#and this one here displays my desire to be a man and smoke weed

[zombii-wyrmz]

testosterone? more like... testosterSTONED

[midnightreid]

Needy Boy | Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie Munson isn't feeling himself, and when you find out your needy boy just wants you, you give him everything he desires.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ Sub Eddie Munson getting pegged by soft dom reader, with handjobs, slight choking, cock rings, nipple play, face slapping, and anal plugs, weed-smoking, unprotected sex, the reader has no specific genitalia so it can be either p in v or p in the ass!

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is my first pegging fic, and it's pure filth so I hope you enjoy it!

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE EDDIE MUNSON FICS!

Eddie wasn’t always the most touchy-feely guy. Sure, he liked to have you close, wanted to be able to hold your hand or rest his knuckle on your thigh, but he was never one for constant displays of affection.

Except sometimes Eddie had bad weeks where not even music or weed could fix his mood. Sometimes he needed a different release that many wouldn't consider “normal” in the eyes of society. And on those weeks, he’d be the neediest man you’d ever meet, wanting to be close as possible to you, with your body in his lap, his hands on your skin and lips against your neck.

Tonight was exactly like that. He’d been quiet for most of the night, and you could tell he was tired from the way he was slumped against the couch when you entered his trailer. When he saw you come through the door, he didn’t hesitate to reach out for you, tattooed arms extended in your direction, brown eyes wide and hair a mess.

“Hey, Eddie. You okay baby?” Once you dropped your bag, you went right to him, letting him pull you down into his lap so he could nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck. He didn’t answer, just tightened his arms around you as you let your hand run through the messy strands of brown hair. You weren’t worried about his behaviour, you knew he could be like this sometimes and he just needed to be with you for a bit, but you also knew he wouldn’t come out of this funk unless he opened up. “Eddie, c’mon darling, look at me.”

Eddie doesn’t want to at first, but when your finger comes underneath his chin to tilt his head up, he catches your gaze with red-rimmed eyes and a small pout on his face. You watched him, noticed that his gaze never stayed long on your face like it normally would, and you could feel his fingers playing with the hem of your jumper, something he did when he was too caught up in his head to focus on anything else.

“You know, Wayne told me you’d finished all your finals, and that a lot of the teachers thought you’d done well this year. They think you’ll graduate with the rest of us this summer.” You thought that would catch his attention, but Eddie just shrugged, letting his head drop again, lips going straight to the skin of your neck to kiss it gently. “Well then, baby, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need.” He huffs, but nods slowly, teeth scratching slightly against your pulse point, making your heart jump a beat.

“I just need…I’m so wound up. I can’t sleep and weed isn’t helping and I just want you here with me.” Eddie’s hands are on your ass then, squeezing and trying to pull you closer even though there was no space between the two of you. You knew exactly what he needed then, feeling his hot breath against the crook of your neck and with his fingers digging into the material of your jean shorts, you hummed for a moment, letting him fondle you as he wanted. “I really need you…fuck sweet I…” He could barely speak, but all you could do was grin, and finally give him that kiss he’d been yearning for.

It was sweet and slow to start, letting Eddie warm up to it and letting him take his time, but soon he’s pushing against you, hips lifting in earnest and you have to grab onto his shoulders so that you don’t topple off his lap. He catches you with ease, hand up the back of your shirt and caressing the skin of your lower back and fumbling with the waistband of your shorts. But you have to stop him, gently tugging at his hair and calling his name to get his attention. When he finally pulls away and looks at you, his mouth has formed a deep frown, and it takes everything you have to not kiss it off.

“Hey, hang on baby. If I’m going to make you better, we’ve gotta move to the bedroom. As much as I love you, I’m not fucking you on the couch.” Eddie’s mouth drops open then as you expected it to, and for a moment he freezes, then simply utters out a bewildered phrase.

“You’re…you’re going to fuck me?” You laugh at the fact that that’s the only thing he can focus on, but nod and pull him off the couch with you, hands sliding underneath his shirt to brush over his nipples and tattoed skin.

“Of course baby boy, you do remember I hid my strap in your cupboard, right?” He nods, eyes bright and wide with excitement, and he can’t stop pawing at you as you lead him to the bedroom. “Well, seeing as you liked me using it last time, I think maybe, tonight might be another good night for it. On two conditions, you let me focus on you, and only you, and when I ask you to use words, you do.” You’re in the bedroom by then, and you’ve pushed him down onto the double bed that’s pushed against the wall, before turning back to the cupboard and finding your strap and various other sex toys in the plastic container right at the bottom.

You don’t use them often, the both of you enjoy just the pleasure of hands and warmth more than plastic pieces, but when you need a big release, you won’t hesitate to bring out a vibrator. In this case, you’ve grabbed the black metal cock ring, the silver plug and your black dildo with the maroon straps, along with the bottle of lube you keep in there.

Eddie’s watching you in the mirror, bottom lip between his teeth and his legs splayed out in front of him. He can’t take his eyes off you, and when you return to the bed with the toys, he lets out a small whine, already so eager to let you take care of him.

“Okay, pretty boy, tell me what your safewords are.” You kneel before him on the bed and watch him carefully.

“Red to completely stop, yellow to slow down, and green to keep going.” He doesn’t even hesitate to repeat the rules, and you smile at him, proud that he’s not arguing about it for once.

“Good boy, now strip for me, sweetheart, and maybe you’ll get a reward.” His shirt is off in a moment, flung across the room, and he lifts his hips to unbuckle his bet, undo the buttons of his jeans and shuck them off, followed by his socks. He goes for his briefs then, and that’s when you stop him. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Keep them on for now.” Your hands go straight for the skin of his chest, fingertips tracing the ink of his tattoos, relishing in the way he shivers against your touch. His hands stay beside him on the bed, because he knows he doesn’t have permission to touch you yet, and when your mouth suddenly covers one of his nipples, his hands ball into fists.

Eddie lurches up into your touch, and you can already tell he’s extremely needy, and he won’t last long tonight without some intervention. But that’s fine with you, the longer they wait, the bigger the release, and when your other hand tweaks his left nipple and pulls a groan out of his mouth as his eyes shut tight, you can’t help but grin.

“Sweetheart, please, stop with the teasing.” His voice is soft, but it’s clear he wants you to get on with it. You let go of his nipple, and look up at him with a cruel smirk, tapping your fingers over his lean torso while you tut.

“You know, I don’t remember you saying you were going to take charge tonight. I mean, by all means, honey, you want this all to stop, then that’s fine, but push me like that again, and you might not get the relief you want.” You’re in his lap then, and chuckle softly when he swallows the lump in his throat. He is enjoying this, you both know it, but Eddie can be impatient. You kiss him again finally, mouth hot and heavy against his, and when your hand moves to the inside of his briefs to grip his already hard cock, he moans against your mouth.

You thumb the tip, watching a bead of precum slowly drip out to soak the material of his briefs, and after a heady whine from Eddie, you finally decide to give him some relief.

“Now, here’s what I’m planning, baby. I’ll let you come with the help of my hand, and then I’m going to get you ready, stretch you out for the strap. And while I do that, and while I fuck you, you’re gonna wear a cock ring so you don’t even have the chance to come again before I’m ready.” Eddie’s breathing heavy, his was thrown back against the wall and hands fisting the sheets, and you know you have him right where you want him. “Then, if you’re the perfect boy like I know you can be, I’ll let you come inside me, just like I know you enjoy. Sound good?” He’s nodding, but when you put your hand on his neck, framing his throat, he looks right at you.

“Good, yes, fuck, please baby.” Smiling, you lean in and kiss him gently, happy that he’s told you exactly how he’s feeling. You pull away to let some spit fall from your mouth and land on the tip of his dick, and with your hand using it as lube to gain some friction, you start to pump him firmly at a medium pace. He’s already so leaky, panting hotly into the air and whining against the sound of spit against his cock.

This is exactly what he needed, and you both knew that, and you both knew that it wasn’t going to take long for him to get to that edge. Eddie lurched up into your touch on a particularly harsh pump, loving the feel of your hand against his skin, and soon he was leaning against your shoulder, muttering softly.

“I’m gonna…fuck sweetheart I’m gonna come, please let me come.” You don’t hesitate to let him come, kissing his neck softly as he comes into your hand, covering it in his sticky release. His hands are on you then, clinging to your waist and trying to ground himself before he becomes too overwhelmed with the various sensations. After a few moments of quiet, he expects you to grab a tissue to clean your hand, but instead, he watches in awe and fascination as you bring your hand to your mouth and let your tongue clean the remnants of his mess. “Baby, I swear you’re going to ruin me one of these days.”

“Eddie, trust me, pretty boy, ruining you would be the greatest pleasure in life. Now, lie down for me.” You’re back to your no-nonsense attitude, pressing a hand against his chest to push him down flat on the mattress, taking off his soiled briefs and throwing them in the direction of the laundry basket, and before Eddie can even say another word, you’ve stripped yourself down, your clothes discard on his floor.

He can’t help but look at you, stare at you with all the love and wonder in his eyes, and when you come back to him and straddle his legs, all he wants to do is touch you, feel you against his skin and hold you to him. But you won’t let him.

You’ve got the cock ring in your hand then, and Eddie knows it’s time for the real moment of the night.

“Are you sure about this, baby? We can stop any time and you know you can use your safeword.” You watch him, making sure he’s thinking about the question and not lying through his teeth just to please you, and when he nods while holding your gaze, you know he’s certain.

“Please baby, ruin me.” The cock ring is on him then, tight enough to stop him from coming but not too tight that it would hurt. And then you’re grabbing the lube, and as he watches with his bottom lip between his teeth in excitement, you slick your fingers up with it and coax Eddie to bend his legs up so you can sit between them.

The moment the tip of your finger circles the rim of his hole, Eddie is moaning loudly, and if you were in any other place you would have gagged him. But here in his bedroom, you couldn’t care less. He was so pretty, spread out in front of you with his hair sticking to his skin and his bottom lip kiss bitten and marks all over his chest and neck.

Slowly, you eased your finger in, one at a time with plenty of lube. Sometimes he arched up into the touch, moved his hand around for you to grab and hold, and sometimes he just babbled, mouthing against the sheets and clenching his fists. You always loved stretching him out, watching all the emotions that fluttered over his face as you sunk your fingers into him, and you knew he also enjoyed it, wouldn’t ask for it if he didn’t.

It didn’t take long to stretch him out, and by the time you had three fingers in him, he was reaching for you suddenly, pulling you into a desperate kiss that stole your breath and made your toes curl. Eddie knew he’d gone against the rules then, but he didn’t care and threw all caution to the wind, arms wrapping around your waist and nearly dislodging you from your position between your legs. His tongue was in your mouth, taking whatever it could and the kiss was messy, teeth and saliva and hot breath against soft skin. When pulled away for air, immediately a cocky smirk was on his face, and you weren’t going to let that stand.

“Oh Eddie, poor poor boy. Can’t you wait any longer? So impatient, thought you could do better.” You’re tutting, and that smirk of his still hasn’t dropped from his face, looking like the cat that got the canary. And that’s when your hand hit his cheek, a gentle smack that caused the metal head to groan with need. “Keep that behaviour up, and I’ll leave you here and get myself off without another thought for you.”

Eddie’s nodding, and he’s not protesting when you push him back against the bed, fingering him open again with new vigour. You knew he wasn’t trying to be bratty, but you knew that if you didn’t get on with your plan your boyfriend was going to have something to say very soon.

His cock was rock hard by then, and when you sneakily kissed the tip while he wasn’t watching, it had him near sobbing, eyes wet and looking right at you. You were also aching to have him inside you already, to have some relief from this torturous pleasure, and when he started speaking, you made your mind up quick.

“Please, baby, I’m ready oh fuck I’m so ready baby.” Eddie’s babbling, but you know he can’t take much more, so you move to put the strap on, on, making sure it was secure and covered in lube so you didn’t hurt your baby.

Eddie watched in unbound anticipation as you lined up to him, a pillow under his ass so you could give him the best angle, and when you slowly sunk into him, he suddenly turned into a whining mess, head rocking around and mouth falling open in pleasure. His skin was so hot, and the noises that the lube made in his hole were everything you thought it would be, and for a moment you had to stop and ground yourself, determined to make it worthwhile for him.

“There we go, pretty boy, oh, look at how well you’re taking my cock. Such a good boy for me.” Your words of praise turn his already pink cheeks even pinker, and when he looks at where the two of you are connected, he nearly loses it, eyes rolling back into his skull on a particularly hard thrust that has him seeing stars.

It’s so good, a picture-perfect image of Eddie spread out on the bed, of your cock hitting his prostate exactly like he needed, and his rock-hard cock sticking up in the air, so desperate to come. You were thrusting into him fast, thighs shaking in your position and the headboard of his bed hitting the wall every so often, and all Eddie could do was sob and whine and moan, begging for release.

But you knew you could take him that little bit further, and when you leaned over him and wrapped your hand around his neck to grip it securely, his eyes glazed over and his tongue lolled, wrapped up in a cocoon of pleasure he didn’t ever want to leave. He could still breathe fine with your hand around his throat, but the friction and the warmth of your hot skin on his sent sparks down his spine, and when you thrust into him particularly hard, he gasped, a small bead of precum leaking out of the tip of his cock.

“FUCK, baby, please I need it, I’m so close oh I can’t hold it baby please.” Eddie didn’t even notice that you’d taken the cock ring off then, too caught up in his babbling until you finally sunk down on his cock. He let out a yell then, loud and harsh against the soft wet sounds between you, and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

You could feel him coming into you, spilling his cum against your walls and watching as you rocked against him, seeking your precious release. He went limp, only able to keep his eyes on you and just before it became too much for him, he was begging you to come.

“Please baby, show me how much you need me, let go, baby, please.” His words were soft, and his hand gripped your thigh when you came, shaking above him, mouth wide open and eyelids shut tight. It was a euphoric sight, and something Eddie always enjoyed watching, and then you were falling against him, body heaving for breath.

