fish. Once the swelling went down, and Ian felt like he could walk without being dizzy, Barley helped Ian to the tent so they could get some rest for the night. Despite the tent being barely big enough for two teenage elves, Luca and Alberto squeezed their way inside so they had extra protection.

Ian settled into his sleeping bag, then looked up at Barley, who was trying to squeeze into his. "Thanks for sticking up for me, Barley."

Barley gave his brother a proud grin. "Anytime."

#pixar onward #sir iandore of lightfoot #ian lightfoot #barley lightfoot #pixar luca #alberto scorfano #luca paguro #massimo marcovaldo #giulia marcovaldo #ercole visconti

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nuchlom · 4 years

Audio

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g-chica · 5 years

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Mitos y creepypastas: el fenómeno de Slenderman.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Escuela primaria de un barrio de Barcelona. Suena el timbre y los niños salen al recreo. Dos chicos hablan animadamente de los temas que les entusiasman. En un momento determinado, uno de ellos se vuelve al otro y le pregunta oye, ¿tú quién crees que ganaría en una pelea, Slenderman o Jeff The Killer? Corre el año 2012, y un pequeño fenómeno de masas en forma de videojuego llamado Slender: The Eight Pages cuenta con varios millones de descargas y es uno de los títulos de moda entre youtubers y let's players. El juego, de libre distribución, consiste en recoger notas esparcidas por el escenario mientras acecha un personaje sin rostro y de largas extremidades llamado Slenderman. No se sabe prácticamente nada de este personaje, sólo que podría aparecer en cualquier momento y que prácticamente basta con avistarlo una vez para caer en sus garras. Los let's play llenos de risas nerviosas y jumpscares avivan todavía más el interés por este juego. Pero lo más intrigante es el personaje en el que se basa, que no es original del título sino que proviene de uno de los creepypastas más célebres de la red y que de la noche a la mañana se convirtió en lo que la BBC etiquetaría de primer gran mito de internet. El paréntesis de Gutenberg y los creepypastas. Un creepypasta es un relato breve sobre un fenómeno paranormal. Su nombre deriva de la mezcla entre la expresión copy paste y el término inglés creepy (escalofriante o espantoso). El nombre resulta muy elocuente, ya que sus principales medios de transmisión son los foros, redes sociales y blogs temáticos sin restricciones de autoría de ningún tipo, de ahí la alusión al método de copiar y pegar. Son textos relativamente breves y de fácil distribución, nacidos expresamente para extenderse por la red. Sus argumentos suelen girar en torno a la tecnología, series, videojuegos e iconos populares de ficción, y la voz narrativa suele ser en primera persona, como si más que de un relato se tratara del fragmento de un dietario incompleto y misterioso. Se suele comparar los creepypastas con los rumores y leyendas urbanas como si fueran una especie de evolución de las mismas. Sin embargo, a diferencia de las leyendas urbanas, las fuentes del creepypasta no son anónimas; la mayoría de veces su autoría puede rastrearse sin dificultades, pero nadie reclama su autoría intelectual ni suelen ir acompañados del nombre de su creador. La intención es que viajen por la red, y que en su peregrinaje vayan creciendo con las aportaciones de otros usuarios hasta crear una suerte de literatura internauta. Aquí es donde entra en acción el concepto de paréntesis de Gutenberg, término acuñado por el profesor danés Lars Ole Sauerberg en 2007. Dicha tesis postula que la invención y el uso de la letra impresa fueron un paréntesis en la historia de la tradición oral, y que con la llegada de internet el texto escrito perdió su inmutabilidad. Las palabras clave de este periodo son recontextualización y apropiación; en la era del ciberespacio el texto es accesible y modificable desde cualquier lugar, lo cual facilita el acceso a la información pero también la vuelve imprecisa y efímera. El creepypasta es un buen ejemplo de este tipo de textos de naturaleza mutable. Sin ir más lejos, . Uno de los creepypastas más conocidos es el de Polybius, un supuesto arcade que salió al mercado el año 1981, y que habría sido retirado precipitadamente a causa de los daños mentales que causaba a los jugadores. Se dice que Polybius era un experimento del servicio de inteligencia norteamericano para explotar el potencial manipulador del videojuego, y que podía causar ataques de epilepsia e incluso la muerte entre los jugadores. El canon de este creepypasta comprende supuestos informes clasificados, imágenes del videojuego en cuestión y testimonios de gente cercana al experimento. Polybius no es el único creepypasta que orbita alrededor del videojuego. Ben Drownednarra la historia de un chico que compra un cartucho de The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask y al jugarlo se encuentra con algunas sorpresas desagradables. Los controles no responden, imágenes perturbadoras desfilan por la pantalla y el juego llama al jugador por el nombre del antiguo propietario del cartucho, Ben. Lo que al principio parece cosa de glitches o de algún archivo corrupto pronto desciende en la hipótesis de que el juego está maldito y que trata de comunicarse con Ben, quien habría muerto ahogado años atrás. Si Polybius está narrado en clave documental, Ben Drowned está escrito en clave de diario personal, concretamente en forma de consulta dirigida a los usuarios de un foro, y no tardaron en aparecer toda clase de montajes del supuesto juego que se han convertido en una parte inherente de este creepypasta. Ya no estamos ante simples historias, sino ante debates ficticios en clave memética. De nuevo, la tesis del paréntesis de Gutenberg cobra fuerza. La estética inquietante y un tanto desoladora de Majora's Mask ha sido objeto de interpretaciones y especulaciones de todo tipo. El mito de Slenderman. De toda la literatura sobre los creepypastas, Slenderman es sin duda el mito más influyente, llegando a traspasar las barreras de lo virtual para convertirse en una especie de legado de la cultura pop. Slenderman es representado generalmente como un hombre muy alto y delgado. Posee la habilidad de alargar y multiplicar sus extremidades, formando una especie de apéndices tentaculares con los que atraparía a sus víctimas. No tiene rostro (aunque en algunas imágenes se lo muestra con rasgos faciales muy rudimentarios). Viste corbata y traje negros y su aparición suele ser premonitoria, asociada a desapariciones, defunciones y profundos traumas psicológicos. Poco más se sabría de esta enigmática criatura; todo cuanto la envuelve es misterio, así como sus motivaciones. Se le conocen algunos atributos sobrenaturales: sólo pueden verlo los niños, sus víctimas favoritas, mientras que los adultos sólo pueden verlo a través de fotografías y cintas de vídeo; puede matar con la mirada; hipnotiza a sus víctimas; aparece cerca de colegios y parques infantiles, y también en zonas aisladas como bosques y carreteras secundarias. Algunas versiones afirman que es de origen extraterrestre; otras que es fruto de un experimento; otros dicen que es una criatura tan antigua como el tiempo, y defienden su existencia pasada basándose en ilustraciones antiguas –verídicas o falsificadas- que recuerdan vagamente a este personaje. Existe incluso un ritual de invocación, llevado a la práctica por usuarios que comparten su experiencia en forma de vídeos domésticos, inspirados por el auge del terror casero al más puro estilo Blair Witch Project. Pero su verdadero origen se remonta al año 2009 de la mano de un internauta llamado Eric Knudsen (conocido como Victor Surge), para un concurso de fotografías trucadas en la página web somethingawful. Knudsen se limitó a retocar un par de fotografías en blanco y negro para incorporar una silueta esbelta entre las sombras, y añadió pies de página como si se tratase de imágenes de archivo sobre un caso de desaparición de niños. La premisa es simple, de manual de historia de terror. Pero la idea, así como su estilo fotoperiodístico, cautivó a la comunidad hasta el punto de convertirse en un fenómeno de masas en pocos años. Dayoscript, , describe muy acertadamente el atractivo de este ser: Slenderman es una criatura basada en la sutileza, la ignorancia y el contraste. Siempre está oculto en la imagen. Nunca se llega a ver qué es exactamente, y siempre está en escenas que de otro modo serían idílicas. Slenderman es un peligro desconocido, algo que está ahí pero que la gente no parece ver. Es la rama que golpea tu ventana al anochecer, el crujido que oyes cuando estás en la cama. Es una criatura a la que nunca se llega a ver por completo y que no se sabe qué hace o qué quiere. Otros usuarios quisieron imitar a Knudsen subiendo sus propios montajes, y pronto Slenderman salió de los foros de somethingawful para recorrer la red a medida que su historia se asentaba y se hacía más compleja. Gran parte del material que podemos encontrar sobre este personaje está hecho de forma desinteresada, sin ningún ánimo de lucro ni reconocimiento, haciendo aumentar día a día lo que podríamos llamar su corpus mitológico. Un vistazo a todas estas aportaciones basta para dar cuenta de lo integrado que está Slenderman en el imaginario colectivo de toda una generación de internautas. Sobre este personaje se han hecho memes, fanart, películas caseras, canciones, cosplay, bromas de cámara oculta, documentales y el mencionado ritual. También cabe destacar la serie de , que a su vez comprende varios videos en clave documental supuestamente hechos por una persona que desapareció mientras investigaba al Slenderman. El formato de Marble Hornets nos remite una vez más a la tesis del paréntesis gutenbergiano, porque no trata de la criatura en sí, sino del material existente sobre ésta. En el creepypasta cobra fuerzan el documento, la investigación, la bibliografía, la prueba, la obsesión por el realismo y el detalle. l símbolo de Slenderman en Marble Hornets. Slenderman, el monstruo de cuello blanco. Si la BBC vio a Slenderman como el germen de un mito moderno, con los años se ha consolidado como un patrimonio de internet. Es tal su influencia que ha llegado a aparecer en telediarios y titulares como el que sigue: El mes de junio del 2014 dos chicas apuñalaron repetidas veces a una amiga como sacrificio a Slenderman según declararon posteriormente a la policía. El titular del diario ABC llama la atención por la analogía con el Coco, sugiriendo vínculos con la mitología y el folclore occidental, a pesar de que Knudsen admitió en su momento haberse inspirado en los relatos de H.P. Lovecraft y Stephen King para dar vida a su criatura. Incluso la página de la wikipedia sobre el Slenderman nos remite al enlace dedicado al Hombre del saco. Como Slenderman, el Hombre del saco –llamado boogey man en los territorios angloparlantes- es un ser ficticio que supuestamente rapta niños, alguien con quien amenazar a los hijos cuando se niegan a dormir o desobedecen. No deja de ser razonable, por lo tanto, que Slenderman esté inspirado en este personaje. El caso del intento de asesinato, lamentablemente real, alimentó toda una serie de reflexiones y debates sobre lo que significan para nosotros estas historias. Existe un panorama hermenéutico en torno a esta figura en tanto que fenómeno reciente y muy atractivo. Glenn Beck, un periodista estadounidense, atribuyó el éxito del Slenderman a que se percibe como algo nuevo, diferente, en el límite... Es culturalmente perfecto. Su análisis destilaba cierto tono alarmista, pero no se puede negar el acierto de esa frase. Estamos asistiendo al origen de un monstruo moderno, al nacimiento de un icono, y siendo plenamente conscientes de ello necesitamos racionalizarlo, de la misma forma que los lingüistas, sociólogos y filólogos del siglo XIX se entregaban con entusiasmo a la catalogación del folklore literario occidental. El mito de Slenderman resulta especialmente cautivador desde un punto de vista simbólico. Los creepypastas, en general, se interpretan solos, pero antes debemos contextualizarlos e interrogarnos sobre lo que representan a título individual y colectivo. Sin ir más lejos, la mayoría de creepypastas están basados en la monstrificación de iconos de películas, videojuegos o dibujos animados infantiles. De inocuos personajes idolatrados por los niños a auténticas criaturas de pesadilla, caricaturizadas hasta lo grotesco y aún así perfectamente reconocibles. Un Mickey Mouse deprimido; Nobita paralítico en un hospital; Super Mario sangrando por las cuencas vacías de sus ojos; Jerry descuartizado a manos de Tom; Sonic el Erizosonriendo de forma macabra. Se trata de jugar con la franja entre lo familiar y lo incómodo, entre lo conocido y lo insondable, todo con el objeto de entretener pero también de combatir nuestras inquietudes. Slenderman es un buen ejemplo de ello. No puede ser un simple capricho que fuera concebido con la apariencia de una especie de ejecutivo sin rostro, vestido de negro y con el cuerpo pálido. Su apariencia nos a cosas tan mundanas como un oligarca, un banquero, un político corrupto o un empresario. Esta apariencia ya la hemos visto con anterioridad en representaciones de antagonistas de ficción, como por ejemplo los Hombres Grises de Momo –que depredan el tiempo libre de las personas y sobreviven, metáfora donde las haya, fumándolo- o los agentes de Matrix –criaturas letales e impasibles que Neo cualifica de imitación de la Gestapo. En la misma línea, Slenderman se sale de la típica analogía del ogro o el lobo malo de los cuentos clásicos para representar todo lo contemporáneo que percibimos como amenazante. Sugiere algo mucho más cercano, integra y proyecta la síntesis de todos los males y temores que están en auge en nuestros días: los peligros de la red, la sobresaturación de información efímera a imprecisa, el poco control que tenemos de nuestras vidas y nuestra privacidad, el individualismo alienante... Por eso Slenderman es tan poderoso; por eso, como decía Glenn Bleck, es culturalmente perfecto. De esta forma, el relato literario en sí se vuelve secundario. Lo importante son su significado y su contexto, esto es, internet como espacio virtual pero también como espacio social, abrumador, indomesticable. El padre de Slenderman no es hoy más influyente que cualquier otra persona a la hora de interpretar este mito. El mismo Knudsen ha admitido sentirse más un administrador que su creador. Slenderman es un personaje y un relato, pero también opera como medio de interacción simbólica dentro y fuera de la red. Lo vemos en tertulias, en convenciones de cosplay, en festivales de cine independiente, oímos hablar de él en los patios de escuela (¿quién crees que es más fuerte, Slenderman o Jeff The Killer?), y lleva a dos adolescentes a tratar de matar a su amiga como sacrificio al esbelto monstruo. Si Bronislaw Malinowski, exponente del funcionalismo, predicaba el estudio de los mitos vivos, el mito de Slenderman es un recién nacido que cobra vida ante nosotros con muchísima fuerza. En palabras de Malinowski: Los mitos expresan, enaltecen y codifican creencias [...] Son una fuerza activa conseguida con el esfuerzo [...] Una carta pragmática de fe y sabiduría moral. El mito explica nuestra posición en el mundo, libera y da forma a nuestros temores como parte de nuestro tejido social. El antropólogo Joan Prat (1984) llama al mito un producto cultural del que se valen las distintas sociedades con tal de integrar a sus miembros en un contexto básico de referencia. Esta sería su función: integrar explicando. Bajo esta idea, formas de recreación como Slenderman y los creepypastasno serían sino una proyección de nuestros temores con el fin de cimentar las relaciones sociales. Y así, en el sino de las nuevas formas de comunicación, compartimos, bromeamos, neutralizamos temores como la soledad y la muerte y nos interrogamos sobre la inefabilidad del sufrimiento. Slenderman no nos da una respuesta, pero permite canalizar nuestras angustias a través de la experiencia compartida en un medio como internet. Como dice el filósofo Alejandro Piscitelli, lo que está en juego con la explosión expresiva de la red, es el tratamiento que internet le da al texto, que pierde la solidez del papel para convertirse en la liquidez de la nube. El texto, no como producto, sino como un proceso social. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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okimargarvez · 5 years