Neither of you spoke for a while, too exhausted to muster up the energy needed for some simple conversation. Eddie still had tears rolling down his face from his release, and you could feel his cum spilling down his thighs as he slowly exited you, leaving you empty and slightly colder.

Finally, you were able to sit up and discard the strap, tossing it to the side to be dealt with later, and slowly like a new fawn trying to walk for the first time, you hobbled to the bathroom, going to pee and grab a washcloth for the both of you.

When you come back to the bedroom, Eddie’s sitting up, a new pair of briefs on and a lit blunt between his lips. He doesn’t notice you and you watch him from the doorway for a bit, giggling slightly when he nearly drops the blunt.

“You know, when I told you to ruin me, I didn’t really expect something like that, but I think you accomplished your goal.” His arms are spread wide for you to fall into, and he can’t help but kiss your whole face. He smiles when you hand him the washcloth, quickly cleaning himself up from leftover cum on his thighs before he lets out a sigh and takes another puff. “I’m feeling much better, thank you, baby.”

“Anytime, Eds. Now, hand me the blunt, sweet thing, I think I need to relax after that.” He chuckles at your comment, but does as you command, placing the blunt between your lips and watching you take a puff. He’s leaning against your chest then, hair tickling your skin as he pulls the covers over the two of you, and that’s when you remember the last toy you pulled from the box. “Wait, shit, I forgot to use the plug.”

Eddie howls at this, too blissed out to take the comment seriously, but you just groan in disappointment.

“You might have forgotten to use it, baby, but I didn’t.” He’s got that cocky smirk on his face again, and your eyes widen when you realise what he means, hand wondering down to feel between his ass cheeks. You can feel the butt of the plug against your palm, and that nearly has you hot and bothered all over again, with Eddie just chuckling at your expression. “C’mon now, relax with me, and maybe I’ll let you fuck me again in the morning.”

He’s pulling you into him then, bodies covered by sheets and half-smoked blunt discarded to the ashtray, and you can’t help but feel tired, yawning against his chest. He’s humming some old song, lips pressed against your forehead and hand caressing your hip, warm and secure and safe, and all he can think was thank god he was so needy earlier, because now he’s got you in his arms, finally able to sleep, and he’s not letting you go.

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE EDDIE MUNSON FICS!

Tagging: @wasteland-bvby @sadgirlml @gay-prentiss @writingquillsandpainpills @prettyboyeddiemunson @eddiemunsonbby

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

Groupchat Pt. II

Playlist

I'm not shy, I'll say it I've been picturing you naked I'm a little faded You look like a fuckin' paintin' Big doe eyes, amazin' She's everything I've been prayin' My heart palpitation She looks like the type to break it

Shinsou was laid up beside Bakugou as you danced on the blond, lost in the spell the weed and music wove around you. You could feel Bakugou's hardness grinding against your core. The filthy groans you dragged out of him boosted your confidence even though you worried for the state of your pussy by the end of the night going by the size of his erection.

You had to take him, and then three more cocks inside your pussy. You felt yourself throb as you rolled your hips filthily.

Not just any cocks though, the guys you looked forward to seeing almost as much as you looked forward to smoking. They were going to fuck you, one after the other until they all left a little bit of them inside you. A hand on your wrist stopped you from reaching your clit, your filthy thoughts making you ache for stimulation.

"No, no touching your dirty little clit until I'm balls deep in your virgin cunt. Got it?"

A cross between and whine and a growl escaped you, hating how much you loved Bakugou's crudeness. Hating how wet his words made you.

"Lean on sleeping beauty so I can take your panties off baby. They're soaked, but they're getting in my way." Shinsou held out his arms for you, and you found yourself clinging to him. It was an awkward angle, but you rested your hands on his chest and found yourself face to face with him. Vulnerable as it hit you that this was happening.

"You alright kitten? You scared about getting your cherry popped?" You nodded shly and Bakugou's dick twitched against you hip as he dragged your soaking panties down your legs.

"It's okay, Bakugou's going to be gentle with your cunny. I will be too, at first." Your mouth fell open into soft pants as Bakugou's thick fingers started stretching you out. First one, then two, then three until you were gasping from the fullness.

"Fuck, you dance like a slut and talk all that shit but look at you-" Bakugou's low voice made your pussy clench around his fingers, made you hide your blushing face against Shinsou's chest to avoid his knowing gaze, made you whine. "You're begging to get ruined little girl."

"Come on, look at me. Let me see that slutty little face you make while he gets you ready to take your first dick." This was the most Shinsou had ever said to you and you were making an embarrassing puddle on Bakugou's lap because of it. His slender fingers gripped your jaw, not unkindly but you knew you wouldn't be able to escape as he forced your face up to meet his once more. "That's it. You ready kitten? You're gonna take Bakugou's dick and then it'll be daddy's turn. Okay?"

"Yes daddy." Your voice was uncharacteristically soft and obedient, and the reveal of your submissive side just made everyone in the room more eager to have you fall apart for them.

"Come here baby." Bakugou's gruff voice drew you to him, and once more you weer straddling his lap, your soaking folds grinding directly onto his shaft. A blunt found it's way to you both, and Bakugou took a deep hit to share with you as you slowly slid down his cock. Taking it slow because fuck, he was big.

One inch, two, and then you started shaking your head, "'s too big, Kachhan.."

Bakugou's hips lifted up into yours sharply in surprise, and arousal, and he kisses your throat in apology as he stills to let you adjust to his size. His red eyes burn into you as he finally get's ahold of himself. "The fuck did you just call me?"

"Jirou's friends with Deku, he kept calling you Kacchan, and.. I thought it was cute." You were high as fuck and yet you still blushed, because you fantasized about calling Bakugou by the nickname his sweet sworn enemy used while he fucked you senseless. You had for a while now and you couldn't resist.

"Fucking shit nerd Deku needs to shut his goddamn mouth." Bakugou growled at you, and you clenched around his length- but the gush of wetness let you take another few inches inside you. How much was left for fucks sake?

"Almost there, come on. Don't want to let down your Kacchan do you?" He sneered the word at you but you felt his cock twitching inside you, so you both knew how much it affected you both to use his nickname. Shinsou could be your Daddy for all he cared, no one else could be your Kacchan.

His large hands held your hips and helped to pull you down until you finally took the entirety of his cock inside you. You rested your head on his shoulder and bit the firm flesh as you tried moving. The gutteral sound that fell from your lips alerted everyone in the room that the shifted angle made Kacchan's cock press against a spot inside you that made you see stars.

"Do it again. See if she can squirt." Dabi threw in through gritted teeth as once again Shoto's hand left his shaft just before he was about to cum to seeing the small little winces of pain on your cute face. Bakugou must be hurting your little pussy busting your cherry on such a thick cock, no matter how gentle he's being, and it made him so fucking hard.

"Fuck her deep and get her ready to really take it. You too Shinsou. We won't be able to be gentle." Shoto added, and you realized- of course.

If they're edging the whole time.. by the time it's their turn.. they'll be feral. Desperate to cum. To use you to get off.

"Kachhan!" You moaned as he got impatient and started lifting and dropping you into his shaft like a fleshlight.

"You like it when Icy Hot talks about all the dick you have to take tonight baby? Your pussy got tighter when he did." He accuses you while he's fucking you, never missing a beat as Shinsou leans over and unhooks your bra to throw it to the ground.

"I want to see your tits bounce while he fucks you, kitten." The simple sentence as he strokes himself to the sight of you losing your virginity so spectacularly makes you melt for him all over again.

A particularly deep and viscous thrust has you screaming, something in Bakugou snapping when he looks down and sees a few streaks of blood on his cock while you're making fuck me eyes at another man.

"Focus on me, greedy little slut. You'll be getting all the dick you could need tonight. The least you can do is pay attention while I show you how to use your pussy like a big girl." You whimpered out apologies and met the crimson gaze of the man inside you, your body jerking in shock when his thumb starts circling your clit.

"Want me to show you how to cum on my dick?" His lip was curled in a mocking sneer but his eyes burned with desire as he looked at you.

"Yes, please Kacchan, please--"

"Shut the fuck up and cum then." He snapped at you and once again filled your no longer virgin hole, hard and deep and fast, until you were sure you would break. Your lips parted in a silent scream as you gushed around him, your orgasm filling your body with explosions of pleausre, your pussy milking him until he fills the condom with everything he has. Your hungry pussy just sucked out his soul he's sure.

Meanwhile, you're slumped in his lap already wiped out and ready to sleep for ten hours straight. But no. Kacchan's kissing you and checking in with you, because you're nowhere near done.

"How you doing, doll? How's your pussy?" You blink up at him, high, fucked out, and trusting. It almost makes him hard again. Maybe he'll take another turn in your pussy later.

"'m okay. Felt good. Sore though." You mumbled honestly and the blond nodded, looking up at the other three men to nod to them to know you were okay to continue.

"You're going to have a sore cunt for days when we're done with you, you know." Shinsou pointed out, once again, not unkindly. He just wanted to you to know what you were getting into.

"I know. I'll feel you all for days." You were so fucking high, if they were better men they'd wait until you were sober to ask you again. But they weren't, and you loved respected them as they were.

"Good enough for us." Dabi grunted, already counting the minutes until it was his turn to wreck your hole.

"Upsie daisy, kitten." Bakugou reluctantly let you go when Shinsou's hands reached out to pull you onto his lap. This time he had you facing the room, your dripping cunt on display for all of them as he cupped your tits from behind and took advantage of your throat being so close to his mouth. He was sucking and biting bruises onto your throat while he stretched out your sore and sensitive walls once more.

"Da-daddy-"

"That's it kitten. Your cunny's gripping me so tight. You like them watching you? Waiting their turn to fuck you until you're ours?" Shinsou's voice was deep and raspy as he murmured filth into your ear from behind as you rode him. Your movements were sloppy because your legs were weak, but he seemed to like seeing you struggle to fuck back against him. All you could do was take it.

Dabi's blue eyes were smouldering with need and Shoto's usually impassive face was hungry.

"You're going to get devoured baby. My sweet little kitten, you have no idea how long we've waited for you." And then Shinsou was fucking you harder and faster, your pathetic whines and pleas for him to slow down spurring him on until he too came into the condom he was wearing. You knew it was the smartest move for group sex. Condoms, lube, everyone's protected. But fuck if some part of you didn't feel cheated that you got fucked twice and had no creampie to show for it.

But these thoughts were distant to you, your focus was drawn to the soreness between your legs as Shinsou spread you out on the couch for round two. An ache that you loved and hated in equal measure, but an ache you knew you would start to crave.

To be continued...

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

Addicted to Weed - Chapter 1

Characters: Jake Tweneboah (MC), Sienna Trinh, Jackie Varma (Mentioned)  Ethan Ramsey (Mentioned)

Summary: Sienna finds out about Jake’s weed problem

Rated - M

Taglist: @princess-geek @gamechoices-player @secretaryunpaid @arnikki-2406 @choicesficwriterscreations @riana-drarry @treasure-seeking-elf @lisha1valecha @yourresidentplayer @schnitzelbutterfingers

Also thanks for @secretaryunpaid for helping me make the necessary changes and editsl

Jake let out a sigh of relief as he stepped through into his apartment. Quickly he locked and dead bolted the door, and slid the security chain into place. After nearly three years at the hospital he never entered his apartment without immediately doing those three things. He turned on several lights and moved to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee brewing before dropping himself onto the couch.

Jake retrieved a cup of coffee and settled himself into the couch. He kicked off his shoes to display his mismatched socks as he loosened his tie. He was very glad to be home, but at the same time it increased his anxiety. While he was an introvert and did enjoy spending time alone with Jackie, the last few months had been hard. Lately when he was alone he turned to Weed, but for the past two weeks he had been trying to avoid using it. He hadn't been very successful. He had tried to wean himself off slowly, but once he had taken a small dose he usually got to the point that he didn't care and ended up taking more. Already, though he had only just gotten home, he felt his eyes drifting to the bathroom where he kept the drug hidden. He gripped his coffee cup tightly, trying to fight off the urge to use.

He thought briefly about calling one of the team to see if they wanted to go out for something to eat, but quickly decided against it, deciding he needed the rest of the evening to relax. Jake sighed and put his cup on the coffee table. He rubbed his face and again his eyes drifted to the bathroom. He was so tired, but he knew that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep without some help. He groaned and leaned back on the couch, and tried to distract himself by watching random videos on Youtube.

Abruptly he stood and crossed to the bathroom. He tore open the medicine cabinet and pulled the last of the weed out of its hiding spot in a box meant to hold cough syrup. Not that he really ever had anyone over to his place besides his old roommates, but he still wasn't careless enough to leave it out in the open. He tossed the box aside and unscrewed the top of the bottle. He held it wavering in his hand. He wanted desperately to just tip the bottle to empty the contents into the sink and be done with it. He had had this battle with himself many times before. Two times he had even succeeded, but then found himself calling his dealer only hours later to gain more.

Jake ran into his and Jackie’s bedroom and pulled out pieces of rolling paper and made blunts. Jackie was the only person who knew that he still smoked as he told the others that he quit a few weeks ago. He remained on the floor for quite some time, feeling no desire to move back to the living room with the tv still on.. He was perfectly content where he sat, enjoying the feeling of nothingness and after a while he dozed a bit. He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard a knock at the door. It had probably hadn't been more than an hour or two. He tried to ignore it, but whoever it was knocking was persistent.

Groaning, he rolled to his knees then used the edge of the bed to pull himself to his feet. He legs felt rubbery, so he stood there for a moment to steady himself. He looked at his reflection and stifled a giggle. At the moment he found looking in the mirror incredibly funny, but he wasn't entirely sure why. It felt somewhat surreal, looking at himself. The knocking at the door became more persistent. He sighed. It was probably was one of his friends. No one else ever came to his home this late.

He cringed as his door was pounded on, and this time was accompanied by a voice. "Come on, I know you're home. Please open the door." Jake sighed heavily. Sienna. Of course it was her. Anyone else would probably have given up, but she would be there until two in the morning, still knocking if he thought that  was home. Jake shook his head and made his way down the hallway slowly. He hadn't even made it halfway when Sienna knocked again, louder.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Jake called out. He made it to the door and fumbled with the locks, struggling with the security chain. It took several tries for him to be able to slide it free. He swung the door open. "What are you doing here, Sienna?" he asked, not bothering to try to hide his irritation. "Hey, grumpy much?" Sienna smirked and raised her hands. Jake didn't respond except to glare and gave a roll of his eyes. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" "You've never been out this late before. Why did you decide to just show up in the middle of the night?"

"Somebody's cranky when his beauty sleep gets interrupted." Sienna pushed past Jake into the apartment without his invitation. He held up a brown paper bag. "I left the office about an hour after you did and I thought I'd stop and grab some Chinese at that really good restaurant and then realized how close I was to your place so I figured I pick some up for you and Jackie and bring it over here, but as she’s asleep you can have hers”

"That restaurant is almost seven miles from here, Sienna," Jake said.

Sienna didn't seem fazed as he walked into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards for paper plates not caring if she woke Jackie up. "I got those egg rolls that you like." "Okay, I see we're just going to pretend that you showing up here is normal," Jake grumbled. He followed Sienna as he brought the plates to the dining room.

Sienna looked around the luxury apartment, taking in the well-used but comfortable looking furniture and the many shelves housing hundreds of books and the one shelf that contained dozens of science fiction DVDs. " I can definitely tell that you live here and It shows that mostly everything belongs to you."

"It's my apartment, Sienna. Was it supposed to look like someone different lived here?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You usually reserve this level of hostility for occasions."

Jake blushed and looked away. "Sorry. I'm just tired."

Sienna shrugged. "Sit down and eat."

"I'm not really hun—"

"Sit," Sienna interrupted. "Eat." She ordered.

Jake dropped into the chair, looking a bit like a child who had been reprimanded for something. He grabbed one of the egg rolls and took a small bite.

"I'm fine," Jake said quickly.

"How often have you been using the drugs?" Sienna asked conversationally.

Jake looked up, the expression on his face giving the impression of him being a deer caught in the headlights. "What are you talking about?" he asked, voice a little higher than usual.

Sienna pushed his plate of food away and leaned forward, elbows on the table, and his face suddenly deadly serious. "You're high right now, aren't you?”

“Hey, I was still eating that” Jake screamed.

Jake laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. "Sienna, you- you're confused. I-I'm not-… I don't-…" he sputtered, trying to keep the smile on his face. "That's crazy," he finally managed to finish.

Sienna's face was still locked in that serious look. "I'm sorry, kid. I knew something was going on with you, we all did. I thought maybe it was PTSD. But we all left you to deal with it on your own. We should have been there for you. I should have been there. I should have seen. I'm sorry."

The faux smile fell of Jake’s face as she spoke. He dropped his eyes to the table, seeming to struggle with himself to find the words. It looked as though he was trying to decide if he wanted to admit to the drug use or to continue to try to deny it. The internal battle waged for nearly a minute before he looked back up. "Pretty stupid thing to do for someone who's supposed to be a genius isn't it?" he smiled, but it was bitter and self-deprecating.

"Not stupid. Not really smart either," Sienna sighed, looking at Jake his dark eyes troubled. "It's Weed, isn't it?" “Jackie has been telling me.”

Jake nodded, almost imperceptibly, avoiding eye contact. Morgan wasn't reacting to this in a way he had expected. There was no yelling, or threatening. No accusations or anger, only a weary acceptance. "I stole it from one of they younger interns after their first week and got hooked, not even my brother whose a year above me knows. After I ran out I bought my own. I t-… I tried to stop. I really did. I threw it out twice. But I always-… I always got more afterwards." He ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"How often do you take it?"

"Usually only once a day, but I don't take it at all if we're working a case," he elaborated, shooting a quick glance at Sienna.

"Why do you only take it when you're home?" She asked him. She was still acting much to calm for Jake to understand, and things that Jake didn't understand made him nervous.

Jake shook his head. "If the other know, for sure Ethan might have to report it, and you'll be fired. I won't tell him as long as you stop."

Jake looked desperate. "I've tried before, Sienna. I don't think I can do it." He looked so hopeless that it almost made Sienna want to cry.

But she didn't. Instead she leaned forward and put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "Yes, you can, and you will. You've only tried by yourself before. Now you've got help. You don't have to be alone anymore."

[stripper-patrick]

Ride or Die Bitch☠️ Spooky Diaz

Warnings: smut, filth, major fluff, language, unprotected, angst, gun use, weed smoking, papi kink, blood warning

Song: me and my girlfriend- Tupac

Tags: @rebellious-desires @mrsbanreswillseeyou

Relationship: Oscar Diaz x black plus sized reader

“Ma come here” Spooky calls me. I walk out to see Spooky sitting near the window with a blunt in his hand. He takes a puff letting a little bit of air blow before sucking it back in.

I watch the thin cloud of smoke excrete from his nostrils before grabbing the blunt and doing the same thing. Once I feel a buzz in my head I let the smoke go.

“I’m supposed to be meeting up to go handle some business tonight taking down the prophets” I pass back the blunt nodding

“I trust you enough to know that if something happens-“

“Oscar”

“If something happens you have the account pins and funds. My guns are in the safe and the code is your birthday and most importantly take care of Cesar”

“Of course”

“What?” I turn seeing Cesar at the door in his pajamas

“I’ve gotta handle some business so I trust Y/N to take care of you” he explains

“Don’t say it like that. You’ll be fine”

“I’m just being extra cautious”

“I know” Cesar hugs us both

“Go to bed you have school” Oscar smiles

“I’ll see you guys” He smiles. I kiss his head and watch him leave shutting the door behind him.

Oscar puts out the blunt blowing out the rest of the smoke and stands tall before me. He picks me up laying me on the bed settling between my legs.

He kisses my lips softly of course wrapping his large hand around my throat. Spooky smiles sitting on his knees while he pulls down my shorts. He pulls off his own pants and slides in easily. I’m always wet around him.

Spooky puts my legs on his should pulling me down so he’s real deep inside of me. He leans forward kissing me while throwing his hips. I grab the sheets moaning into our passionate kiss.

“You so tight” he moans. He grabs the back of my neck thrusting harder making me moan louder “be careful. Wouldn’t want Cesar to hear”

“Fuck him. Just fuck me” Spooky grabs the headboard

“Yes yes” I repeat

“Yea I’m killing that pussy aren’t I mamita”

“Yes papi” I moan. He rubs my clit making my body tense. My eyes close and he grabs my cheeks squishing them together “open your eyes and look at me when I make you feel this good”

I open them per his request and he smiles. His chain dangles in my face. Spooky stops flipping us around so I’m on top. He got me a chain with his name on it for this particular reason.

I rock and twirl my hips on his while his big hands knead and smack my ass. I bounce my ass dropping my head back.

Spooky grabs my chin again pulling me over him so my chain dangles in his face now. “I’m gonna bust fuck baby”

“Go head papi I want you to cum inside of me” I moan. He grabs my hips holding me down plunging upwards into me. I lean down gripping the pillow moaning in his mouth. He pulls my hair opening up my neck to leave open mouth kisses on me as I leak all over him. Spooky fills me up with his cum breathing heavily in my ear as I continue riding him noticing his thrusts are slowing down.

“Shit” now it’s his turn to grip the sheet. He shutters and I smile moaning.

“You look so hot when you cum” I smile. He smacks my ass again displaying that dimple filled smile. I get off and lay on his chest. Spooky grabs the blunt he put out and his lighter. He lights it up taking a puff just like before. He passes it to me and I do the same inhaling the high and exhaling the smoke.

We stay like this for a minute before his phone rings. He picks it up handing the blunt to me.

“Yo” he waits for a response then begins speaking in Spanish “voy a estar esperando”

He hangs up and I watch him get dressed “if I don’t text you or Cesar in an hour and a half. I love you. I’ll text you where I’ll be” he says kissing me.

“I love you more” I hold him in another kiss. Spooky dips off and I hear him tell Cesar the same thing. Even ‘I love you’. I get up putting out the blunt and get in the shower. Before doing so I set a timer for An hour and a half just like he said.

I wash up and come out tying up my hair. I go on my phone and hear a small knock on the door “come in”

Cesar emerges “you ok?”

“I don’t want Oscar to die” He sniffles. I extend my arms and he lays on my lap as I stroke his hair

“Me and you both know he is a fighter and won’t let anyone go anywhere without a hard fight. I won’t let anything happen to you or him”

My phone chimes and it’s from Oscar. It’s his location and a red heart. I send one back and hold Cesar until he falls asleep.

....

My timer went off 30 minutes ago and still nothing from Oscar. This isn’t like him. I go upstairs and grab some black sweatpants, a black hoodie and black shoes. I grab a black bandanna tying it around my mouth “Cesar get up”

He moves quickly looking at me in surprise “what are you doing”

“Go put on all black I may need you to drive us home”

“Who’s us”

“Me and Oscar”

...

I pull up to where Oscar sent us and see 3 people surrounded by him. He’s on the ground moving slowly and that’s when I see some blood. He looks up and I see his eye is swollen and mouth bloody.

“Don’t get out the car. Get behind the drivers seat. Just like I taught you. If you see a gun pointed at me. Shoot. Don’t hesitate or anything just do it. If you hit me I won’t be mad dead or alive” he nods. I grab the beretta 92 stuffing it in the back of my backs. I watch him kick Oscar in the gut. This was a set up. The man reveals his face and my eyes go wide. Ace.

I get out shutting the door quietly and I walk up behind a their big truck. I pull out a knife stabbing the driver in the neck where he silently bleeds. I pull my bandanna tight and see Ace, the leader of the prophet$, pull a gun to Oscars head.

I cock the gun getting the bullet ready. I’m not scared to use a gun I’ve done it before. I’ve killed someone before I just don’t flaunt it with a teardrop tattoo. When it’s my life or theirs don’t expect me to not be selfish about it.

I emerge pulling the gun to his head “let him go for I blow ya brains across this bitch” Ace looks at me with a smile

“Loca? I can’t believe you’d betray your people like this” he smiles sadistically “especially me. You don’t remember those fun times we had together? Being in that very truck and you’d be screaming my name all night long?”

“You were never my people I just got caught up with you and your bullshit”

“I don’t know why you’d even waste your breath with a Santos” Oscar is half conscious. I was never Prophet.

“Let. Him. Go” he looks at me dauntingly suddenly making a move which results in me pulling the trigger. I watch the blood splatter across the gravel and his big body falls to the ground with a thud. I put the gun in my back and pull Oscar up “come on baby I got you”

“We’re you a prophet?” He slurs stopping me.

“No” I get him to the car getting in the back with him

“Drive us home Cesar” He puts the car in drive and mashes the pedal speeding off

[peacenik0]

Anon from wtfmulder: Mulder and Scully smoking weed at the unremarkable house and fucking outside 😘

@xfilesgayepisode said: Hello my friend! ☺️ I’m a big fan of the Mulder and Scully getting high prompt so this one goes for u! Scully finds a joint in William's bedroom and Mulder insists on smoking it. they make sweet and high love, order pizza, and William comes home to two very stoned parents ❤️

A/N: This has a few elements of both these prompts. This was written without a beta or real proofreading. Something I was a little scared to try, but here it is. Go toke another one, ya’ll.

tagging @today-in-fic @wtfmulder @illnevermeettheground @cultureisdarkbeer @admiralty-xfd 

---

They have been living in this little yellow house in Farr’s Corner, Virginia for almost a month. They found the place by happenstance. Driving south after visiting her mother in Bethesda. Scully missed her mom, missed the east coast, missed staying still for even a moment. Technically, Mulder was still wanted by the FBI, and they figured a non-descript home in backwoods Virginia was just the place.

They sit in the front porch swing, taking in the gorgeous mid-June night. The evening sun stays high in the sky for a long time.  The air is cool, but not cold. Perfect. The breeze teases Mulder’s longish hair, and he gives her that look. His eyes twinkling in a mischevious kind of way. He’s clearly up to something.

“Mulder, what are you up to?” She asks, a smile teasing her lips. His own mouth turns up in a wry grin.

“Look what I got, Scully,” he says, whipping a small carefully twisted joint out of his Khaki jacket pocket. Her jaw drops a little at Mulder’s cavalier attitude.

“Mulder!”

“I figure that I might as well... seeing as I am already a wanted man,” he says lighting up the joint with a silver butane lighter.

“Where in the hell did you get that?” She asks, pointing at the offending item perched between his lips.

“It’s a secret...” he says taking a long drag. When he exhales, he begins coughing harder than she’s ever seen him cough before. Doubling over, he gasps for breath. The doctor in her gently pats his back in comfort. “I’m fine,” he says, still out of breath.

“Mulder, do you even know what you’re doing?” Her question is met with a deep rumbling inside his chest. “Seriously, when was the last time you smoked Cannabis?”

“Cannabis, Scully? Can’t you just call it weed like a normal person?” He chuckles, his mouth going into a wide boyish smile.

“Cannabis is the scientific name, thank you very much,” she says crossing her arms over her chest.

“You want some?” He asks after taking a much smaller puff.

“No, thank you. You seem like you’re having enough fun for the both of us,” she says, trying not to laugh at the way his long nose seems to be getting redder by the minute. “I tried it once in college, and I didn’t feel anything.”

She always feared that getting high would make her stupid, or even seem less competent. She hated the idea of seeming less intelligent than she was.