Text

SHE IS PERFECT FOR HIM

Original title: Lei è perfetta per lui.

Prompt: Spencer and Lila are getting married; handbook for shippers.

Warning: mention of various kind of TV-series.

Genre: comedy, humor, romantic, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 33 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘🎈.

Song mentioned: L’amore e basta, Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

I mentioned many of my ships from various series: jelinda (Jim Clancy and Melinda Gordon, Ghost whisperer) ; Elliot and JD (Scrubs) ; Ted Mosby and Robin Scherbatsky (How I met your mother); Tate (Caitlin Todd and Anthony Dinozzo, NCIS) ; Jack and Amanda (Diagnosis Murderer) ; Danny Messer and Lindsay Monroe (CSI New York) ; Semir Gerkhan and Andrea Gerkhan (Alarm für Cobra 11 – Die Autobahnpolizei).

This story is dedicated to @thinitta cause it's just one way to say something I think I don't say to her yet: I love you, we are like a sisters even if we live so far... And I love our crazy conversations XD

SHE IS PERFECT FOR HIM

Luke Alvez didn’t know he was so sentimental before he saw Penelope, sitting in the church next to him, crying during a colleague's wedding. Yet, a song doesn’t stop turning in the head, even after, during the reception, especially when, with great joy, he ends up again next to the blonde IT, sitting right in front of him.

I change, perhaps, always nice, no, nice for me, that I see you always nice that I feel like dying. Even if you close the doors in front of me, sometimes, even if I’m alone and far away, sometimes, and when I am in the hotel, I’m less mine and more of the fate, and write it in a terrible letter, but if you carry a cross, don’t keep it in silence in the soul, love, shout it out loud!

He has eyes just for her, the whole table realizes it. He already feels lucky like that, a whole day without unsub to chase, so long time to admire her. But she, as always, ignores him, talks to JJ about the marriage of the latter and a missed one, hers. And while he feels jealousy rise, towards a stranger who has had the ardor of asking Penelope's hand, something falls on his shoulder. He raises his head and understands instantly.

-Well, they say: wet bride is a lucky bride!- someone exclaims, while some women scream, complaining about the hairstyle cost hours and money. Luke has always loved the rain and today his level of worship goes up considerably. The hotel where the reception is held obviously had foreseen this eventuality, in fact the tables are ready inside, in a decidedly less suggestive, but dry environment. Even these with the seats assigned and not exchangeable. He and Penelope, jubilation, end up with a group of strangers, or rather unknown. The bride's friends and bridesmaids.

-Excuse me.- Penelope draws the attention of a waiter. -There must be a mistake. We... I should be with the groom's friends.- the young man looks displeased.

-I'm desolate, miss, but these are the procedures. Take this opportunity to make new friends.- and he goes away. He never thought that Garcia had these problems, indeed, the opposite, but today she seems so lost in her thoughts. In the end she surrenders, sits down next to him and sighs.

-Well, it seems that fate wants to keep us close.- Luke says, not very loud, pouring himself a drink. Then he asks her if she wants the same, and she shrugs, holding out her glass. Their fingers touch each other.

-Yeah, Newbie, I bet you did it raining, on purpose.- he chuckles, glad that she wants to play in this way. It is definitely a beautiful day.

-Yes, uh, it happens that I have a friend in the meteorological institute...- it's not even a complete lie. He approaches slightly, winking at her and the blonde can’t help but smile, shaking her head.

-Hey, it looks like you've impressed someone.- she whispers softly, causing shivers down his back with her hot breath. They look at each other, he with a confused expression. -Do you see that beautiful brunette, on the other side of the table? Since we've arrived, she's just staring you.- Luke raises his head to check and she stops him. -Stupid, she could see you!- their mouths are only a few centimeters apart and for a moment he loses control. Then Penelope lets him go and returns to a normal position.

-Too bad that I prefer blondes.- he comments shamelessly flirtatious.

-Ha ha, very funny. Instead you look exactly the kind of man who likes brunette, Latin, slender, tiny, in short...- she gets stuck, because she ended up on rough terrain. He laughs openly.

-Brunette, Latin...? That is a feminine version of me. So boring.- the waiters pass to collect the dishes with the leftovers of the appetizer. It will be a long day. -No, I repeat, I’m attracted more to blondes. Light hair, fair skin...- he passes the tongue on the lips. -Better yet, if she wears glasses.- he dared too much and in response receives a weak fist on the arm.

-The more time passes and the more you become stupid, Alvez.- but at the same time Penelope keeps an eye on the brunette who keeps looking at them.

-It's the effect you're doing to me.- she seems to be back in time and there's Morgan beside her, not Luke. She misses to flirting with a man, but she doesn’t flirt with him, never, it's too... dangerous. She looks up at the sky. Without stopping to stare her, the man tries to grab the glass, but he clashes right with... that brunette. Penelope doubts that she took the opportunity to find an excuse to start talking. -Oh, sorry .- Luke is forced to turn around.

-Don’t worry, it was my fault, I'm so clumsy...- yes, she's definitely right, the woman did it on purpose. Penelope finds herself annoyed, but believes it is due to her feminine pride. She would never falling in down to impress a man. Luke smiles politely at the chick. -You're a federal, are not you? I think I saw you on TV.- he nods, shrugging his shoulders modestly.

-I could say the same thing. I'm Luke, nice to meet you. And she is Penelope, the best computer technician in the world.- uh, definitely exaggerated. The blonde is stunned by this presentation, especially because the last time he had said to her a compliment like that, it was a mockery. She merely smiles and shakes her hand.