“No one gets hight their first time, Scully.” His eyes are glassy, but he still manages to give her that puppy-dog look, the same one that once convinced her to lie for him in front of a Senate panel. “Just give it a try, if you don’t like it, fine.” That same big goofy smile graces his lips.

“Okay, fine,” she finally relents. “But if this is laced with something...” She says accusatorily. Mulder holds his hands up innocently.

---

An hour later, and Dana Scully is stoned. So intoxicated that colorful pinwheels of light swirl before her eyes. She blinks woozily and smiles at Mulder.

“Do you feel good?”

“Mmmhmm,” she hums up at him. His arm is around her now, and she takes this opportunity to lean into him. Her fingers splay and bounce over his firm stomach muscles. “When did you get these?” she says lifting up his shirt playfully to poke at his belly.

“You like?” he asks, lifting up his shirt to display the nearly defined almost eight pack. Scully sighs in admiration. This is all hers. 

“I could take it or leave it,” she says a grin teasing the corners of her mouth.

“Oh is that right?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at her. “Too bad I don’t feel the same about yours,” he says lunging forward. His hands are merciless on her ribs, tickling her until she is gasping for air. Quickly, she slips out of his grasp, and onto the porch. Mulder wastes no time in playfully tackling her to the ground.  She hasn’t laughed this hard in months. It feels good. 

Like guilty teenagers, they slip behind their new home to lie in the grass and watch the glittering milky way. The moon is high in the sky above them, setting the grass alight in a wash of crystal dewdrops. His hand comes to her narrow hip, his eyes are dark pools of desire. Her body vibrates with the magnetic pull of her blood. She feels lightheaded, gleeful as he kisses her. Everything feels like a new beginning. Like first love. Their bodies move together like they are supposed to. Like they were made to do this.

After she rolls him on top of her like a warm blanket. The fireflies blink in the rural darkness of their home. Their home. She smiles. It may not be the life she dreamed of, but Mulder is here and alive. They are together, that is all that matters.

Scully feels his stomach grumble, “Hungry?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” he chuckles happily. Thoughts of mushrooms and onions fill her mind. 

“Do you think any Pizza places deliver out here?”

“Good question. Let’s find out.”

---

Take a hit and hit the comments.

[sevenringsblingbling]

Sienna and Colson part 2

Word count: 4,573

Once we stepped inside the club was packed. There were people everywhere I looked. The music was pumping so loud I'm surprised the windows didn’t shatter. Colson took my hand and we made our way through the crowd. There was a big winding staircase that looked as if it was made of glass. I must admit I was impressed. Though I really didn't want to be here the club was spectacular to look at. There was a bouncer at the bottom of the steps checking ID’s before he let anyone go upstairs.  

“Whoa pal need to see if your names on the list here. ID please.” Babe looked as if he was offended at the bouncer questioning him. Colson patted his pockets. “Bruh I ain't got no ID. Look I'm MGK I was invited here by the owner.” The bouncer takes a step back at stares at him. “Oh, fuck my bad bro.” “Ay no worries. You're just doing your job.” They dap each other up. “Hey man after all I should've known it was you. You're the only 6’4 nigga in the spot.” He laughs.  

Thank goodness there isn't as many people in the VIP as I thought there was. I noticed there was a small crowd of about 25 people on the right side of the lounge while the left side occupied a bar and a few tables. “Ayy Colson get your ass over here man. We've been waiting on you.” A man from the crowd yelled. Colson nodded back and we paced forward. “What the fuck is up Kells? I feel like it's been a while man.” They dapped each other up. “Oh shit man same ol same ol but hey I'm here.” The man nodded and looked at me. “Who’s this beauty you have with you?” I smiled and reached out my hand to shake his. “This is my girl Sienna.” He took my hand and kissed it. “Pleasure meeting you. I'm Marco. I worked with Kells on a few albums. Look I'm sorry to pull you away from a romantic evening but this is the grand opening of my club and I just had to have this fool here to bring some life to the joint. I hope you're not upset.” I grin. “Oh no not at all.” I lie. “This is a special night for you Marco. Grand openings only happen once.” Of course I couldn't tell Marco how I really felt. As upset as I was with Colson I would never seek to publicly embarrass him in from of his friends.  

As soon as we sit down amongst the group of people, I see all types of different alcohols on the table, a few beers, tonic waters, shot glasses, ice buckets with champagne bottles. “Babe you want some champagne? Like you said, ‘Grand openings only happen once.’” He mimics my voice and laughs. I roll my eyes. “Oh shut up Colson. I was just being nice and yes I do want some.” He pours some into a wine glass almost overflowing it. “Damn Colson not that much. I don't need all that.” He smiles. I know that smile too well. He's up to something I just can't figure out what exactly.

Colson must have said hi to a dozen people so far. The lounge is starting to become more and more crowded. I sat back and nurse my drink and just watch my baby do his thing. I never wanted to be one of those overbearing girlfriends to anyone and especially not Colson considering the type of lifestyle he lives this just comes along with the territory. I’ve accepted it. Even when the ladies that come up to our area, speak to him and give him a hug I don't trip about it. I completely understand, hell I'd fan girl too.

After taking pictures with the group of girls Colson sits back down on the couch and lights up a joint. “You okay baby?” He glances over at me. I nod. He looks at my wine glass noticing it’s almost empty. “Hey, you want to do a shot together?” I'm already loaded but hey you only live once right. “Um okay.” He blows the weed smoke over my head and picks up the two shot glasses. “I'm thinking tequila but what do you want babe.” I look down at the array of liquor on the table in front of us. I guess I had taken so long to answer that he had already had the two shots poured and ready to go. He picked them up and handed the glass to me. “Okay sexy lady on three. One...two...three.” I downed my shot. Lord this has got to be the strongest drink I've had so far tonight.

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

Sienna awakes several hours later to the sound of birds chirping and a television going on in my background. Her head is pounding. She opens her eyes and looks around at the unfamiliar surroundings not exactly sure where she is. “This can’t be the hotel room.” She thought. “Where the fuck am I? Where is Colson?” Her mind starts to race. She sits up slowly off the bed. “Fuck. My head is pounding.” She looks around the room. Her purse is hanging on the door knob. Her phone is on the nightstand next to a bottle of water. She stands up to try and retrieve it when she hears the faucet running in the bathroom next to her. She calls out “Colson babe is that you?” He finishes washing his hands and opens the door with a huge grin on his face. Sienna takes a sigh of relief.  

“Why are you smiling like that? And where the hell are we?!” Sienna grabs the water off the nightstand and sits back down on the bed. Colson starts laughing and lays down next to her. “So you really don't remember last night at all?” He asked. She opens the water bottle and takes a sip. “Yes! I remember. We went to the club um we saw..what's his name..Marco. I had a drink and I meet that girl Jade. Right. Right?” Colson answered. “That’s kinda right.” Sienna just starred. “What do you mean ‘kinda right’?” “Well yeah we did all that, but something happened.” “You're damn right something did happen. We never made it to the restaurant Colson.” Sienna said flatly. “Hey don't blame that shit on me. I tried to get you to go but you insisted we stay.” She took another sip of her water.  

“What the hell are you talking about? I didn't even want to go to that club in the first place.” Colson lit up the joint that was tucked behind his ear. “Wow you really don't remember anything.” Sienna touched her head. “Fuck, my head. Well I don't know how we ended up here.” Sienna looked down and saw she was dressed in a long silk nightgown. “And what the hell do I have on and where are my clothes?” Sienna was beginning to feel like she was losing her mind. She didn't remember taking off her clothes nor did she remember putting on some silk gown. So what the fuck. Colson sat up and handed her two pills off the nightstand. “For the headache.” “Thanks babe.” She swallowed them down with the water. “Let's go and get some lunch and then I'll explain everything. You don't yell at me when I get you food.”

I got dressed as quick as my headache would allow. I needed food asap and babe was right when he buys me food I be so sweet and nice to him, besides I'm owed this. We never made it to the restaurant last night. Why on earth would I insist we stay at the club when I didn't even want to be in there in the first place it just doesn't make sense. The pain pills did start to ease my head soon after I took them. I tried to remember any detail that would piece last night together but I couldn't.

We drove to the restaurant in silence not because I was upset with him but because no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't figure out what in the hell happened last night and I just hoped I didn't embarrass my baby. We preferred to keep things low key and wanted to stay out of TMZ headlines. I have no desire to be on display like some zoo animal and Colson already goes through enough with the press. I didn't want to add to his worries.  

He requested that we sit somewhere private and quiet, he knew I had a headache and wanted me to be as comfortable as possible. We placed our orders and waited for our drinks to arrive. I wanted something hot so I got a cup of tea with extra lemon. Colson ordered a large iced coffee. I checked the time on my phone and saw it was eleven thirty-four. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the phone. Dear lord I looked like I had been out all night partying. My hair was up in a ponytail my makeup was practically gone except for the liquid lipstick that held up nicely. I looked over at Colson. Even with bags under his eyes he was still looking as handsome as ever.  

I snapped out of my thoughts to remind myself that he never took me out to the restaurant last night. I should be seething, shouldn't I? I turn my attention back to him. “Whose apartment were we at?” I asked “Marco’s” He said looking at me with that grin on his face. My brows furrowed. “Huh? Babe be straight with me. You've never lied to me before let's not start today.” He takes a deep breath. “It's fact. See after the club we ended up at Marco’s for the after party.” “After party? I don't understand.” He laughs. “Babe you are so cute when you're drunk.” He leans in closer to me. “And a nasty little slut for daddy.” He flicks out his tongue and smiles. Just then the waiter comes back with our drinks. “Okay I got a hot tea with extra lemon and an iced coffee.” He placed the drinks on the table. “Your order should be ready in just a few. Do you need anything else?” “No thank you.” I replied.

“Just start from the top. Last thing I remember I was talking to that girl Jade.” I opened two packs of sugar for my tea and added a lemon before stirring it. Colson took a sip of his coffee. “Okay so after we took that tequila shot Jade came and sat next to you. Y’all was talking about something and then….

*Flashback*

“I love your shoes girl those are fly fly.” Sienna looks down at the woman's shoes. She looked over at Sienna. “These old things.” She laughed. “But thanks girl. What's your name?” Sienna put her shot glass on the table. “I'm Sienna.” She held out her hand. “I'm Jade.” They greeted each other. “So Sienna who you here with?” Sienna was hesitant to answer. She didn't want to talk her personal business with a stranger.” Jade must have felt she hesitant to answer. “Girl I'm not trying to get all up in your business. Look I understand. After all it is Vegas, ya know what happens here stays here.” They both laughed. “Well I’m here with that guy in the blue shirt.” Jade pointed to the guy talking to the bartender. Sienna was too drunk to see who jade was even talking about. She just nodded in agreement.

Sienna noticed that the woman talking to her was gorgeous. She had to be a model or something. Her makeup was beat for the gods, her skin flawless, and perfect teeth to match. Even though they had just met she was taking a liking to Jade. They talked for what seemed like hours about everything under the sun. “Yeah I travel a lot for work and it's not so much because I want to but job requirements and such. I mean even tonight is a work thing.” Jade shook her head. “I’d just love to take a fucking night off but noo my boss the big baby needs me every step of the way. ‘Jade I need this Jade I need that.’ Ugh I wish I could tell him where he can stick his demands and to fuck off.”  

Sienna laughed “Girl you are so funny.” Jade just smiled. “No really I've enjoyed our convo. What's your number? Not to be weird or anything like that but you seem like a really cool chick and I haven't made much friends out here in Vegas..actually any friends for that matter but I'd love for us to link up whenever I'm in town. Jade just looked at Sienna. “Wait I'm not gay or anything like that Jade. Don't get me wrong you are beautiful but I'm not trying to suck on your nipples or no crazy shit like that.” Jade continued looking at her. Sienna burst out in laughter. “Okay I'm a little tipsy and I know I probably sound crazy as fuck. Look I know we just met, and I hope I'm not imposing.” Sienna took a deep breath and thought “Way to go Sienna you just scared her off. You'll never make friends at the rate you're going.” Jade laughed and said “Girl whatever you are drinking pour me some of that shit. You are too lit right now.”  

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

Colson was interrupted when the waiter brought their food. “I've got a turkey sandwich on rye bread with garden vegetables.” Sienna raised her hand. “That's me.” “And I've got a cup of chicken soup with extra rice.” He put the orders down on the table along with some extra napkins. “Y’all need anything else?” He asked. “Nah we good.” Colson responded. Sienna shifted in her seat getting impatient. “Could you just get to the point?” She was on pins and needles. She needed to find out what the fuck she did last night and this fool was taking forever and a day just to get to the damn point! “Okay aight. So when I was ready to leave you were really drunk…”

*Flashback*

“Babe lets go to eat now.” Colson could tell Sienna was bent back from drinking too much. He was ready to get to the restaurant so he could keep his promise and wouldn't have to hear her bitching about it the next day. It was going on 10.30 and they had been at the club for a while and he was ready to go. He helped her up from the couch and held onto her. “Babe we’re leaving.” Sienna looked around the lounge. “But the party has just started. I've made a friend. A beautiful, kind friend. She so awesome you have to meet her.” Sienna yelled over the loud music.  

“Jade! I want you to meet someone.” Jade walked over and greeted Colson. “Well well well it is a small world.” Sienna was confused. “You two know each other?” Colson spoke up. “Yeah. That's Marco’s assistant. Jade how’ve you been?” “Oh the usual. So this is the handsome man you've brought with you tonight? Ya know it's good to see you out with a cool ass chick Colson. Sienna is the sweetest.” Jade finished off the rest of the drink in her glass. “Looks like y'all are headed out. If your down Marco’s having an after party at his. It’ll just be a few close friends of ours and you know Marco considers you family Colson. I just thought I'd ask.” He was going to decline the offer, but Sienna slurred a “Yes Jade we’d love to. The night is young.” and flung her arms up in drunken bliss. Colson couldn't believe it. She didn't even want to go to the club and now she was ready to party all night.

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

“I can't believe I said that. Well that’s it I'm never drinking again.” Sienna chewed on her veggies, “So we went to the afterparty or?” Colson shook his head. “Oh yeah we went alright.”

*Flashback*

When Colson and Sienna got to the apartment there were already a few familiar faces he knew. Marco. “Glad y’all decided to come. I didn't want to ask. Your girl seemed upset.” Colson shrugged. “Well she got drunk and wanted to be here. Her crazy ass.” He shook his head. Sienna and Jade were talking and dancing to the music. Sienna was just happy to have another girl to talk to and Jade was glad to not have to deal with Marco tonight.

A little while later people were starting to say their goodbyes. Everyone except Sienna and Colson. Sienna was having so much fun and wasn't ready to leave just yet. “Wow its 2 am Already time just flew.” Marco said sitting down on the sofa in his apartment. “Marco, Jade tonight was so fun. Thanks for having me.” They both nodded in agreement. “Oh no worries. We enjoyed having you all here.” Jade sat on the arm of the couch next to Sienna. Everyone was sitting down with a drink in their hand.

“Fuck man let’s roll up.” Colson sat up and pulled some rolling papers out his pants pocket. “Alright bruh be right back.” Marco got up and went into the bedroom and came out moments later with a zip lock bag of at least an ounce of weed. He poured the contents onto the coffee table. The aroma of the weed hit everybody's nostrils. “Damn gotta love dank.” Jade added. “I'll toast to that.” Sienna held up her drink and tossed it back.  

I wasn't a big weed smoker but after a night of partying and meeting some cool people why not? And besides I was sorta hoping it would help with my impending hangover that was sure to kick my ass in the morning. Along with the fact that I hadn't really eaten anything all damn day maybe it would sober me up. We all just talked and vibed to the music while smoking. Soon there was three joints being passed around in rotation between all four of us. I had found my way to Colson’s lap. And while I didn't feel the effects of being drunk like I had before I did feel so fucking high like I was looking down at the apartment from space.

“Baby, I love you my little vanilla cupcake. Let me suck your dick.” I said it loud enough. I'm sure everyone heard me. I got down on my knees and started pulling at his belt trying to get it loose. He looked shocked and put his hand over mine to stop me from taking his belt off. “Whoa baby I like that feisty shit but we ain't alone girl.” I looked back at Marco and Jade. “Well if the girl wants to do her thing then who are we to stop her.” Marco kicked up his feet on the coffee table and put his hands behind his head grinning. “Ha very funny. No way in hell I'd let you watch my girl suck me off. Now if Jade wants to stay then.” Colson nodded towards her.  

“Who me? No thanks. I mean you're cool and all Colson but I don't see you in that light. But however,” Jade walks over to me drops down to her knees and kisses me dead in the mouth. Like some deep open mouth tongue kissing action. I can't say I was that surprised because all throughout the night she would brush up against me and after a couple of those ‘accidental’ brush ups I figured she had taken a liking to me. I'd never kissed a woman before, so it was an experience to remember. Plus, Jade was a great kisser. Marco and Colson cheered us on. Smh men. “Fuck that’s hot.” Colson added. Jade got up and walked into the back bedroom with Marco following right behind. As soon as I heard the door shut I asked Colson “Wow that was...um what the fuck just happened.”

“You know what happened and that shit was sexy as fuck.” He pulled me up to his lap and we began making out. We struggled to pull my arms through my dress and down to my waist. I took my bra off and flung it across the room. “Shh baby I hear something.” I couldn't help but to laugh. “Me too. Looks like were not the only ones having fun.” We could hear Marco and Jade’s moans coming from the bedroom and they weren't being quiet about it which I could understand. This is his apartment after all. “Is it bad I'm feeling more turned on by that.” Cause it was kind of like watching porn but live action. Colson kissed my neck “No not at all sweetness.”  

I couldn't wait any longer to have that big dick in my throat I got back down on my knees. His pants were already undone. I pulled that dick out of his boxers it was so hard I just wanted to soothe it with the warmth of my mouth. I kissed the tip and his precum coated my lips. I licked it off my lips and sucked on the tip of it. “God damn baby.” He moaned. Like music to my ears. I really wanted to snatch his soul through his dick so I put it all the way in the back of my throat and bobbed my head up and down. I could tell my pussy was super wet. I could feel it all the way on the inside of my thighs.  

He was moaning so much I was sure he would cum at any minute. “Fuck baby stop. I'm gonna cum.” So of course I didn't stop I went faster just swallowing his whole dick. I wasn't a pro or anything I just really wanted to suck his dick like a good little hoe. He had to literally pull me up off him. I smiled. “What I’d do baby?” He didn't answer just threw me on the couch face down pulling my knees up behind, me pulled my dress over my ass and even though we were fucking on somebody else's furniture in somebody else's apartment this just felt right ya know. He pulled my panties down. “You fucking mermaid. You’re wet as fuck.” Of course I'm wet. Jade tongue kissed me and I just sucked your dick it’d be a crime if I wasn't.

Without warning he shoved his whole entire dick inside me. I wasn't ready. I took a deep breath and tried to pace myself. “Oh yess daddy. Fuck that pussy.” I could hear that ‘stirring macaroni’ noises coming from my pussy. Fuck, I really am a mermaid. “That pussy is so tight and wet.” Colson smacked my ass. He pounded my insides with that big vanilla dick. I wasn't sure if I would pass out from pure bliss. I put my arm behind me touching his thigh hoping he would slow down. He held onto my wrist. While it felt incredible to have a big dick rearranging my guts I had felt a small twinge of pain every time he would go deep. “It feel good baby?” “Yess.” I responded. “Does it hurt?” “Yes sir.” I moaned.

I knew I was cumming soon. Yes I was in pain but lordt it was a good type of pain. We could still hear Jade and Marco in the other room. I could’ve came from just that but having my man fucking me on somebody else's furniture while I was high as a kite just took me over the edge. “Cum on my dick you fucking slut.” God, he knows what dirty talk does to me. I came so hard I saw stars and then at that exact moment he put his thumb in my little asshole. Fuck I think I love this man. I wasn't a fan of anal sex, or was I?? His thumb felt good but I wasn't sure about his whole dick in there.

“Finish me off.” He pulled me down off the couch on my knees. I sucked and twirled my tongue around his shaft taking him deep in my throat. I could feel he was close. I jacked his dick while sucking on the head. “Oh fuck baby I'm gonna cum in your fucking mouth. Just keep sucking.” I did as I was told. He shot his babies right inside my mouth some of it hit my lips. I swallowed every drop proudly and kept sucking. “Damn, you little slut. I love that mouth.” He said grunting. I licked the rest of it off my lips and got up to kiss him. “That was amazing daddy. I needed that.” He nodded in agreement. I got up and pulled a water bottle out the fridge. My legs felt like jelly but I managed.  

I took a sip of the water just then Jade came out the room wearing a long silk robe. “Wow you two are like some fucking rabbits.” She grabbed two water bottles out the fridge. “Oh girl you're showing.” I didn't understand what she was saying till I looked down. My fucking my tits were on full display. Great. “Shit my bad. I forgot.” She laughed. “No prob and besides you've got perfect tits don't ever be ashamed. Hey hold on I've got something for you.” She ran back into the room and came back out with a nightgown. “You can wear this. Just something a bit more comfortable to sleep in.” I took the nightgown and gave her a hug. My boobs pressed up against hers. I was slightly embarrassed about her seeing my breast, but I figured Jade knows how it is. She would understand. “Goodnight you two. You're more than welcome to stay in the guest room. Its late, y’all too drunk to drive anyways.” She was right. It would be foolish to get out and drive in our condition.

She headed back to the room. Colson laughed. I handed him the water bottle. “What's so funny?” I asked. “Jade saw all of your tits on full display. She def wants to eat your pussy baby.” I pulled my clothes off and put on the nightgown pondering what he had said. “Well maybe but the way she and Marco sounded in there I'm not sure I could I compete.” We sat back on the couch and smoked more weed. We watched TV and talked about the whole night.  

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

I was in shock as Colson explained everything to me in full detail. I didn't remember doing any of this and not only that but I had done some really freaky shit. I folded my arms and looked down at my phone. “Baby don't feel embarrassed. It was hot. The thought of you and Jade going at it. I could definitely go for something like that I mean only if you were comfortable with it.” He explained. Just then my phone buzzed with a text message from ‘sweetie pie Jade’ I don’t even remember saving her number as that but whatever. ‘I haven't had that much since forever. You're welcomed back whenever. Why’d y’all leave in such a hurry?’ 

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

A/N: As always a labor of love <3. So far this has got to be my favorite chapter and its only the second part of the story lol. I have so much more in store for this couple. S+C stay cute. Please don’t be shy. Let me know what you think. I've been getting so much love on my first part. THANK YOU. After a 4,500+ word count I’m tidee. Enjoy.

[broadhurstblog-blog]

A rough draft/timeline...

Once upon a time, I was a quiet child, who excelled in sports and could string together good sentences every now and again.

I received a certificate at the end of my first year in a boy’s secondary school in East Hertfordshire, by my departing English teacher called Ms Prole. It was certified that I was  ‘Most Daydreaming Pupil.’

I was a child who lived inside his imagination, thought deeply about things. I had a fair amount of friends, most of them being at least two years older than me.

We would break into old bomb shelters, explore hard, found a small woods that contained concrete bunkers, and convinced ourselves we had discovered a secret, disused American airbases. I would go on long bike rides, often finding great secluded bodies of water that contained hard to catch fish. I played for a local bottom of the league football team, on often flooded fields that used to be paddocks.

Then something changed.My granddad died when I was twelve.Losing a wonderfully wise man whose wisdom I took for granted, well, it hit me really hard.My thoughts seemed to constantly focus on death.Over the course of the next year or so, my behaviour changed drastically, I became extremely undisciplined, argumentative, I got suspended from school on several occasions.With the help of an Educational Officer – psychiatrists and psychologists took an interest in me.After a few sessions with various medical professionals, my parents were informed with confidence that I had a condition called manic depression and that it was caused by a  chemical imbalance/ deficiency of a salt in my brain.After being sure that my heart, kidney or liver was free from defects, I was prescribed Lithium Carbonate.

I took the medication most days between the ages of 14 and 18.

At first, my behaviour did not improve, and it was decided that I should spend time in an adolescent unit of the psychiatric wing of a hospital near St. Albans.

It was a very strange place, most of the resident children there were unwanted orphans I seem to remember.

A lot of the nurses were very heavy-handed in their restraint techniques, and doctors loved nothing more than to sedate those of us not willing to take part in various group activities.

The heavy-handed ways, the use of an exclusion room and the sedation syrup, for even the smallest of infractions – it makes me question the ethics and morals of some of the staff, but nothing I was privy to was against the law as far as I can tell. (There has been stories in the news recently about the police investigating historic abuse allegations, I can’t testify to being abused, but it certainly wasn’t the holiday camp that the staff tried to portray to my parents. Maybe the memories of that place would have been a lot worse without a father and mother looking out for me).  

After a couple of months I was back to school.

I was the shadow of my former daydreaming self, but I no longer displayed as much unruly behaviour.

I had lost virtually all my friends, I was increasingly paranoid, socially withdrawn.

I was behind in my school work, and I wasn’t able to catch up.

By the time I was 15 I had the choice of resitting the year or joining another school out of the area 18 miles away, to be in the fourth form where nobody knew me.

So I opted to leave a pretty decent boys-only comp with a Christian ethos, to go to a mixed comp that used to be a grammar school, but which had become a third-rate egalitarian mess.

It is safe to say that I did not respond well to the lowering of educational standards. By the final term of my second attempt at being a fourth form pupil, I was ‘asked to leave’.

I left the school at the age of 16, without any experience of the fifth form. I went to the regional college for two years and completed a couple of NVQ modules in I.T.  

I spent most of my college time in the library or playing basketball in the gym.

The point here is that I am not convinced I was mentally ill.

Maybe I was, but I do not think that medication/psychiatric treatment helped me.

The major thing that helped me become a less self-destructive force was *time*.

The death of a close family member really haunted my mind, and I did not know how to deal with it.

My childish poetry turned dark and very cryptic, unfortunately, the caring adults in my life who were interpreting my private words without my permission, they were totally off the mark in concluding that my prose was a sign of me being suicidal. I was certainly crying out for help, but my words were actually full of fear about death, not a single syllable expressed a desire to die.

I wasn’t sleeping much, and prolonged lack of sleep can affect behaviour a lot,

I stopped playing football,

I stooped going on adventures,

I stopped daydreaming.

Lack of exercise can cause serious problems, especially in a child who was once very active.

Add puberty to the mix. . .

I do not think Lithium was the answer to whatever was happening. And how did the medication affect the development of my fragile brain?

I guess that question is impossible for me to ever answer.

I was lucky to have a good family GP who was close to retirement, a doctor from an older generation who was in agreement with me that I would be better off without medication.

As soon as I was eighteen he helped me gradually decrease my doses until I was on the medication no more.

I lacked a lot of confidence, but had no problem finding work with the occasional kick up the backside from my father.

After running into a few dead ends, I eventually became a cellarman/barman in an unusually well run small family pub that was slightly off the beaten track.

In my mid-twenties I moved to Manchester with my licensee certificate in hand, but instead of running a pub, I ended up working in a mind-numbing call centre on behalf of a royal Scottish bank.

By the age of 30, I was a homeowner.

On paper, things seemed good. I heard from a reliable source that my parents were proud of me.

I was unhappy. The relationship with my supposed future wife was on the rocks. I was tired of being a battery chicken trying to get people into debt. I was drinking too much. I had put on a lot of weight. I think I might have been slightly depressed.

Then one evening there was a TV show on, presented by Stephen Fry, it was about living with Bipolar Disorder (The new name for manic depression.)

I think it was on at about the same time that the disability discrimination act came into force.