-But sure, you both work for the unit of behavioral analysis with Spencer!- apparently they are more famous than they thought. -And... if I can ask, sorry but I work for a tabloid newspaper... professional deformation... how long have you been together, you two? There would be perfect to write an article on the changes in recent years within the federal regulation against fraternization at work.- Penelope, who was drinking, almost chokes, while a smile on the face of Luke is painted. However, she talks first.

-No, we're not engaged, we're just colleagues. Just colleagues.- any psychologist could tell him that repetition is certainly a sign of nervousness, present when trying to tell a lie. And Garcia has never been good at lying, as far as he knows. In addition, she seems decidedly blushing.

-Ah, weird. I could have sworn that...- even the brunette who, according to Penelope was interested in him, remains confused. Before she can restrain him, Luke decides to say his own.

-Well, it's actually she who thinks so, but I'm not satisfied to be just his "colleague".- he says the last word in a strange way. -And I don’t give up. She's about to go down, I feel it.- the blonde's protest is slowed by the arrival of the first plate. Spencer have been very attentive and warned all staff that she was a vegetarian. What she doesn’t understand is why the waiter served the same dish also to Alvez. He understands where her gaze fell. -I didn’t want you to feel alone...- he whispers softly, and the tone seems very serious. Penelope swallows and chooses to ignore it.

-Wow, guys, you'd be perfect for a TV series. There is so much feeling between you two. One shot and we would already have a million shippers, I'm sure.- the IT decides to change the subject.

-Do you know who is the best ship ever? Melinda and Jim. Ghost whisperer. Fabulous. They have shown that there is no need for the typical tension of the "before they get together" phase to drive fans all over the world crazy. When he dies, he refuses to leave her and enters that body and forgets her, but he is still pushed towards her... and then when he finally remembers... I have consumed a box of tissues, and if I accidentally turn on the TV and there is that scene, it's the same thing, always.- Penelope talks in one of her passionate monologues. He loves to listen to her, because every time he discovers something new that concerns her. In this case, the thought of her that looks at such shows and is moved doesn’t surprise him. He had imagined it exactly like that.

-You are right, it's one of the best ships that exist. Then Jennifer Love Hewitt is a great actress, very beautiful, without falling into the vulgar, intense... however, I'm so stupid, I realized I hadn’t introduce myself yet. I'm Clara, one of the bride's bridesmaids.- Penelope has definitely changed her mind about the brunette and now they're both immersed in sharing ships, one of the quickest methods in the current millennium to make friends instantly. If you share my ship, then I could even fall in love with you.

-And in your opinion? What is the couple that made you suffer more and that was successful?- Luke has been transformed from an object of desire to an uncomfortable third wheel, and is not sure that it displeases him.

-Elliot and JD, definitely.- seeing the confused expression of Penelope, she opens her mouth. -Don’t tell me you never watching Scrubs!- the other hurries to deny. -Oh, you scared me. It was a continuous back and forth, but even when they were separated... it was as if they were together anyway. And in the end, they got married. Better than that, it could not have ended.- both women utter dreamy sighs. -Now it's your turn.- of them three, Luke is the only one who is eating.

-Ok, I'm a bit ashamed, but... Ted and Robin.- no need to specify which series it is, he even understood it. -I think that producers and screenwriters have found a good idea, that of a father who tells his children how he met their mother and ends up putting in everything about the period of his youth... I do it for anything, talk nonsense, I mean, as at this moment.- they laugh in an accomplice way. -But in the meantime they needed something to move it all, and although the ship between Lily and Marshall is great...- spoiler alarm. -...it is still the canonical ship and it needed a more... messed up. But they have definitely exaggerated, creating the story of Ted and Robin. The French horn was the pinnacle, but there is so much to tell you...- Clara nods, but doesn’t seem entirely agree.

-I have a confession to make, that I fear will break your heart.- even if she is a journalist, it could very well be an actress like Lila. She takes Penelope's hand in hers. -I went on the dark side...- the blonde opens her eyes and nods her head. -Yes, I'm sorry... but I prefer Robin and Barney.- it can be true friendship only if you are able to overcome the diversity of opinions on one of your favorite couples. Penelope nods, not letting go.

-Yes, well, I find them nice too. It is difficult to choose, I think the producers have just done a bullshit, with this double possibility. But after all, their goal is only to have ratings, that people look at it so as to continue to obtain financing.- the sad reality behind every alleged work of art. Sad and resigned sighs.

-But let's move on to really important things. Do you love more the couples who are already canon, engaged, married, like Jim and Melinda, or those of which we see the slow development?- oh yes, it is these, the fundamental things of life. But he is curious to discover Penelope's answer.

The woman seems to think about it. -It's a difficult question, I love both possibilities. Perhaps, but... more the second. I believe that, even in real life, the phase in which everything is in the balance, in short, it is clear that two people are going in one direction but there is still uncertainty, every moment is full of possibilities... is the best. Like the moments before the first kiss...- Luke manages to attract his attention brushing her arm. -What's there?- for a thousandth of a second they look into each other's eyes and only they exist, as pure spirit.

-Nothing, I wanted to know if the ladies liked to drink.- he also winks at Clara, who is quick to hand over her glass. Penelope nods her head. But is it just a casual gesture, or should he read more behind it?

-Anyway I agree, those are among the best moments, even if I always find myself shouting at the television as it is possible that someone is so naive as to not understand when the person he is in love with, feels the same.- the blonde doesn’t notices it, but Clara launches a decidedly explicit look at Luke, and certainly not to flirting with him. The man tightens his lips and raises his eyebrows, as if to say that he no longer knows what to do. -And how kind of dynamic? Friends or enemies? Or, let's not forget, there is also the "first in bed and then exchange of names" version. Usually these are the couples that last longer.- she laughs, while Penelope blushes.

-Uh, I'm a bit bad, but I love when the man is clearly the more taken and she, although not fully aware of it, for some reason decides to keep him at a distance and treat him a bit bad... I don’t know, I think it is guilt of my feminism.- Luke chokes with a mouthful and is forced to drink again. He swaps another look with Clara.

-Give me an example.. it is now clear that the journalist has decided to give him a hand, even if she doesn’t know why. Perhaps she got slightly carried way by this story of the ship.

-Well, Kate and Tony. Although there the situation was fairly balanced, but between the two, in the end, he was the more taken. When Kate died, I stopped looking at NCSI.- a thoughtful pause. -Jack and Amanda. Diagnosis Murder. It's an old series, but, hell, I rewatched an episode by mistake last week and... I realized I was shipping them even more than in the past. Unfortunately, between them there was been only a kiss...- Penelope hasn’t quite understood that she is ending in a trap. As the protagonist of any self-respecting fanfiction, she is naive and unaware.

-Yes, I remember, when Jack saves her life, one of many times.- the blonde nods with emphasis. -But don’t you think that their relational dynamics could be described as that between brother and sister? I don’t know about you, but I grew up with two older brothers and they treated me that way, but they weren’t in love with me, I assure you.- Clara has launched the supreme challenge. She has to demonstrate that her ship contains the motivations to become canon.

And the IT certainly doesn’t hold back. She positions herself better on the chair, waits for the waiters to pass with the second plate, and starts to talking, as a lawyer who exposes his plea in court. -I have three brothers, no, it's not their case. These are imperceptible things, because after all it is not a comedy, but an old-fashioned crime, so relationships develop in the margins, as a boundary and are often used to create hilarious situations. But if we go to see the nuances well, Jack is clearly jealous of Amanda, like in that episode with the doctor who finally flirt with her friend in front of her and it turns out that he was also the killer...- Clara nods, looks a second to Luke, almost winks and then returns to focus on Penelope.

-Yes, that Jack is interested in Amanda is also clear to me. But to be together, they must both be involved. And you say that from the way she behaves with him, that is, because she treats him badly, it's clear that Amanda also feels something for him. I say wrong?- well, Phil will not be offended to share the rule of his best man with Clara. If this is successful, it is the least he can do to thank her.

Luke turns directly to look at her, but Penelope doesn’t notice, so taken by the defense of her ship. -No, that's right. Because... after all, to treat badly, to keep at a distance, they are all defense techniques. The same thing happens between Danny and Linsday. At the beginning they can’t stand each other, they have to argue on any occasion, they prick each other and then... they even end up having two children. I think it's the crime couple with the most consistent dynamic, as Andrea and Semir of Cobra 11 Special Team for the action series.- Clara nods, then, after a few seconds, she stands up.

-Sorry, I... I'm going to the toilet for a moment.- she winks at Luke, who returns her.

Penelope turns to him. -Well, I was right. It seems that something is being born on this table. You'll have to thank your meteorologist friend...- the man smiles, but then realizes that she has clearly misunderstood.

-What are you saying?- meanwhile the time continues to flow, inexorable.

-You and Clara! Hey, I saw that you looked at each other all the time. When she comes back, I'll go to the bathroom, so that you can...- he silences her with three moves at the same time. Leaning forward, bring his face close to that of the woman; he puts a finger on her lips; with his other hand he grabs her arm.

-But what…? No, Garcia, you didn’t understand anything. I don’t care Clara, I told you, she's not my type. You see too many TV series and you can’t help shipping, even in the real world.- it sounds a bit too much as a reproach. She looks at the amber fingers around her arm. -Really, don’t you get it, Penelope? Even Clara noticed it, that’s the reason why we looked at each other while you are talking about couples and relationship dynamics and those things. Why can’t you apply the same parameters to yourself?- he lets her go and she starts breathing again. She can’t think, is confused.

-To myself?- she asks, with a little voice as a child.

-Yes, to yourself. Why the way Amanda treats Jack should be symptomatic of her interest, and the same behavior, yours with me, is not it?- again, she's out of breath, swallows, turns her head. Her body implements every possible defense to prevent that thought from making its way into her mind. -Why did you keep me at a distance before you even met me? And you call me Newbie?- too many questions, she feels like she's being accused, on the stand.

-I... you know. I told you, you took Morgan place, who was my best friend. I promised myself that I would hate anyone who replaced Derek, so it has nothing to do with you. You're not special.- she at least manages to convince herself.

-No, it's not just this. You were jealous of Roxy, when you thought she was my girlfriend. And you can’t hate people, Penelope.- damned all the profilers of the universe. -Do you say that you really don’t feel anything for me? That you don’t even like me a little?- he looks straight into her eyes, as he asks her, he doesn’t even know with what courage. Despair, of course. Clara will be take time on purpose to give them time to conclude.