I was struggling with timekeeping and discipline at work.

Home life was not happy. I was a little drunk and somehow became convinced it was a good idea to talk about my ‘mental health history’ with my partner, and to my manager at work the next day.

Things went downhill very quickly from there.

I went to a doctor, got referred to a psychiatrist.

After a 30 minute consultation, it was decided that I had a mild version of ‘Bipolar II’ And Lithium Carbonate was being prescribed to me. It didn’t agree with me, and I abruptly stopped taking it. Bad idea.

I was a mess. After about 2 years I had split with my partner, mindlessly took my name off the mortgage agreement. I struggled to stay in regular work because of my erratic self-destructive behaviour. I was on benefits for a couple of years.

Eventually, I got a job as an assistant manager, in a betting shop of all places. It was an interesting few years, but working for a morally challenged employer can eventually take its toll on one’s spirit.

This is when I ‘gave up’. I would get a sick note from my local medical centre once a month, claiming I was depressed, etc.I started claiming Employment Support Allowance and Housing Benefit because of my supposed ‘disability.’.The money was more than enough to exist on as part of a house share in a diverse student area in south-central Manchester. At some point a cannabis smoker moved into the house I was barely existing in.It didn’t become long before an occasional toke turned into a regular habit. It took a year or so, but I eventually became undoubtedly mentally ill. I was not self medicating, I smoked weed because I enjoyed smoking it, I loved getting ‘high.’  

My behavior gradually started changing for the worse over the course of about half a year. I went to doctors complaining of anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia etc. I told them about my cannabis habit too. The young funky doctor referred me to a young hip psychiatrist, who after 5 minutes of questions, decided that   Quetiapine may be the answer to my woes. I wasn’t getting any better, and I gradually stopped taking the medication. I started smoking cannabis again.    

I was under the influence of what I’ll call acute mania not long after reading ‘The Cameron Delusion.’ I am fortunate that was the last book I read before I became undeniably mentally ill.

At the height of my illness, it was like I was inside a vivid daydream like I was fast asleep and wide awake at the same time. It is hard to explain. I was aware I was ill though, I sought help. It was eventually decided I should be sectioned, and I disagreed, so a bunch of health workers accompanied by police officers came to my front door. One policeman with impeccable customer service skills informed me I would have to be restrained with cuffs for my own safety, and I was escorted into the back of a police van. The police chauffeured me to the hospital, where I became a reluctant resident/client in a locked ward for about 6 or 7 weeks.

I was forced to take a cocktail of 4 mind-altering drugs on a daily basis. A psychiatrist would see me for about five minutes, once a week. I was told after the sixth or seventh short consultation that I could be released under the condition that I carried on taking the drugs. A social worker visited me on two occasions in the two months after my release from the hospital. Assured I was taking the medication, the visits stopped. I didn’t mention to the social worker that I was gradually lowering the doses I was taking. Within days of the last visit, I had eventually weened myself of the medication completely. It took several months, but eventually, I got a job.

And I have been well, in full-time employment for about a year now, without any problems.

I don’t use cannabis anymore either of course.

And I haven’t knowingly talked to a doctor since my time in the hospital.Mind-altering drugs just do not agree with me.

[kiwibirdman-blog]

Cannabus

“Hey Bro, is there still a bus” the old man asked as he stumbled into the bus shelter.

“Ya, you’ve still got a bit of time” the young man said, stalling, while he looked at the screen to understand the situation for himself.

“The bus never comes on time. I got here last time and it said 00:03 and there should have been a bus before then.” The man was dishevelled, slurring.  

“You never know. And what about down at Vic park? The drivers always stop for like fifteen minutes.” The bus always stopped either for the driver to align to the schedule or for a driver change. Often it could be up to fifteen minutes waiting at one stop. Passengers complained. It was a thing.

“Oh, it’s always something with that stop. They’re just trying to get their schedules back lined up. It’s never on.” He laid down a rolling paper. “ah well, gives me time to roll up my synthetic cannabis. You got a cigarette?”

“No, sorry, I don’t smoke.” Said the young man.

“That’s alright. I just need a butt.” He went out into the road and picked up one of the many cigarette butts littered in the street. He broke what was left of ash and tobacco onto the rolling paper and used the filter to roll a ‘joint’. “I gotta get my hit”

“Where is the real stuff man?”

“Nah, this is it. The government made this legal, made a supply, got us all hooked, and now we can’t get it.” He ranted.

“And there’s no real weed out there anymore!?” the young man exclaimed.

“There’s some, but the synthetic stuff has the best hit. The government made it legal, and now, they ban it. Make a criminal out of those who smoke it” He lit up. Surprisingly there was no smell.

“That’s why it should all just be legal. Make it a health issue.”

“But how far do you go?” he exclaimed while he smoked “in the future will rape be legal??”

“Well, no. I’m speaking only of illicit drugs. Rape and other crimes would still be legal.” The young man was taken a back. Almost annoyed at the connection the old man was making.

“But where do you draw the line? Who’s to say?” the old man asked.

“My dealer got busted the other day. I can’t help but think of him and his family. He’s not a criminal. He’s selling pot to fucking middle-class professionals!”

“You learn young or you don’t learn.” The man said.

“Learn what? Come on. It’s my choice.”

“It’s criminal. You gotta learn.”

“But you’re not a criminal are you? What is the harm in what you’re doing other than to yourself?”

“Where’s the line though? What if rape were to be legal?” He paused. “Want a drag?”

“No, thank you.” It’s surprising the young man was so quick to say no. His dealer gone, his stash depleting. Take every hit you can get. But he had no desire. Maybe ten years ago it would be different “Case in point for legalising drugs. I said no out of choice.” He thought. He leaned against the glass bush shelter. Looking at the time display: 2 minutes.

“Hmmm. Hahahaha” from the man. “Hahahaaha” higher pitched.

The bus arrived. The young man got his card ready and looked back at the older man.

“He dude. The bus is here.” Nothing. “Did you want to get on this bus?” Nothing. The young man boarded. The doors closed. Several seconds went by as the bus tried to pull out. Doors open.

“Hi” said the old man as he sat down reaching into his pockets to find his change. Stumbling to the driver to pay.  Returning to his seat.

           The young man didn’t bother trying to start the conversation again. The old man, in a haze, probably wouldn’t have remembered.

[mildly-incoherent-ramblings]

Alturas

Derived From, And An Offshoot Of “The Weekend In The Country” Writing Prompt, Given By Adam Gnade. 

A Preface: This story is awful. I have tried to work through this experience for years. This is a work of semi-fiction I suppose, but most of this really did happen, and you can guess which character is based on me pretty easily. I do not condone ANY of the actions depicted here. Please, care for your animal friends, and your elderly family, and if you cannot, find help for them. Good fucking god find some help and fucking save them. Do everything in your power. I did not sleep a full night’s sleep for months after what I saw that weekend.

CW: animal abuse, animal neglect, self neglect, dementia, guns, gunfire, themes of transphobia/homophobia, domestic abuse, toxic family dynamics, misogyny, vivid sensory descriptions of these things.

Part 1: Knuckle Bones

The drive itself was not bad. There was felt a certain nostalgia for many trips down south to San Diego to visit my great aunt with the family when we were children, or to the north to see the snow in the winter. Dad got lost for a little while, but he refused to admit it, he just angrily grumbled to himself and yelled to the backseat if anyone made a noise that broke his concentration. We rode through miles of outstretched quiet roads interrupted by the occasional rest area, and only stopped briefly at points for food and gas, and to rotate who got to sit in the front seat. On freeways and then off of them and up into the endless hills, long winding roads that almost felt like going in circles we drove, all of us anticipating the destination. We were going to visit grandma and grandpa, my Dad’s stepmom and father. They lived on a little farm out in Alturas.

Alturas is a small town nestled up in the rightmost corner of California, bordered both by Nevada to the east and Oregon to the north.  When we finally arrived there, the first thing I noticed were the hot air balloons. I had never seen them in person before. Floating out toward the horizon and above us and all around were hundreds of these drifting along, wicker baskets and all. Being mostly a city kid, I had almost forgotten they even existed. Peacefully scattered near and far in an expanse of clear blue sky I saw them; big beautiful ones with complex designs in an array of bright colors; mostly red and yellow with splotches of cyan and green, bits of neon pink. They reminded me of printer cartridges or SMPTE bars on a TV screen. I fixated on them as we rode up onto the main street of the town.

We stopped at a diner for breakfast, and the realization hit me that I was with my family and in a moderately conservative area. I would have no choice but to act as a woman here, I would not be given another option. I’d have to try my best to blend at least. Dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans, and a baseball cap backwards like some 90′s mall bro troupe, one could say that alone was a dead giveaway. But to these people, and to my family at the time, I was a dyke at best. At worst... lets not get into it.

We ate breakfast at this little place, dusty and kind of worn down, white walls yellowed over the years with tacky décor displayed upon them. The Don’t-Tread-On-Me flag hung up in the corner made me very nervous. Dad and my brother didn’t notice, but the old folks at the table next to us, and the truckers on the other side of the room, and the CHP officers grouped together at the bar shot daggers in my general direction, some of them holding their glare on me like snipers aiming for my head from the top of a building. I tried to eat quickly and eat well, especially since I hadn’t had anything that day except for gas station coffee and a pack of hostess mini donuts several hours before. I ate like I eat, which can be stereotyped as like how a man eats. At one point my brother said I wasn’t being polite, even though his table manners were about as bad, and the reason why he felt it different for me need not be spoken. Loud and clear.

My brother had a really hard time accepting my transition. Same with Dad. Neither will admit to it now but they both were cruel to me often, and for a while hoped they could just disregard this aspect of me and force me back into the box of womanhood until I gave up. When I first came out my brother he offered me a pair of jeans he didn’t wear anymore and asked me if I needed any advice on good cologne to wear, needed any razors, etc. This enthusiasm wouldn’t last. The next time he wanted money from me, or my weed, or something of mine he could sell, or someone he could point his anger toward, he would weaponize my former femininity against me and revert back to the same misogynistic behavior I had always known him to engage in. I was a woman again when he wanted me to be one, and I had no choice in this matter. This would go on for years. He still to this day has a deep subconscious hate for women, but thankfully and in despite of how sickening these implications are I have escaped this form of mistreatment after starting testosterone.

My Dad was a bit more open, he just didn’t know how to navigate it. He wanted to allow my brother to “have his own opinion” and opted to avoid discussion of it as much as possible. He would later learn that when it comes to something like this, there are no SIDES, there is either upholding the human need to live authentically or deny that need no matter how negatively this affected me and others like me. These days, he proudly supports me and is kind to the trans people in his neighborhood, and would like very much to take his kids to pride once covid is contained and its safe to attend large events again. He got better. Thank fucking god he got better.

We checked into an Inn down the road, got out and stretched our legs. My brother and I immediately went to go smoke a joint. We hid around the back of the building hoping Dad wouldn’t notice, but apparently we stank up the whole area and came back to him seething with anger. He sparked a cigarette, tried to calm down, and we unloaded our belongings from the car in silence. Then it was time to head to the farm. 

A few miles out from town we drove through the acres of desolate farmland down a dirt and gravel road that seemed to go on forever. I didn’t recognize the area until we started pulling into the driveway to their little house. Dad was swearing and smacking his steering wheel, cursing no one in particular but frustrated at how the gravel would scratch the paint on his car. We were, though we did try to blend in, hilariously obvious city people.

I recognized the shapes first, the house, the big looming tree on the right side, the wire fences surrounding the property, the rusty old truck. I had only been here as a kindergartener so my exact recollection of this place was fuzzy, but I had fond memories of the animals and how happy grandma and grandpa were to see me. I felt some excitement to return to this place that I always felt to be so welcoming, warm and filled with love. Then we got closer.

The first thing I noticed were the dogs. Two gigantic rabid pitbulls, one chained to the tree in the yard and one chained to a fence post just to the side of the house behind him. They were both aggressively barking and pulling on their chains trying to get to our car, foaming at the mouths and vicious as hell. I am cautious to describe this because I am aware of a certain stigma around pitbulls and their commonly misunderstood demeanor, and I will add that I have never known any dog of this breed to be cruel in any way by nature. But these dogs, they were not aggressive out of any sort of inherent violence and hatred, they were scared. They wanted to escape. The felt us to be a threat. Their paws were caked in shit and mud, mucus leaking from their eyes and matts in their fur. There were big festering wounds on the side of the dog nearest the truck as though he was bitten by something. Before him, the remains of a cat who had been caught and torn to shreds lay splayed open and rotting in the summer heat, the carcass filled with maggots. Bits of the poor things insides were scattered around the yard.

I turned my eyes over toward the house. The building itself had deteriorated significantly. The paint was peeling and chipped. Rotting wood was visible underneath all covered in a thick, black mold. The entire yard was littered with trash; rusty old cans and plastic bags, rotting apple cores, some unidentifiable mounds of what I can only assume had once been food waste. Weeds overgrew dusty and dry, and the front porch itself was falling away barely keeping its shape. To the left of it, the garage was wide open and I could see the stacks upon stacks of busted furniture, rusted metal piping, lengths of barbed wire wrapped in bundles and all manner of poorly kept junk haphazardly packed against the inner side wall.

My father’s eyes went wide as we all sat in silence, shocked at the appearance of what was apparently the home his mom and dad had been living in for the last few decades, and just how much the state of this place had declined since our last visit. He held his fist to his mouth, clenched so tight you could see his knuckle bones through his skin. Pushing back tears, he tried his best to shake the face of disgust and horror from himself before cautiously opening the door. Under his breath, my brother uttered the phrase “what the fuck,” which immediately resulted in dad turning toward the back seat angrily and slamming his fist on the middle console, growling at him to shut the fuck up through clenched teeth. The spray of his spit fell on our faces. His expression had shifted to be dramatically similar to the dogs. Anger and defensiveness as a secondary reaction to an underlying feeling of danger, and a desire to escape the inevitable. I have nightmares of this face. 