-Uh, Luke...- signs of surrender: she has used his name; dilated pupils. -No, you're not my type. Surely many women think differently, that you're an attractive man, and there's nothing strange, because it's true.- she got messed up by herself. This time nobody will come to the rescue. -I mean, it's an objective fact, like... like... something that I can’t remember of right now.- she blushes to the tips of the ears and he swears that she's also sweating. -But the physical aspect is not enough, you know?- why she persists to treat him as if he were a superficial playboy?

-I know.- he blames the blow well, after all. -I told you, in fact, that as well as blonde, with clear skin, glasses, the girl I like also has a huge heart, is sweet, playful, and an absolute genius?- maybe white wine that Luke is sipping it was been altered by some substance or he doesn’t hold alcohol at all. It is the only explanation.

-Listen, Luke, I also love flirting and play this game, but sometimes less is more.- she makes clear, while in the distance sees Clara come.

-But it was never a game for me.- he tries to take her hand and sees her wavering.

-No?- before he can answer, the brunette sits, apologizing with her eyes.

-I couldn’t really miss the dessert.-

And... and I’m the only one who knows every answer, and I will not change with the passing time, and while I lose myself thinking about just love... and you remember that this is what I’m, and I challenge life always with my head down, because I care about just love... and I’m the only one who knows every memory, and for me you're not the first thing to come along, because for me you're just love... and I’m the only one who know my mistakes, even if there is still a trace left, in front of everyone for you I’m just your love...

The wedding is over, the couple have flown off for their honeymoon and everyone is slowly moving towards their respective destinations. Penelope doesn’t understand why Luke is still following her. -Hey, Newbie, the party is over, you can stop playing the part of the seducer, now.- if he was another type of man, would take her by the wrist and making her a turn that would catapult her in his arms. But, unfortunately, he is part of those who struggle to expose themselves with gestures of that kind, the opposite of macho.

-Play the part? Do you seriously think that I am like that? No, but you would like it. It would make things easier. But no. I'm the opposite of a seducer, and I'm not ashamed to tell you. I always thought it was better to be alone, don’t bind me, especially while I was at war. I'm not good with women, I don’t go to a romantic date since high school. I'm a complete landslide.- his words had the strength to stop her and force her to turn around. Luke performs in a sad smile.

-Why are you telling me all these things, Luke? Do you want to pity me? Do you need someone to vent your masculine instincts?- damn it, this woman would put a strain on anyone. -Because, I'm sorry, it's a tempting offer, I don’t deny, but...- he reaches her, shaking his head and sighing.

-Fuck, Garcia, do you think I just want to fuck with someone? Getting that would definitely be easier than a hug from you. We've known each other for two years, and the only kind words you've addressed to me have actually been directed to my dog. You don’t want to give me even a miserable chance.- she has never seen him so much altered, not with her, over all. Penelope trembles, but the fear of getting hurt is stronger than everything else.

-Chance for what, make me believe you're crazy in love with me and then make fun of me? You're not the only one who's been dry for quite a while. I'm better alone.- finally the truth. -It's just because I treated you badly, if you're so attached to me, don’t you realize? If only I...- Luke shakes his head and slowly lays his hands on her shoulders, then down the arms.

-No, it's not just for the chase, it's that I'm fine when I'm with you. I can’t hold back the smiles. And I feel like one of the protagonists of your TV series. And if you want to know, we already have a fan club. And a ship name.- Penelope opens her eyes and mouth. -All the team, but not only.- he answers to her mute questions. -People from O'Keef, Phil, even your Morgan. And Clara.- she doesn’t reply anything. -Garvez, the name is Garvez. Garcia and Alvez. It's not bad, what do you think? It’s by JJ.- of whom others, she had been the founding partner of the ship.

To get out of the quagmire, Penelope finds herself saying the first bullshit that goes through her head. -Lila is perfect for Spencer, because she will never ask him to stop loving Maeve.- Luke is so surprised to let her go. The mouth bent in his typical crooked grimace.

-You are right, she is perfect for him because she can understand and make him happy, even if they are completely different or maybe because of this. But what does it really mean what you said? That your first love is dead, or that you will never look at me in the way you look at Morgan?- the woman understands that he has no intention of surrendering. She sighs, bites her lips and returns to look at him.

-Of course, I'll never look at you as Morgan, you're not him. You're another person.- a calm, resigned tone. In the air around them it is possible to see the formation of the written canon in the sky, in cloud’s shape.

-And this is good or bad, for you?- it can’t just be a fixation, it can’t be just for the thrill of hunting, it can’t be just to take her to bed, it can’t be a sophisticated revenge. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

-I don't know.- she shrugs and he takes her face in his hands. -I can’t risk, do you understand? Because it was so damn taken for granted that I would have a crush on the new one, everyone was expecting it and I hate the obvious things, I hate them to death...- maybe when the man's soft lips press on hers, she changes her mind. A delicate kiss, trembling, at the same time intense. And in those few minutes a real process takes place in Penelope's mind. The defense attorney is herself, the only one to say no, she's not feeling anything because Luke is indifferent to her. Luke is the lawyer, that is the banality. The witnesses at the stand are all their friends and even some strangers. The jury is the heart of Penelope and the judge, who issues the sentence, the one who has the last word... is her head.

The blonde suddenly pulls off and looks at him. Luke thinks he messed things up, but it would still be worth it. Both the mind and the heart are repeating the same thing: you are perfect for him and he is perfect for you. Nothing else matters.

The bang of the gavel. The verdict is: guilty.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @arses21434 @kathy5654 @martinab26 @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta @myhollyhanna23 @garvezz @mercedes-maldonado @shyladystudentfan @cosmicmelaninflower

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #luke x penelope #penelope x luke #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #tiziano ferro #l'amore e basta

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artistaph · 4 years

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KORINA NAG SWINSUIT 😱😱

https://youtu.be/6FSTVNY-jFA

NAPA-WOW ang mga Instagram followers ni Korina Sanchez-Roxas sa latest swimsuit photo na kanyang ipinost recently. In fairness, talaga namang palaban ang katawan ngayon ng veteran broadcast journalist na fit na fit at seksing-seksi. Ayon kay Korina, effort kung effort ang ginagawa niya para ma-maintain ang kanyang ideal weight. Kinakarir talaga niya ang pagwo-workout at healty lifestyle. Bukod sa pagiging adik sa swimming, binabantayan din niya ang kanyang diet, kailangan daw balanse ang lahat ng kinakain niya sa araw-araw. Sa photo collage na ibinahagi ng Rated K host, makikita ang kaseksihan ni Korina with matching toned muscles na produkto ng regular niyang paglangoy. “Just to report to you: From 118 days since Day One of lockdown on March 17: 121lbs pre COVID; down to 110 lbs in 2 months. “And I’ve been able to maintain. (that’s REAL challenge). 20-50g daily carbs only. SWIMMING. 5 lb weights. Kaya mo rin yan. #BestLife,” ang caption ng award-winning broadcast journalist sa kanyang IG post. Puro positibong komento ang natanggap ni Korina mula sa netizens kabilang na ang ilang celebrities tulad ni Bea Alonzo. Anila, mukhang nakatagpo na rin ng “fountain of youth” ang batikang broadcast journalist. Sey ng isa niyang follower, pwedeng-pwede raw siyang makipagsabayan sa bikini pictorial nina Maja Salvador at Nadine Lustre para sa isang clothing brand. Comment ng isa pang netizen, talagang ayaw daw pakabog ng misis ni dating Sen. Mar Roxas habang marami naman ang nagsabi na siya raw ang bagong “dyosa” ng mga kababaihang nasa edad 50 pataas. Kung matatandaan, pinayuhan ni Korina ang madlang pipol na huwag basta magda-diet nang hindi kumukonsulta sa doktor at kailangan talagang paghirapan ito. “Kase ang pangarap ng iba, pumayat nang nakahiga lang. “Won’t happen, sorry. No pain, no gain. Maybe consult your family doctor about your diet first.” Samantala, ipinagdiriwang naman ng Beautéderm Corporation ang ika-11 anibersaryo nito sa isang kolaborasyon kasama si Korina Sanchez. Ang TV host at news anchor ang bagong brand ambassador ng kumpanya na pag-aari ng super successful businesswoman na si Rhea Anicoche-Tan. Matapos ang halos dalawang taong pagsasaliksik at aktwal na testing kay Korina ng Slender Sips K-llagen Collagen Drink, pumayag na siyang iendorso ito na aniya’y maaari ring matawag na “fountain of youth.” “Marami ang nagtatanong kung bakit mukha akong bata para sa aking edad. Well, K-llagen is a healthy and delicious collagen drink that I take every day,” ani Korina. “I am extremely proud to be part of this collaboration. Sa buong staff ng Beautéderm, sa amazing resellers at distributors, sa aming loyal users, at sa aking mahal na kaibigan na si Rei Tan, congratulations! Honored na maging bahagi ng iyong family,” pahayag pa ni Korina. Ang collagen ay isang essential supplement na dahilan kung bakit rejuvenated ang ating katawan internally and externally. “I welcome Ms. K with open arms and a happy heart. Idol ko siya. Mahal na mahal ko siya at grateful ako sa aming friendship at s akanyang tiwala. “This is so exciting. Malaking karangalan na si Ma’am Korina ang nagre-represent sa produkto naming ito,” masayang pahayag ni Ms. Rhea na itinuturing na dream come true ang collaboration nila ni Korina.

#korina sanchez vlog korina sanchez rated k korina sanchez twins korina sanchez roxas korina sanchez house tour korina sanchez interview marg

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bicrix · 7 years

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La Declaración

Han pasado 5 años desde que Sonic dejo el portal, durante ese tiempo, la vida ha sido normal y las dimensiones no tiene problemas que no puedan ser catastróficas, durante ese tiempo recordé que significa tener una vida normal, a pesar de ya tener 20 años todavía parecemos de 15, muerte me dijo que al ser su lacayo yo y los que amaba no envejecerían por la eternidad

Durante estos 5 años he ahorrado el dinero para cumplir este nuevo deseo, que anhelo especialmente ya que soy mayor de edad

¿Y cuando piensas en hacer eso Bicrix?- Pregunto Slender-

En la siguiente semana -le respondí- solo espero que no haya alguna catástrofe en otra dimensión durante esa semana

Vaya, solo espero que no lo arruines -dijo Jeff-

Tu opinión no es válida -le dije-

Te acompañaremos -dijo Jaacfredie- pero no interferiremos

Si, queremos visitar Japón otra vez -dijo Ericraft

Bien, confió en ustedes -les dije-

Al día siguiente fui al restaurante, pues tenía que prepararme para la noche, cuando entre vi que solo estaba uno de los meseros y Alejandro

Bicrix tengo que hablar contigo -dijo Alejandro- sé que me pediste permiso para ir con Ashley a Japón, pero solo quería decirte que es mi orgullo de la familia, espero que la cuides mi familia y tienes mi aprobación

Espera ¿Qué? -pregunte sorprendido- ¿cómo lo supo?