Just then grandpa came hobbling out from the garage clutching a 12 gauge shotgun, screaming for grandma that they had burglars on the premises and commanding us to leave. He pointed it upward and haphazardly fired a warning shot which went straight through the roof of the garage and aimed the smoking barrel directly at us. All three of us had our hands up instantly. Grandma came hobbling out of the house pulling through the dirt in her walker as quickly as she could, yelling for him to stop.

“Garland, that’s your fucking SON. And the grandchildren! They’ve come to visit, we just discussed this earlier this morning FOR FUCKS SAKE GARLAND PUT IT DOWN!” She grabbed his arm and he froze, the tension in his shoulders dropped. He lowered his weapon, staring at us puzzled as he processed the situation.

“ANDREW?” He yelled. “ANDREW IS THAT YOU SON?”

“Yes, Dad. Its us. Me and the kids.” he returned. He was shaking so much in the front seat I could feel it from the back. He slowly lowered his hands to his lap, my brother and I frozen in shock. 

(part 2 coming soon)

[ellebeebee]

Day 3 -- Dreams

Okay, so this one is a doozy at nearly 6,000 words, but Huan just had a lot to say.  Also, let’s suspend disbelief that her actions (of a violent nature according to some interpretations) would not have gotten her kicked off the Isle on the first night.

Huan, a descendant of a traditionally martial family, had only one desire in coming to the Summit.  She has lived her whole life honing a discipline in her family’s style of swordsmanship, and has never become the type of scholar that has the best opportunity for rising within Jiyel’s ranks.  Still, she is extremely determined to fulfill her dream.

5,954 words, jiyel!mc, no pairing, there’s a lot of General Falon in this so if you are anti-Falon look elsewhere, lol, general rating

Huan centered herself, moving her ego aside with the image of sweeping smooth a sand tray-- the exercise Master Gan had been so fond of, and was meant to open the self to a truer perception of the world.  It was almost an impossible task, though, with these maids fluttering like sparrows around her.  Not the butler, though.  Jasper.  She could sense from him a near mastery of the upper and deeper selves.  She was impressed.  She would have to ask him who his master had been.

Not now, though.  Now, she must forgo her human turmoils.  She must forget herself and the now just as they tried to hone and highlight the individual called Huan with their silks and cosmetics.

She breathed deep.

“Are you upset, my lady?” Ria asked worriedly. “Do you want something changed?”

Huan stared at the girl.  And apparently the stare was an inappropriate response or went on for too long or something, because the maid was looking to Jasper with mild alarm.

“I was eliminating my ego,” Huan told her.

Ria’s jaw dropped before her training and Jasper’s pointed look reminded her to nod pleasantly at such a statement.

In short order, the servants had her painted and dressed up properly, and they bustled her out the door.

As Huan faced the double doors into the great hall, she steeled herself.  This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since she’d been told she was going to the summit.  In fact, it had been the moment she’d dreamed of ever since she’d been a little girl, sitting at her grandmother’s feet and listening to tales of her ancestors.

Hers was a martial family, each member raised in the skills of the fighting arts.  The Way of the Sparrowhawk was the ancestral school of her clan, a style of swordsmanship as articulated and choreographed as the most exacting dances.  Its secrets and skills had been closely guarded for centuries.  And no member of her family had been a truer representation of their way than Huan’s great-grandfather, Rhoen.

Thinking of her great-grandfather, and her purpose in coming here, Huan pushed open the door into the hall.

She did not see him at first.  The man whom she was sure she was destined to meet here.  As Huan gazed around sharply, several obstacles interrupted her path.  Delegates with strange declarations of love and hate.  She handled these as best she could-- which was not well all things considered.  But she handled them and continued her search.

The hall was filled with people in their unwieldy gowns and suits, moving about with their unwieldy limbs and soft bodies.  Some were not so soft, and Huan filed these faces away for later.  Now, she must find him.  She was determined to fulfill her dream, her duty.

And then she saw him.

She felt her brows draw in and her face stiffen, the stiffness trickling down to the rest of her form.  Huan forced herself to relax.  Anxiety, anger-- any strong emotion was as deadly to the martial artist as any stray blade.  She calmed herself and refound her center.

Huan breathed, schooling her lungs in the pattern she needed now.  She let her distracting thoughts dissipate like smoke, and she slipped into the basic form for offensive action like a koi surfacing and diving beneath a pond’s silky skin.

And at the exact moment-- the very precise intersection of fate and timing-- when the many paces filled with the slow moving delegates, passing and dancing in their games of useless chatter, between Huan and him cleared-- the moment, the only moment there would be like this, like an alignment of the stars-- that moment, Huan tensed her feet and in the same instant launched herself thirty paces to lash at her target.

Ice Cracking in Spring.  A good move to test the waters.  But, just as she knew would be the case, he easily leaped away from her crashing palm.  A vase standing on a marble pedestal was not so lucky.

A lady shrieked as the vase and pedestal shattered violently.  Gasps and alarmed silence filled the hall.  Huan ignored it all, facing her opponent in the traditional stance of challenge.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk and a descendant of the master Rhoen,” Huan stated calmly, “I will redress an insult made by Geda of Mountain Fire, your ancestor.  Do you accept my challenge, General Falon?”

Murmurs followed her statement.  The middle-aged man across from her had already recovered his stance, and gazed at her in consternation.  Around them, whispers sprouted like weeds.  Huan ignored it all, feeling all of her sharpness and intensity welling in her gaze on the chaperone.  At the edge of her perception, she sensed the soft steps of approaching servants who stopped at a single glance from Falon.

The general turned back to her.

“No,” he said, shortly and firmly.

Huan paused.  She cleared her throat.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk and a descendant of Rhoen--”

“I heard you the first time,” Falon barked.

“Then you’re obligated to accept!” Huan snapped back.

She had not foreseen this.  It just didn’t happen.  Members of the martial world in Jiyel competed with one another constantly.  Challenges, if reasonable, must always be answered.  There was no law saying so, of course, but to shirk a challenge was simply shameful.  Especially if the challenge is meant to redress a perceived wrong.  It was a matter of honor.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk--”

“I said no,” the general practically shouted. “Look around you, this is not the practice yard.”

“I’ll let them move out of the way--”

“No,” Falon stated in a tone clearly meant to be final. “You are disgracing our nation.  The summit is meant to achieve international harmony.  Not satisfy personal vendettas from over a century ago.”

He studied her, his great black brows drawn down.  She stared back stubbornly.  He sighed.

“But it is not honorable for me to deny your request.  We will spar at a later time.”

Instantly, Huan felt her face light up, but quickly stifled her natural reaction behind a serious nod.  She snapped into a respectful bow, as a younger warrior to a master.  Falon returned his own bow.  And with that, the silence was gradually broken and the hiss of gossip and tittering renewed.

-

Huan was pulled aside before the delegates were released to the formal dinner, and Jasper gave her a thorough dressing down over her actions.  Dangerous, unbecoming of a lady, and impolite.  Nearly worth sending her home over.  Huan took it stoically; she was used to getting told off by tutors and her family.  It would be worth it in the end.

-

A few days later, Falon was stewing in silent resentment and his own manly fortitude.  Princess Jaslen and young Lady Avalie had somehow roped him into a garden tea.  The table was full of chirping young women, fragile flowery china, and little cakes.  Jaslen had convinced him his attendance was beneficial to the summit, so he had stayed.  But Falon was hard put to find how debating the merits of white or brightly colored petticoats would ever prevent war.  In fact, the most exciting thing to happen to this garden party was the introduction of Jaslen’s nephew and that pirate prince, and the subsequent wave of giggling (giggling) that washed over the table.

And so, it was perhaps with a touch more relief than annoyance that Falon found himself one moment holding a teacup and the next-- the teacup quietly exploding with clinking slivers of porcelain and lukewarm tea falling into his lap.  A stick-- an ordinary little twig-- spun around on his saucer sitting on the table.

And then, beside the silver teapot and the delicate tiered tray of cakes, there were two feet.  The table’s chatter broke into little alarmed screams and gasps as the young women pushed away, some falling over their chairs and skirts.  Falon looked up to glower at Huan, the last minute delegate from Jiyel, standing on the tea table in the stance of challenge.  She glowered back.

“As a disciple of Sparrowhawk--”

“Young lady,” Falon barked. “You--  This is not the time--”

“Now, now,” Prince Zarad said, tone dripping in amusement.  He sipped at his tea, calmly seated with his long limbs casually tossed about. “General, you did make a promise to Lady Huan, did you not?”

“Yes, and what sort of example would you make to us delegates of Jiyel if you did not uphold one of our greatest virtues?” Lady Avalie mused over a plate of finger sandwiches. “Honor, my lord General.  Is not honor worth your consideration?”

Falon spluttered. “On a tea table?  In front of--” He trailed off, gesturing at the young women who stood about slack-jawed and half-witless.

“Oh, the table can be moved,” Hamin of Hise said lightly.

“And these are not ordinary ladies,” Zarad added, winking at the group of girls. “They are noblewomen of stiff character who would certainly not shy away from a display of Jiyel’s greatest skills.  They have the good taste to appreciate such artistry, no?”

One of the girls recovered herself to smile back at the Corvali prince. “Of course, your highness.  We would be delighted for such a diversion.”

“Yes,” Princess Jaslen exclaimed, popping up. “It should be such a divine show!  Come, General.  Be a dear.”

Falon had half a mind to balk again; martial skills were not meant for ‘shows’ or ‘diversions.’  They were serious disciplines that took a lifetime of dedication to master.  But he was not so old or so distant from the happenings of the martial world to be immune to the fire of a challenge.  Huan was right.  He was obligated to accept, and although he aimed to achieve international harmony, he could not bear it if he went home with personal disgrace.

He stood, and met Huan’s gaze.  She smoothly pulled into a bow, and he bowed in return.

The tables and chairs and china were whisked away, and Huan of Sparrowhawk and Falon of Mountain Fire faced one another.

They bowed again, and as Huan smoothly poured herself into a stance of offense, she gazed back at him.  For Falon, her eyes recalled a time before his service to the king, before the military exams.  The endless hours of devotion to your school’s teachings, the burning ambition and the faith in one’s potential.  The general planted his feet and brought his palms up.

“I will defeat you within a hundred movements,” Huan stated calmly, her breathing tranquil and deadly.

Despite himself, Falon grinned.  Huan of the Sparrowhawk had some nerve.  The general had not gotten to where he was on military tactics alone.  He was widely regarded as the best warrior of his generation, and only three people of the previous generation had defeated him.  The best, Master Nenne of the Black Cloud, had forced him into submission at the hundred and fourteenth movement.  And Huan, no matter her skill, was too young to be anywhere near Master Nenne.

But it did remind him of his own boasts as a youth.

Lady Avalie took on the role of officiator.  As the tension and intent bloomed between the two opponents, and the silence spread out into the far reaches of the sunny garden, Avalie smiled charmingly at all.  Slowly, she raised her hands before her, slipped back her sleeves to bare her slim fingers and-- crack went her hands with the commencement clap.

Huan flew.

She was fast.  Falon had already known that from her whipfire attack during the welcome feast.  He’d been able to see it in her light build and the way certain muscles in her legs were defined.  He’d known it, yet it was another thing to endure the endless barrage of blows from dagger-like fingers.

Ice Cracking in Spring.  Bamboo Thicket in a Gale.  Diving on Prey.

Relentlessly, without pause, Huan attacked while Falon defended.  It was not that he couldn’t attack (although if he had not maintained his form over the years, even he would be hard-pressed by her speed); it was the difference in their strengths.  Huan was light and fast;  Falon heavier and far stronger.  If she wanted to avoid a blow from him, she had no choice but to press him as hard as she could.  And if he did not time his blow (and it would certainly come, he was already sure of it) she would strike a touch.  With the way her flashing palms hit his defense in all the correct moments and places, he knew even her small strength on a precise spot could cripple him.

Unacceptable.  He had not gotten to where he was, respected by His Majesty and regarded as a great military mind, just to be shown up by some upstart Sparrowhawk with a chip on her shoulder.

At the thirty-third movement-- her Lynx Spinning over Scree against his Birch Sapling Bending-- Falon saw his opening.  A sudden twist of his torso up toward her palm, instead of away, surprised her, and the imbalanced and undulating form required for her move left her exposed to a confident switch in Falon’s palm.  He bore down on her with a surge.

Huan spun away, dancing back to the other side of the circle their spectators had cleared for them.

She kept form, arms so perfectly defending they could have been sculpted into place.  But, to the trained eye, a miniscule contraction in her left forearm revealed where Falon had scored his touch.  She would have an enormous bruise tomorrow.

But he was impressed; she had, in mid-motion, instantly changed course.  He’d been aiming to dislocate her shoulder, not glance off her forearm.

“Is it over?” one of the noblewomen hissed.

“My dear, I’m afraid it’s only just begun,” Zarad answered, amused.

It was true.  Huan’s intense, large eyes had not wavered once through the whole exchange.  There was no pain or distraction within her mind now.  She was nowhere near finished.

Good.  Because Falon had just warmed up.

He lunged toward her.  And Huan, rather than bend backward to avoid his shovel-like palms, leaped forward to meet him.

Time faded away.  All worldly concerns drifted off.  It was merely two beings, skilled in a dance equal parts violence and beauty, clashing and whirling together.  Falon had met many people in his time, but he had found over the years that there were fewer ways to better understand another human than by crossing blades or fists.  In the meticulous control in her breathing, he saw the bottomless well of determination within her, fuelled by a well-trained endurance.  In the particular twist of her feet, he saw the habits of an old master he’d encountered once years ago.