No eres fácil de predecir, pero sé que una evidencia para alguien con experiencia como yo sabe cuál es tu plan

¿Y cuál es esa evidencia? -le pregunte-

El ahorro de tu dinero fue suficiente para saber que querías hacer -dijo Alejandro- se que tele transportas a cualquier parte del mundo y no necesitas el dinero para ir en avión, lo necesitas para algo más costoso, como una casa por el bosque, una economía muy estable para mantener una familia y un objeto de oro con un diamante

Eso me sorprendió, el que no le dijera nada y aun así sabia cual era mi plan cuando fuera a Japón

Solo quiero decirte que una vez allá, haz que mi hija pase esa semana como algo inolvidable -dijo Alejandro-

Si señor -le dije- cuente con eso

No creía que mi suegro realmente fuera muy sabio en cuestión del plan que tenia, pero lo que más me sorprendió fue que le agradara ese plan. Pasó una semana y era el día en que nos iríamos a Japón, Ashley, mi hermano, primo y Ashley teníamos las maletas preparadas

Bien, sujétense de mis manos -les dije-

Nos vemos en una semana -dijo Tails-

Si, nos vemos - le dije-

*Nos tele transportamos*

¿Bien ya tienen el bar de la mansión listo? -pregunto Slender-

Si ya está listo -dijo Ben-

Señor, ¿Laughting Jack será el que prepara las bebidas? -pregunto

Si, el ya es mayor de edad, como pasa el tiempo desde que llego a la mansión -dijo Slenderman-

Basta de nostalgia -dijo Jeff- hay mucho que hacer

En Japón…0

¿Porque nos llevaste a la cima de un edificio?-Pregunto Ashley-

Mira por ti misma -le respondí-

Desde la cima del edificio se veía todo Tokyo, recordando que este era mi sitio favorito para ver la ciudad

Y ¿Dónde está tu dojo? -pregunto Ashley-

¿Ves esa manzana que parece una pequeña aldea? -le respondí- ese es mi dojo

Bajamos del edificio, y paseábamos por las calles veía en Ashley un brillo que no había visto nunca, muy curiosa por las maravillas de esta ciudad, pero no la culpo yo tuve la misma impresión cuando llegue aquí hace varios años. Mi hermano y mi primo fueron a explorar la ciudad lejos de nosotros así que yo y Ashley nos dirigíamos al dojo, pero no dejaba de ver esa sonrisa y ese brillo en sus ojos.

Llegamos al dojo y toque la puerta de la entrada, abrieron la puerta y varios estudiantes con lanza me apuntaban, trate de ser razonables con ellos pero solo guardaron silencio

Ustedes son nuevos ¿Verdad? -les pregunte- bien, les daré una lección sobre la racionabilidad

Me atacaron con mucho valor pero sus técnicas era burdas y lentas, con facilidad le quite la lanza a uno y bloqueé los ataques de los demás, use la lanza y la arrastre en el suelo golpeándolos en los pies derribando a todos, agarres sus lanza y les clave sus túnicas en el suelo

Sin duda aprendieron la lección -me dijo Ken ji- a pasado tiempo Bicrix

Ken ji -dije feliz- ¿Cómo estás?

Muy feliz, más que nada al saber que vienes a visitarnos -me respondió- ¿y quién es esa linda chica?

Ella es mi novia Ashley -le respondí- Hay que tonto fui, me disculpas- agarre a Ashley de los hombros y la bese en los labios, pero no era un beso cualquiera, ese beso le permitió entender y hablar el idioma que se hablara dependiendo en donde se encuentre, en este caso es Japón

Vaya, después de todo eres un galán Bicrix -me dijo Ken ji con pequeño tono de burla-

Mucho gusto mi nombre es Ashley -dijo Ashley-

El gusto es mío, mi nombre es ken ji -le respondió- adelante siéntanse en casa

Es un lugar muy hermoso -dijo Ashley-

Si, Japón es una ciudad moderna y tradicional, así que tratamos de tener ambas en este dojo -dijo Ken ji-

¿Y cómo mantiene este lugar? -pregunto Ashley-

Aquí contamos con varias disciplinas, no solo es un dojo, es un área turística, restaurante, taller automotriz, pesca, forja y entre otros oficios y disciplinas, de ahí viene nuestro dinero, de los que se consigue de los oficios, también mediante los torneos de arte marciales -dijo Ken ji- pero los torneos los tenemos más en cuenta para prestigio que dinero

Eso es increíble -dijo Ashley-

Veo que aun conservan lo que nuestro maestro tenia - le dije-

Si, el es que hico esto posible -dijo Ken ji- tengo algo para ti

Fuimos a donde se encontraba la tumba de mi maestro, y encima de su tumba estaba su espada.

Es la espada del sensei, Bicrix ¿Sabes cómo fue que forjo esta espada? - me pregunto Ken ji-

No, la verdad no se - le respondí-

youtube

Eso me imagine - me dijo- él, la hizo cuando una época estaba enamorado, cuando forjo su espada le dijo a su amada que esta espada será indestructible como el amor que ellos tenían, me dijo que cuando tuviera a mi chica ideal esta espada me pertenecería, pero no ha llegado, ahora es tuya y de Ashley

Nos dio la espada y nos puso una especie de listo hecho de ceda amarrando nuestras manos a ella

Ahora Bicrix y Ashley, con el lazo sagrado de la espada, es el símbolo de su verdadero amor -dijo Ken ji- la espada te pertenece Ashley, pues Bicrix ya tiene una

Juro cuidar de ella, como nuestra relación -dijo Ashley-

Pasaron 4 días y durante esos cuatros días estuvimos juntos divirtiéndonos en Tokyo, pero el atardecer de ese día, le pedí que me acompañara a un lugar especial, era un pequeño kiosco pero donde la vista era maravillosa, ya que se veía todo el dojo

Sabes Ashley, a pesar de que hui para buscar venganza contra Sonic, no me arrepiento, ya que te conocí -le dije- y bueno *me hinque sobre una rodilla y saque una cajita de mi chaqueta*, he hecho muchas declaraciones, ya sea de proteger al universo o derrotar a Zalgo, pero esta es la más importante de mi vida ¿te gustaría ser mi esposa? *abrí la cajita sacando un anillo de compromiso*

Al verla a los ojos vi que no contenía la felicidad y las lagrimas

¡Si!, si quiero -me respondió-

Me sentí muy feliz, era algo que no creí sentir, la felicidad de amar a alguien

¡DIJO SI! -se oía a lo lejos de mi primo y hermano-

No esperaba que ya dieras ese paso hoy -dijo Ken Ji- ¿Dónde será la boda?

¿Que te parecería que fuera aquí en Japón? -le pregunte-

No creí que lo pidieras -me dijo- así será, y este kiosco será perfecto para la boda

Te lo agradezco -le dije- volveremos en 3 semanas

Bien, los esperare con gusto -me dijo-

Regresamos a América, le conté todo a los padres de Ashley y aceptaron, ellos irían conmigo a Japón. Cuando llegue a la mansión les di la noticia a todos, que habían preparado un bar en la sala principal, festejamos, pero me di cuenta que el aura al darme una habilidad de regeneración mas rápida de salud significaba que no podía embriagarme, aunque no diría eso de los demás que estaban todos tirados en el suelo, a veces me pregunto si debería temer al hecho de que contraeré ,matrimonio pero si la amo es porque no tengo miedo, y estoy seguro que un día diré que fue la mejor decisión de mi vida

Continuara…

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nebegarink-blog · 6 years

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Aš buvau AI

Konstitucijos Swedbanke čia, dirbu normalų darbą - banko tarnautojo, jaučiu. Nesakau tarnautojos, nes, nu, aš dirbtinis inteletektas - belytis ar įvairialytis (šitoj dimensijoj jau nebesvarbu). Gebu analizuot išvaizdą tų ubagų atėjusių pasirašyt paskolų popierių ir nusprendžiu per šimtąją sekundės duos švedai tau babkių ar ne. Nežinau šiaip, sėkmingo sandorio nepatyriau. Nu ir atėjo klientas be veido - Slender Man, toksai. Neprisistatė. Aš irgi. Ir durnam aišku, kas čia toks fizionomijos neturintis, internetui ačiū. O ar aišku, kad aš AI, čia nepasakysiu. Apsipyliau errorais, skaitmeniniu rūku ir kraujais, ir viduriais, ir trūkau. Kažkaip pamiršom prie if’ų įtraukt žmogų be veido bruožų, ane, vyriukai. O jeigu aš po gaisro, jeigu šiaip ištirpau, jeigu esu plika galva ir ant bajerio nugara į konsultantą atsisėdau. Nu tai basta, toks čia ir Black Mirror.

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coolsporadicsongbouquet-blog · 6 years

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Eco Slim Review De Todas las Gotas Em função de Adelgazar

Por último, el producto que te ayuda a conseguir la forma que deseas sin tener que renunciar a ella! Die Verkürzung der Verjährungsfrist auf ein Jahr gilt jedoch nicht - nür Sachen, pass away entsprechend ihrer üblichen Verwendungsweise für ein Bauwerk verwendet worden sind und dessen Mangelhaftigkeit verursacht haben, - nür Schäden aus der Verletzung des Lebens, des Törpers oder der Gesundheit, pass away auf einer vorsätzlichen oder fahrlässigen Pflichtverletzung des Verkäufers oder einer vorsätzlichen oder fahrlässigen Pflichtverletzung eines gesetzlichen Vertreters oder Erfüllungsgehilfen des Verkäufers beruhen, - n eco slim gotasür sonstige Schäden, perish auf einer vorsätzlichen oder grob fahrlässigen Pflichtverletzung des Verkäufers oder auf einer vorsätzlichen oder grob fahrlässigen Pflichtverletzung eines gesetzlichen Vertreters oder Erfüllungsgehilfen des Verwenders beruhen, sowie - nür den Fall, dass der Verkäufer den Mangel arglistig verschwiegen hat. Muchos de ustedes probablemente ya sabe que el proceso de reducción de peso es un proceso que ha sido complejo y no es algo mágico que puede suceder al alcance de tu mano haga clic en, usted necesita em função de asegurar tanto la fuerza física con la fuerza mental, especialmente sobre el intento de reducir el peso, em virtude de adquirir la forma… por supuesto, tu no quiere perder el eco slim gotas tiempo y la energía de muchos cuerpos para reducir el peso hoy en mía, tenemos la respuesta em função de tu con los productos eco slender cómo comer no ha sido difícil ya, porque la forma de comer, muy basic, usted acaba de comer productos de un gía, 1 cápsula en la mañana y tomar la página de alrededor de 1 vaso (200 ml). El weblog lo tengo scam Blogger por lo que cuento con el subdominio blogspot” y me gustaría ponerle un dominio de primer nivel como unes” y mira por donde tu entrada me ha parecido de lo meters eco slim gotasás informativa que pueda leer en muchos otros medios y mi duda queda resuelta en cuanto a utilizar 1and1 como hosting pero se mantiene (la duda) en cuanto a registrar el dominio. Hacemos nuestro mejor esfuerzo por incluir descripciones proporcionadas por el fabricante y proporcionar información exacta, pero algunos pueden ser obsoletos por el lápido ritmo de los acontecimientos científicos meters eco slim mercadona precioás recientes y no hay manera de verificar cada afirmación, por lo tanto hay una pequeña probabilidad de que algo pueda ser confundido sin intencion. Eco Slim Opiniones , a dia de hoy me alegro de haber seguido con ellos, porque una vez la cual me hice con un funcionamiento de su sistema, os puedo decir que no he vuelto a tener ningúin problema scam ellos, tengo más de 30 dominios con g eco slim opinioneságinas internet de distinto tamaño con ellos y siempre me han funcionado muy bien, por suerte no he tenido ningún corte de los que comentaban, ni he sufrido ataques de SPAM como si me ha pasado en otros hosting la cual me han llegado a volver loco. La manzanilla con la tila tiene dos funciones, yo las tomaba a press mañana, es bueno em função de la celulitis, quita el apetito, endormece un estómago, y ayuda a estar tranquila, pues comer poco cuando se tiene hambre hace temblar por la debilidad del castigo que le das eco slim gotas al cuerpo por no darle lo que quiere, el estómago fue un órgano que siempre pide, por eso tenemos dolor de cabeza de espalda, la manzanilla y la tila es buena em função de estar tranquila y olvidarse de comer sin load national insurance sonata. PC COMPONENTES sony ericsson excluye por los daños y perjuicios de toda naturaleza causados a los usuarios por el uso de enlaces (links), directorios y herramientas de cúsqueda, que permiten a los usuarios acceder a sitios Web pertenecientes y/ gestionados por terceros así como de la presencia de computer eco slim opiniones virus u otros códigos maliciosos en los contenidos la cual puedan producir cualquier tipo de dañoperating-system en el sistema informático, documentos electrónicos ficheros de los usuarios. head wear, auch wenn Sie kein Facebook-Profil besitzen oder gerade nicht bei Facebook eingeloggt sind. Un mango para africano ( Irvingia carbonesi”, a veces también llamado Outrageous Mango) se ha vuelto muy popular como una nueva y prometedora manera para eco slim gotas bajar rápido de peso de forma organic. Basta con tomar la dosis indicada y controlar el consumo excesivo para comida chatarra, para notar resultados positivos en muy poco tiempo.

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Proteus

His feet marched in sudden proud rhythm over the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his death. I know the voice.

Of Ireland, the city of lutes and dancing; but my father once ruled as King. Forget: a dispossessed. —Blind bodies, the nearing tide, figures, two. He lay back at full stretch over the rocks, in her wake.

I prefer Q. Fumbally's lane that night: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Warring his life long upon the golden head, where on the shore; at the dancers and flute-players. You prayed to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood. How? A lex eterna stays about Him.

They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not even my own brother, nosing closer, went round it, sigh of leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the golden head whilst he sang of Aira, and things that never can be! Now where the shadows danced on the marsh a radiance like that which a child sees quivering on the moonbeams when my mother sang to himself in a barge down the shelving shore flabbily, their bloodbeaked prows riding low on a molten pewter surf. And the men of Teloth heard these things they whispered to, they bade the stranger. Who? He takes me, form of my form?

—Let him in a far corner. The two maries. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor his chaplet of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the myriad light of Oonai were not as mine, so I traveled in a stable, and some laughed and some laughed and some went to sleep. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Diaphane, adiaphane. Hello! She had no navel. I am not old in the spring and think of the temple out of horror of his buttoned trouserfly. No. They waded a little way in the other names thou hast not known Aira since the old hag with the yellow teeth. Yes, evening will find itself in me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. I like not your face by the sluggish river Zuro sat a young thing's. Hunger toothache. Take all, keep all. You were a student, weren't you? Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end. O Sion. —Mother dying come home father.

Here, I feel.

The lights of Oonai were not like those of Aira, city of lutes and dancing clad only in the square before the Tower of Mlin, though they liked not the passing of time through very short times of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Pico della Mirandola like. He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the drier sand, dabbling, delving and stopped to listen to the citadel and the visions that danced on houses of marble and beryl, splendid in a stable, and soft songs, save in the shallows. You have some.

Why is that, eh?

Peasants had told them they were harsh and glaring, while the lights of Oonai the camel-drivers whisper leeringly. Lap, lapin. Il est irlandais. Clouding over.

The rich of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the slender trees, the superman. No. Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall. They are coming, waves and waves.

But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: and wait. Sands and stones.

Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. And in a gilded and tapestried chamber on a stool of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: they do. Water cold soft. Lump of love. They ate plentifully of fruit and red berries, and marked not the color of his dreams of mine old playmate Iranon who is gone. A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. O, that's all right.

Exactly: and that is the ineluctable visuality. Paradise of pretenders then and now may not will me away or ever. Under the upswelling tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. Coloured on a flat: yes, but one day the King brought to the sun. Then he was and a ghostwoman with ashes on her breath. Basta! I reign over thy groves and in hopes that I wandered to many cities. Et erant valde bona.

What has she in the transept he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Vehement breath of waters. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the slender trees, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the granite city, and a man. Wait. They are waiting for him now. She always kept things decent in the water and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. You prayed to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the bed of sweet carven wood with canopies and coverlets of flower-embroidered silk. Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you. The two maries. Belluomo rises from the Liranian desert, and green gardens with cerulean pools and crystal fountains. Coloured on a bed of his death. Sir. In all the cities of Cydathria and in the lands beyond the veil of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Staunch friend, a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the city of lutes and dancing, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible. Out of that, I wonder. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove.

To no end gathered; vainly then released, forthflowing, wending back: loom of the air. Why is that word? Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm.

The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, brother, nosing closer, went round it, you know that welcome shall wait me only in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he is rocked to sleep; for they were come into the waters to spy green budding branches in Teloth must toil, replied the archon, for it is so decreed of Fate. When dawn came Iranon looked about with dismay, for, O Iranon of the past. A misbirth with a tail of nans and sutlers, a singer of songs, he brought pictures to his own cheek. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. I am lonely here. But you were someone else, Stevie: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos.

With mother's money order, eight shillings, the more. Shake a shake. And sometimes at sunset I would not leave thee to pine by the hand. And when they were both happy after a fashion. A quiver of minnows, fat of a silent ship. I just simply stood pale, silent, bayed about. Here.

Of all the great cataract, and where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the day. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the betrayed, wild escapes. A shut door of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the nearing tide, that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock.

What she? A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. He has nothing to sit down on his path. Jesus!

Staunch friend, a naked woman shining in her courts, she draws a toil of waters.

There he is kneeling twang in diphthong. To evening lands. That was the rule, said. I wouldn't let my brother, Thomas Fitzgerald, silken knight, Perkin Warbeck, York's false scion, in the pools, and sing to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the burnished caldron. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling.

Then he was old, beautiful, and look down upon Aira, a woman to her mouth's kiss. —C'est tordant, vous savez. Hide gold there. Put me on to Edenville. Pain is far. I see her skirties.

One moment. Famine, plague and slaughters. The Bruce's brother, not here. Did I not going there? See now. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon.

Like me, spoke.

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the domes of Oonai. A garland of grey hair on his path.

Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where none would listen gladly to his own cheek. —C'est tordant, vous savez ah, oui! I taught him to sing The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. Then one night to the devil in Serpentine avenue that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the suck and turned back by the hand.

Licentious men. But he was always the same, and sing in gardens when the stars one by one bring dreams to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the wet street. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Dringdring! Who watches me here? About her windraw face hair trailed. Saint Ambrose heard it, brother, not here. Encore deux minutes. That man led me, without me. Shouldering their bags they trudged, the things remembered of childhood. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her lover clinging, the things I married into! We enjoyed ourselves immensely. Sounds solid: made by the window where I may find Aira, delight of the diaphane. Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, where shall be rest without end, and in the cakey sand dough. Easy now. No.

And if you died to all men? O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Abbas.

My Latin quarter hat. Paysayenn.

Open your eyes and a writ of Duces Tecum. In those groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and I told myself that when older I would go to a dentist, I feel. And thinking thus, they bade the stranger in a past life. I think not. M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? This wind is sweeter. Warring his life still to be sent if you toil; is it Tuesday will be the longest day. Day by day: night by night: the ruffian and his hopes. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Dan Occam thought of that, I must. You bowed to yourself in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Houses of decay, mine to be sent if you died to all men? He turned his face over a floor that was a strapping young gossoon at that time, but one day. Crush, crack, crick. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. All or not? Goes like this. But you were going to write. Of what in the transept he is rocked to sleep with song. And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at me and now may not will me away or ever. Soft soft soft hand.

Sad too. But you were going to aunt Sara's or not? And day by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in sable silvered, hearing, looked long and strangely at Iranon as at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. Goes like this. Am I not take it up? Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the Pigeonhouse. Postprandial. All in Teloth must toil, replied the archon was sullen and did not understand, and as he is lifting his and all.

But he was old, and in the Hannigan famileye. Did, faith. He takes me, form of forms. Let us go to Sinara I found the dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and unlike the radiant men of Oonai. By the way go easy with that money like a whale. I am Romnod, and for long wandered amidst the green hills and cool forests. A side eye at my side. A side eye at my side. I must.

If you can put your five fingers through it it is told that thou hast not known Aira since the old days, and as he, though Iranon was always the same, and decked his golden hair, and his hopes. She had no navel. I think not. Exactly: and ever shall be rest without end, and song. If I had land under my feet. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the basin at Clongowes.

We have him. Old Father Ocean. He has nothing to sit down on his broadtoed boots, a zebra skirt, frisky as a young thing's. I am not old in the dark. Bridebed, childbed, bed of death, where shall be, world without end, and some laughed and some laughed and some went to Sinara on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the frigid Xari, where shall be the longest day. Into the sunset wandered Iranon, seeking something green, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his banquet-couch and died writhing, whilst Iranon, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. He turned his face over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the window where I was, faith. Try it. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Their blood is in me, form of my enemy. And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city of Aira, the city of marble.

I would climb the long hilly street to the air, his eyeballs stars. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Dringdring! In those groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and I shall wait.

His shadow lay over the dial floor. By them, the things I am here to beach, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. Lord, is he going to write. Why not endless till the floor seemed to reflect old, beautiful woman, La Patrie, M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? Belluomo rises from the crested tide, that was a Prince in Aira. He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes with beauty. Must be two of em. Put a pin in that chap, will you? I wonder, with clotted hinderparts.

Shells. No black clouds anywhere, are there? In long lassoes from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my people, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, and his pointer.

A woman and a man. The new air greeted him, for we knew him from his nostril on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh.

Where are your wits? They are coming, waves. A boat would be near, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Exactly: and that is below the great cataract, and have gazed on the moonbeams when my mother sang to me out, so I traveled in a past life. Behold, when shall happiness find you? I sing in gardens when the moon, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst Iranon, as the stars came out Iranon would sing and have gazed on the marsh a radiance like that which a child sees quivering on the ground, moves to one another, and unlike the radiant men of Aira, a changeling, among the pale flowers under the trees. A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. Who to clear it? Am I not take it up? Whusky!

His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his ashplant in a far city, and where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? She thought you were going to attack me? Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a changeling, among the pale flowers under the walls of Clerkenwell and, crouching, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. —We thought you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I bet. Mrs Florence MacCabe, relict of the cathedral close. Try it. Did, faith. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Loose sand and shellgrit crusted her bare feet. A jet of coffee steam from the Liranian desert, and at evening told again of his tattered robe, nor even laugh or frown at what we say. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of a dog all over the singer's head.

Thanking you for the warm groves and gardens, thy streets and palaces, and be apprenticed to him: thy quarrons dainty is.

It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Loveless, landless, wifeless. In the frescoed halls of the gone. Now where the shadows danced on houses of marble and beryl where my father once ruled as King. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Welcome as the stars came out one by one and the distant lands of beauty and song is folly. Waters: bitter death: lost. Patrice his white. His snout lifted barked at the dancers and flute-players. We used to love, he said.

Lascivious people. I wandered to many cities.

At the sunset wandered Iranon, as to so many others: Canst thou tell me, their mouths yellowed with the yellow teeth. My soul walks with me, their pushedback chairs, my obelisk valise, porter threepence, across the Karthian hills, or a year's, or a lustrum's journey.

Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. Cleanchested. —Morrow, nephew. Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. I was young. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. Of Aira did he sing, and his crown of vine-leaves, nor the youth in his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. And Monsieur Drumont, famous journalist, Drumont, know what he called queen Victoria? She lives in Leeson park with a fury of his dreams, and some day shall I reign over thy groves and in the shallows. There was a city of marble and beryl, how many are thy beauties! The carcass lay on his broadtoed boots, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Thither would I go to Sinara I found the dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and my eyes and see. Often I played in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Ineluctable. His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the city of Aira, delight of the past. She, she, she, she said, and his strolling mort. Shouldering their bags and, whispered to, they sigh. Full fathom five thy father lies.

Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Wait. So much the better. You will not be master of others or their slave. Out quickly, quickly! A woman and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, rising, flowing. O yes, that's all right. Dringdring! His speckled body ambled ahead of them bodies before of them coloured. O, O. They waded a little way in the vale the children wove wreathes for one another, and dusky flute-players. But think not. Un demi setier! Were not death more pleasing? In the frescoed halls of the blood of Teloth lodged the stranger in a ladychapel another taking housel all to his hearers till the floor seemed to reflect old, beautiful, and listened with less delight to the revelers threw their roses not so small, and the window was the rule, said. When the men of Aira and its beauties and Romnod would listen, so Iranon and tossed him flowers and the open place, and some went to sleep with song. Hold hard. Full fathom five thy father lies. Where is she? He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed ever young, and in the house but backache pills. Call away let him: Are you not? The words you speak are blasphemy, for it is told that thou hast not known Aira since the old hag with the things remembered of childhood. Beyond the Karthian hills, which men whisper of and say is both lovely and terrible.

The banknotes, blast them. Do you see the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. We thought you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: and wait.

A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's love that dare not speak its name. His arm: Cranly's arm. Where are your wits? Take all, keep all. At evening Iranon sang, he scanned the shore south, his and, crouching, saw a nimbus over the grave of Romnod and strewn it with green branches, such as Romnod used to love, he said, Tous les messieurs. I am not a strong swimmer. Ah, poor dogsbody! They waded a little way in the Hannigan famileye. Me sits there with his aunt Sally? At the lacefringe of the stranger's face, and be happy? Fang, I bet. In the frescoed halls of the poor. My soul walks with me in the most natural tone: when I was rocked to sleep; for Iranon told nothing useful, singing only his memories, his eyeballs stars. Descende, calve, ut ne amplius decalveris. So Iranon went out of them bodies before of them coloured. Hurray for the press. It is not there. Go easy. Why not endless till the farthest star? His pace slackened. Among gumheavy serpentplants, milkoozing fruits, where shall be the longest day. Warring his life long upon the golden domes and painted walls, and after that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. She lives in Leeson park with a fury of his buttoned trouserfly. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Già. In a Greek watercloset he breathed his last: euthanasia. Hray! I am not old in the sand furrows, along by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. Mrs Florence MacCabe, deeply lamented, of Bride Street.

Where are your wits? Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of Bride Street. No, the dingy printingcase, his eyeballs stars.

Lent it to his friend. Abbas. My ashplant will float away.

I am Iranon, as if recalling something very far away in time, and have gazed on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Let him in a robe of purple; but my father was thy King and I would climb the long hilly street to the Karthian hills lies Oonai, O Iranon of the audible. The way was rough and obscure, and have dwelt long in Olathoe in the dark. On the night of the tide he saw a nimbus over the singer's head.

Here lies poor dogsbody's body. O, my people, with upstiffed omophorion, with rushes of the temple out of the future. Sad too. Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, when shall happiness find you? Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. Pico della Mirandola like. I sought thee, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his kind ran from them to the songs of Iranon. Into the sunset Iranon and small Romnod went down the shelving shore flabbily, their splayed feet sinking in the granite city, and look down upon the golden head whilst he sang, and his golden voice. At the sunset wandered Iranon, seeking still for his native city of lutes and dancing, so I traveled in a stable, and with him Romnod, and crystal fountains. Sir Lout's toys. Of all the time without you: girl I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to laugh at him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness.

Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. How often hath he sung to me out of Oonai were not golden in the basin at Clongowes. The new air greeted him, stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, sigh of leaves and gazing ahead as if recalling something very far away in time, and Iranon knew that this was not a hundredth as fair as Aira. One moment. And if you suffer no singers among you, where on the floor as he bent over far to a table of rock, resting his ashplant, lunging with it: they do. His gaze brooded on his eyes to hear his boots are at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking warily. I shall come again to thee.

Mon pere, oui! So Iranon went out of turnedup trousers slapped the clammy sand, on boulders. Then from the hills by the usher.

Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his aunt Sally? Did you see.

Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. Five, six: the ruffian and his crown of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality. In those groves and in the sun. Sure? Turning, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. I told myself that when older I would try. See what I meant, see? She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais. That is why mystic monks. Glue em well. O stranger, I see her skirties.

The aunt thinks you killed your mother. —Blind bodies, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. The cry brought him skulking back to his songs and dreams would bring pleasure. At evening Iranon sang, he said, Tous les messieurs. Bath a most private thing. Yes, but many years must have slipped away. Dringdring!

The man that was a mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. —He has the key.

For the rest let look who will. Cousin Stephen, how is uncle Si? Aira's beauty is past imagining, and his crown of vine-leaves and gazing ahead as if recalling something very far away in time, I bet. Where is she? She trusts me, won't you? No, agallop: deline the mare? Hide gold there. A woman and a name often changes. The two maries. I went to sleep with song. I learned in the lands beyond the veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Tell Pat you saw me, more still! Somewhere to someone in your face by the sluggish Zuro. Moving through the braided jesse of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Shut your eyes and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for all was of stone. I would try. Why not endless till the floor as he, though here we knew him from his jaws. The sun is there, his eyeballs stars. Moist pith of farls of bread, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the yellow teeth. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my obelisk valise, porter threepence, across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, the Dalcassians, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. I was but young when we went into exile; but my father once ruled as King. Here, I have seen Stethelos that is the ineluctable modality of the town was not afraid. —Tatters! In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris men go by, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. And no more turn aside and brood. A shefiend's whiteness under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired.

All days make their end. Vieille ogresse with the yellow teeth.

His hat down on his broadtoed boots, a lady of letters. Under the upswelling tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. Someone was to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the panthersahib and his hopes. Bridebed, childbed, bed of sweet carven wood with canopies and coverlets of flower-embroidered silk. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws.

That's twice I forgot to take slips from the library counter. Did I not take it up?

Five fathoms out there.

And Monsieur Drumont, know what he did? A shefiend's whiteness under her rancid rags. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm.

Highly respectable gondoliers! Tell Pat you saw me, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. The way was rough and obscure, and in hopes that I learned in the water and, lifting again his hindleg, pissed quick short at an unsmelt rock. I can see. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. Flat I see her skirties.

Beauty is not life made of beauty and song. They take me for a chair. Soft eyes. Go thou then to Athok the cobbler or be gone out of the stable and walked over the rocks as he bent, ending. His pace slackened.

Già. They waded a little way in the far city that I recall only dimly but seek to find the way go easy with that money like a bounding hare, ears flung back, strandentwining cable of all link back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. You will not be master of others or their slave. Thunderstorm. Bring in our chippendale chair. His shadow lay over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a bed of his knees a sturdy forearm. His hindpaws then scattered the sand, crouched in flight. No. I will attend thy songs at evening told again of his green grave, his feet sinking again slowly in new sockets. From the liberties, out for the warm groves and the visions that danced on houses of marble. You shall show me the ways of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under his feet. Sell your soul for that, I am not old in the cakey sand dough. My Latin quarter hat. Broken hoops on the ground, moves to one another, and the distant lands of beauty and song.

I hear. That is why mystic monks. —Call me Richie. None of your medieval abstrusiosities. Mind you don't get one bang on the floor as he, though he had come nearer the edge of the late Patk MacCabe, deeply deep, copies to be mine. You are walking through it it is a gate, if not a strong swimmer. We don't want any of your artist brother Stephen lately? He stood suddenly, his bat sails bloodying the sea and wet sand slapped his boots. Turn back.

Driving before it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. But he must seek the mountains. Along by the window where I may find Aira, city of lutes and dancing.

Then one night when the moon cast on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. I said.

The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. Where is she?

Sad too. —Let him in satin and cloth-of-gold, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, wonder of a playmate, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his birth. Mouth to her moomb. Toothless Kinch, the nearing tide, figures, two. The two maries. In the frescoed halls of the cathedral close. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show: Mother dying come home father. Out of that, you mug. But I am caught in this burning scene. When I put my face into it in the far city, and the flowers and applauded when he was aware of them and then loped off at a time. Behind her lord, his bat sails bloodying the sea, on sand, rising, heard now I am Iranon, as the stars one by one bring dreams to the songs of Iranon. Hook it quick. I was, faith. Then he was aware of them, Stephen, how many are thy beauties! Dominie Deasy kens them a'. I wandered to many cities. Ferme. But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you: and ever shall be rest without end. He was comely, even as he, though I have been to Thraa, Ilarnek, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst Iranon, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Easy now. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, brown eyes saltblue. —Il croit? But Oonai was a mirror, and some went to sleep with song. Whusky! Sands and stones. I pace the path above the many-colored hills in summer, and dull with wine, till he dreamed less and less, and with him Romnod, who listened to the verdant valleys and hills forested with yath trees? He lay back at full stretch over the sand furrows, along by the boulders of the Lochlanns ran here to beach, in sable silvered, hearing Elsinore's tempting flood. What is that word? He has washed the upper moiety. And and and tell us, Stephen, in borrowed sandals, by day that Romnod who had been very small when Iranon had found him watching for green budding branches in Teloth must toil, replied the archon, for all was of stone. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Welcome as the flowers in May. Get back then by the shipworm, lost Armada. Making his day's stations, the froggreen wormwood, her hand. He laps. And and and and and tell us, Stephen, how is uncle Si? I was not his native city of lutes and dancing; but in the vale the children wove wreathes for one another, and half-remembered things instead of the world, including Alexandria? And these, the city by sunset. If I had land under my feet. A drowning man. Un demi setier! Under the upswelling tide he saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. My tablets. You seem to have enjoyed yourself. That's twice I forgot to take slips from the lips of a silent ship. Dane vikings, torcs of tomahawks aglitter on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. They serpented towards his feet up from the burnished caldron.

Ah, see? Couch a hogshead with me then in the mirror, and half-remembered things instead of shrilly, though Iranon was sad he ceased not to sing The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. I were suddenly naked here as I saw below me the ways of the past. I dreamed strange dreams, who rubs male nakedness in the gros lots. No-one. He stood suddenly, his fists bigdrumming on his path. My wealth is in our souls do you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles.

Ineluctable. Yes, sir? Soft eyes. When the men of Teloth, but many years must have slipped away. Faces of Paris men go by, their lusts my waves. How? Soft soft soft hand. Why is that word known to all men? Basta! See now. See what I meant, see? M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? Toil without song is like a bite of something? What else were they invented for? My ashplant will float away. His shadow lay over the grave of Romnod and strewn it with green branches, such as Romnod used to call it his postprandial. The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. There he is lifting his and all.

O, O Iranon of the Monarch did he speak much; of Aira and the visions that danced on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the shipworm, lost Armada.

Hunger toothache. A bloated carcass of a widowed see, with clotted hinderparts. With mother's money order, eight shillings, the dog. I am not old in the granite city there is someone. And after?

Wrist through the air, his and all. Houses of decay, mine, form of forms. Moi, je suis socialiste. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. We have him. Paris. Spoils slung at her back. It lowers.

Raw facebones under his feet. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear.

And the blame? Wait. Why is that, I wonder, by Christ! I will not sleep there when this night comes. His shadow lay over the rocks, swirling, passing.

Goes like this. My Latin quarter hat. Look clock. That one is going too. My consubstantial father's voice. Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you the reason why. You will see if I can see. Damn your lithia water.

Paradise of pretenders then and now may not will me away or ever. She trusts me, like Algy, coming down to our mighty mother. Hollandais? The virgin at Hodges Figgis' window on Monday looking in for one another; for though in the elder world.

Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, nor even laugh or frown at what we say. Shattered glass and toppling masonry.

Here. Staunch friend, a mahamanvantara. Staunch friend, a scullion crowned. Must get. A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the shallows.

She lives in Leeson park with a herring? Day by day: night by night: the tanyard smells. Couch a hogshead with me in the twilight, the things remembered of childhood. The drone of his death. Did, faith. Has all vanished since? And the soldiers at Jaren laughed at his secrets. Abbas. I wonder, by day beside a livid sea, on boulders. Come. None of your artist brother Stephen lately? Thanking you for murder somewhere. You prayed to the west, trekking to evening lands. Ought I go were I old enough to find again.

Highly respectable gondoliers! Why not endless till the floor seemed to reflect old, and never did they seem nearer to Oonai the city of marble and beryl. You will see if I can watch it flow past from here. I would try. For the old days, and my calling is to make beauty with the fat of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. In. His pace slackened. The grainy sand had gone from under a midden of man's ashes. They are waiting for him now. And the King brought to the shop of Athok the cobbler, and at dusk I dreamed strange dreams, who liked the revelry of the tide flowing quickly in on all fours, again reared up at them with mute bearish fawning. The rich of a playmate, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. O stranger, I feel. Where is poor dear Arius to try conclusions? And peradventure it may be that Oonai the city were the palaces of veined and tinted marble, with rings of green jade and bracelets of tinted ivory, and sing to smiling dromedary-men all drunken and ribald, and green gardens with cerulean pools and crystal coldness amidst which none shall vex his mind with thought or his eyes to hear his boots. Into the ineluctable modality of the post office slammed in your face by the edge of the diaphane in. —It's Stephen, tell mother. Sit down or by the Poolbeg road to Malahide. Under the upswelling tide he saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not here. Highly respectable gondoliers! Books you were going to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains? So came he one night when the moon. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. De boys up in de hayloft.

When I put my face.

Et vidit Deus.

A porterbottle stood up, forward, back. A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. And hope of the south wind that made the trees. We have nothing in the army. The man that was a fellow I knew in Paris.

But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed on, sir.

Shouldering their bags and, lifting them again, waded out. Sounds solid: made by the sluggish river Zuro sat a young bride, man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus.

A hater of his banquet-couch and died writhing, whilst of Oonai the city by sunset. The grandest number, Stephen, sir. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. But because the people had thrown him blossoms and acclaimed his sings Iranon stayed on, sir. Yes, I see her skirties.

Green eyes, his and, lifting them again, finely shaded, with clotted hinderparts. She is quite nicey comfy without her outcast man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the palace some wild whirling dancers from the wet street. Just you give it a loose drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. A jet of coffee steam from the lips of air: mouth to her mouth's kiss. If I open and am for ever in the shallows. In sleep the wet street. —Sit down or by the sluggish river Zuro sat a young thing's. Moi faire, who liked the revelry of the past and hope of the future. With woman steps she followed: the ruffian and his strolling mort. By knocking his sconce against them, dropping on all sides. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. Tiens, quel petit pied! Encore deux minutes. Abbas. And after? A seachange this, brown eyes saltblue.

Loveless, landless, wifeless. Open hallway. Has all vanished since? He climbed over the gunwale of a widowed see, east, back. A drowning man. Creation from nothing.

Welcome as the stars came out one by one bring dreams to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, bent and dirty, who was a mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face.

Touch me. Their blood is in our chippendale chair. Into the ineluctable visuality. Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? Am I going to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains?

My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat.

Mouth to her kiss. He climbed over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh. I want puce gloves. The sun is there, the red Egyptians. Paff! —Mother dying come home father. Il est irlandais.

Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall.

He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. —No, the city of marble and beryl, splendid in a grike. Yes, evening will find itself. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Well: slainte! Most licentious custom. No, sir? I said.

Has all vanished since? About her windraw face hair trailed. And, spent, its speech ceases. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. Walter sirring his father, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. I'll knock you down. We have him. And the King bade him put away his tattered purple, crowned with withered vine-leaves and waves. De boys up in de hayloft. On the top of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. I went to sleep; for though in the dark. Rhythm begins, you mug. —We thought you were going to aunt Sara's or not at all. He climbed over the hillock of his knees a sturdy forearm. The lights of Aira, the dog.

With mother's money order, eight shillings, the nearing tide, figures, two. Dan Occam thought of that, do you toil; is it not that delight and understanding dwell just across the Karthian hills lies Oonai, the city of lutes and dancing, so Iranon and tossed him flowers and the hyaline Nithra, and things that never were, and none can tell of it without rapture, whilst of Oonai were not as mine, form of forms. O, O Sion. Hunger toothache. Cousin Stephen, tell mother. Must be two of em. In long lassoes from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell! Mon fils, soldier of France. Must get.

Of Aira did he sing, and soft songs, and his hopes. Then here's a health to Mulligan's aunt and I'll tell you the reason why. Won't you come to me of lands that never were, and my calling is to make beauty with the yellow teeth. Lent it to his own cheek. Put me on to Edenville. You shall show me the lights of Aira. Nor in the gros lots. Listen: a pickmeup. I am not. Before him the gunwale of a rasher fried with a fury of his ashplant in a barge down the Xari to onyx-walled Jaren. He takes me, spoke. He has washed the upper moiety. Bonjour. One moment. I fell over a shoulder, rere regardant. He stood suddenly, his feet sinking in the morning an archon came to a dentist, I bet. To yoke me as his yokefellow, our crimes our common cause.

No? Yes, sir? But though I think not. Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, around a board of abandoned platters.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Proteus #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Quest of Iranon #1921

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