At the sixty-eighth movement, Falon scored another touch.  At the ninety-sixth movement, Huan scored her first touch.  A stab from her fingers, formed into a striking knife, on his inner wrist that if she had used more strength and if Falon had not adjusted minisculely for the blow would have ruined his hand for life.  As it was, it would be numb for at least a day.  At the one hundred and twenty-third movement, Falon tangled her elusive footwork and closed on her.

They both froze.

Falon’s hand rested in the hollow of her throat.  If he actually struck the blow, she would be dead.  The bout was over.

After what seemed an eternity, they stepped apart.  Huan bowed first, and deepest.  Falon returned her respect.

He straightened. “I would much welcome another match, when we both have our partners again.”

‘Partner’ in the martial world referred to one’s sword, or weapon of choice.  Sparrowhawk and Mountain Fire were both schools of the sword, and though all schools were grounded in hand-to-hand skills, Falon had to admit he was curious about an armed bout with the girl.

Huan stared at him.  She frowned.

“That will take too long,” she stated. “Please be prepared.  I will challenge you again during the summit.”

“What,” Falon said loudly, startled. “How many times are you planning on doing this?”

“As many as it takes,” Huan said matter-of-factly.

She bowed again, and stalked off.  Behind her, the young noblewomen were attempting-- attempting-- to speak intelligently amongst themselves about the match, Jaslen and Avalie where gossiping loudly, and Hamin and Zarad appeared to be sniggering about Falon’s expression.

-

My Lord General,

Our family, as well as all of Jiyel surely, bears an immense respect for your achievements both on and off the field of battle in the name of our mother nation and her king.  We are surely smiled upon by the heavens to have not only a fellow countryman but an exemplary member of our society acting as a chaperone at the Summit.

As chaperone, we know you will look upon our best and brightest, our most accomplished sons and daughters, as charges to be guided down appropriate paths for cooperation amongst the seven nations.

That being said, my wife and I can only beg your magnanimity in regards to our deficiency as parents.  Our daughter, Huan, we know has few rights to serve as delegate.  Although she has some skill in swordsmanship and sparring, she did not take the exam for consideration as member of the summit, and we very much doubt that she would have distinguished herself if she had.  I am embarrassed to admit it, but we have not been able to cultivate in her much ability as a scholar.

She may also be harboring inconvenient notions of her duty to our family with regards to you personally, General.  If this is the case, I can only again ask for your generous nature to regard her with an open mind.  She is a young girl, naive to the ways of the world, and has yet to forgo her childish idealisms.

Again, if our Huan offends you, my Lord General, we can only offer our profuse apologies.

Sincerely,

Lord Ru, assistant magistrate of the ninety-third district

Falon frowned at the letter in his hand.

It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting.  Nothing about its contents was improper, exactly, but its sentiments rang untrue for him.  He glanced at the other letter on his desk.  Pulling it towards himself, he cracked its wax seal marked with the same insignia as the seal on the first letter.

Falon,

Forgive my presumption for taking the liberty of not using your titles, but I knew your grandfather when he didn’t have a thread of gray hair and I met you when you were still cutting milk teeth.  Besides, I’m too old to be mincing words with a kid like you.

My third son is useless and will try to tell you that my favorite granddaughter, Huan, is as well.  But she has more talent in her little finger than he will ever exhibit in his entire miserable life.  She has the potential to be the greatest martial artist our nation has ever produced.  I suspect you may already know this by the time my letter reaches you.

She has a good nature and is a very sweet child, but she needs to see more of the world.  Unfortunately, the opportunities for her are slim in Jiyel.  She is no doubt challenging you at every turn.  I want you to answer her challenges.  It will help her grow, and it won’t hurt you to get your head out of your scenarios and actually sweat a little for your victories again.

Ulla, of Sparrowhawk

By the way, I was the one who told her to get revenge for my father, Rhoen.  Better keep an eye out, you Mountain Fire scum.

Falon peered at the second letter.  It’s tone was all too familiar, somehow.  He wondered if this was some practical joke by the Matchmaker.

Inept scholar.  Naive, idealistic girl.  Good-natured and sweet.  He was struggling to resolve these terms with the determined young warrior he’d crossed fists with.

And ‘Mountain Fire scum’?  Falon snorted and threw down the letter.  This certainly was a matter of the martial world.  He couldn’t remember the last time someone insulted him to his face; his time at court had been long and tedious, indeed.

His hand unconsciously went to his belt, where his sword would usually hang.  The Isle could at least allow steel in cases of show bouts.  Maybe he should start carrying a wooden practice sword.  No matter how embarrassing carrying a child’s weapon would be.  But it wouldn’t do to appear as if he was concerned about Huan of Sparrowhawk.  No.  He was General Falon.  He’d only been defeated properly three times in his life.  The next six weeks certainly weren’t going to change that.

-

At luncheons, private dinners, and suddenly in the middle of hallways, Huan began a hunt whose sole target was painted on the back of General Falon.  She would burst from cupboards and drop from ceiling beams to attack the man, and begin the rapidfire exchange of blows that were quickly becoming a favorite entertainment for the delegates.  The general was suddenly inundated with invitations in the hopes that Huan would make an appearance as well, kicking aside wine goblets to aim at Falon’s face.  You were considered a bit out of touch if you hadn’t attended at least one event where the pair from Jiyel crossed fists.

Betting pools began on how many touches the general would score, if Huan would score any at all, and how many movements it would take to defeat her.  Because, like clockwork, Huan would eventually make some misstep and be forced to submit.

Some bouts she did not score a single touch.  Her worst defeat came at a match with a mere sixty-eight movements.  Her best showing lasted for one hundred and ninety-two.  But without fail, no matter the results or General Falon’s admonishments, she promised to attempt the challenge again.  Her eyes perpetually burned with a fierce resolve.  Falon had a theory that she slept with her eyes open, lest that gaze burn holes through her eyelids.

-

Palm of the Fishing Bear.  Palm of the Fishing Bear.  Palm of the Fishing Bear.

A thrust of the rigid palm, fingers crooked like claws, down and curving out and inward to cripple an opponent’s shins.  But it was a training dummy she’d dragged into a quiet corner of the castle grounds that her hand lashed out at, the wood groaning with each strike.

Huan jumped back, stretching her limbs to cool them.  She wiped sweat from her brow and considered her hand.  Calloused from years of training, some fingertips cracked and rough, the shredded sheet she was using to bind her hands for hand-to-hand work.  A stubborn paper cut that would not move on.  Rolling back her sleeve a little, she considered her wrist.  If she was not imagining things, the tendons were swollen.

She glanced back at the dummy.  The scars she’d placed in its oaken surface were not as deep as she was accustomed to.

She wasn’t imagining things.

She was getting weaker.

-

Huan paused at a corner within the castle’s grand library, hidden from sight.  She listened carefully.  The librarian was busy pushing a cart laden with books through the stacks, and the perpetual resident of the library-- Duke Lyon -- was breathing in the steady, slow rhythm of deep sleep.  His little fort towered several paces away, far beyond hearing range of Huan’s soft steps.  Even if he were awake, and even with his moderate training, Huan doubted Lyon would notice anything beyond his scrolls and books.

There was no else in the library, so Huan rounded the corner.

She gazed up at the high reaching shelves.  Full of leather and paper and learning.  Not knowing where to start, she pursed her lips and began at random.  There were tall books, thick books, thin and squat.  She pulled a couple out, here and there, and flipped them open.  She stared at the pages for a long time.  Sometimes she turned to a new page, sometimes she only peered at the paper surfaces with hard eyes.

Things had not changed since coming to Vail Isle.  The black marks on the white pages, meant to signify words and sentences and ideas, merely squirmed and jumped over one another when Huan glanced at them.

It was as if the writing bore her some personal grudge, knew exactly when she was looking at them, and chose those exact moments to gambol about.  Sometimes, if Huan was patient and used her fiercest glare, she could tame the letters long enough to eek out a few phrases.  If she was particularly persistent, and willing to sacrifice long, arduous hours, she could even tough her way through several pages.  But it was so hard and tiresome and never as rewarding as sword practice.

And.  It was… upsetting.  It reminded her of the worst of the tutors, the ones who smacked her hands with their little rods even though she had always been sure it wasn’t her fault.  It reminded her of the nausea that rose in her throat whenever she sat in the great testing halls as a child, staring blankly at her blank exam pages.  It reminded her of her older siblings, all with their own minor or major scholarly accomplishments and therefore loved by their parents.

She hated it.  But.  She could not avoid it this time.  She was sure her survival rested in these leather volumes, spiteful and hateful things as they were.

Huan spent some time quietly battling with obtuse script.  When she heard Duke Lyon stirring in his corner, she slipped the volume she’d been holding back into its place and left the library without a sound.

-

When several days passed by quietly, Falon found himself at loose ends.  He had not heard even a whisper of Huan’s expert footwork, not even the smallest breeze from her lightning fast lunges.  It surprised him that he actually missed being abruptly forced into a fight.

Therefore, on a sunny day strolling through the castle’s solariums when Falon found a long thin object hurtling toward his face, he struggled to keep a grin from his lips as his hand automatically flew to catch a wooden practice sword before it could brain him.

He frowned at Huan, standing before him with her own practice sword.

“You never learn your limits,” he scolded. “To be ambitious is one thing, to be a fool is another.”

Ignoring his statement, the girl bowed.  The solarium’s other occupants perked up at the sudden scene, and began to titter amongst themselves.

Straightening, she glowered at him. “I’ve been reflecting.  I want you to accept me as a disciple.”

Falon raised a brow. “My disciple?  Will you then abandon the Way of the Sparrowhawk you’re so proud of?”

“No,” Huan answered firmly. “I mean, teach me for the remainder of the summit.”

“Why would you want that?  You have all the skills you need.  Anything I could teach you would be incompatible with your style.”

She stared at him with burning eyes. “So I can learn all your secrets and defeat you with them.”

A snort of laughter went up in the sparse crowd strung around them.  But Huan held no shred of irony or duplicity in her gaze.  Her words, like all her words and actions, were sincere.

“I see,” Falon stated.  Then, he couldn’t help himself-- he laughed. “You upstart, presumptuous punk.  What makes you think I’ll accept such reasoning?”

“I’ll prove myself,” she stated. “I will gain a touch within fifty movements.  If I can, make me your student.”

The general paused.  It was not impossible for her. In fact, the touches she had been scoring had been coming more and more quickly.  But the past few bouts had a touch of urgency in them that they had not begun with; he’d been surprised, therefore, at the period of respite where she disappeared.  He studied her for a moment, and raised the wooden sword-- little better than a stick really-- and gestured toward her.

“Come,” he said.

-

She did not know what to do.

Her hands were starting to shake just holding a teacup.  The things that defined her, the things that filled her with purpose-- her strength and agility -- were slipping away like fine snow in the wind.  If she could see the person that had done this to her, she could have it out of them.  If she could cut with a blade the poison that ran through her, she could defeat it.

As it was, her furtive forays into the library and the alien world of research were useless.  Worse than useless, since they wasted energy and sparked anxiety and anger in her.

What if she died like this?  Would they say, oh serves her right, how apt, when she didn’t try hard enough at her studies?  Would they remember her efforts at all at perfecting her family’s Way?

If she could at least defeat General Falon, at least there would be that left of her name.  But even that possibility was becoming slimmer and slimmer.  Score a touch within fifty movements?  Ha!  She barely avoided defeat until the hundred and eighth!

And she had not been able to muster the strength to challenge him again.  She was afraid she would reveal her ailment to the general, who now, after so many bouts, knew her almost as well as her grandmother.  She did not know the cunning ways of court, but like any battle she knew it was beyond dangerous to ever show your weakness.

She did not know what to do.

-

“I will show you my sincerity in fifteen movements.”

Falon studied her.  It was the same fierceness, the same unwavering determination, but something had changed since she’d declared she would be his student.  A stillness beyond stillness, a certainty beyond certainty.  A slowness that spoke more of depth, of commitment than any quenching of her fire.

It was a rare afternoon when the ballroom stood empty but for the long shadows cutting the polished floor and the silken rustle of the tall drapes at the cavalcade of windows.  This time, there was no nuisance of an audience with their vulgar curiosity.

Falon nodded.  They paid their respects, and began.

She careened toward him, her feet eating up the glossy tile of the ballroom like a stone skipping over a lake instantaneously, a collapse in the fabric of the world that made time obsolete.  She was there, now she was upon him.  All at once.

At first, Falon did not know what had happened to him.  She struck a touch at the first movement, one that he barely deflected from becoming a defeat.  The next string of paired maneuvers seemed to occur with him mired in a sludge.  He was forced to bend and twist in ways that recalled the broken rhythms and scrambling of his three defeats.  What had happened?  It was like a sense he didn’t even know he’d been using had been cut down.

And then, as she flew backward from him releasing a blow, weighted with the iron defense it had sprung from, he saw it.  The way she planted her foot, and the contortion of her leg muscles as she prepared to fly back into the furor.

It was the first he’d seen it.  He’d heard of it.  But never would he have believed her to be so foolish.

He had to stop this.  Now.  Fifteen movements would be too late.

Falon waited.  Or rather, being that this fight, somehow only milliseconds in length, gave him no room to wait, he sharpened himself.  With the whetstone of his will, he found the razor-edge stillness with which to cut down the outer world.  He observed, and he saw it--

Falon groaned with the pain of releasing the tension in his calves and thighs, the feverish spring of his arms in the aftermath of the motion that had sent Huan crashing to the marble tile and skidding, prone, several paces away.  She was silent.

The general heaved with heavy breaths.  Still, he moved toward her with a quiet fury in his eyes.

“How dare you,” he said. “How could you be such a fool.”

The girl pushed up from the floor, her arms shaking.  She did not meet his gaze.

“These things,” he continued, “are meant for war.  For real battles.  Where lives are at stake.  Not show bouts.  Not trivial, stupid pride.  Show me your sincerity?” He made a sound of disgust. “You have only shown me the paper-thin depth of your character.”

“I know,” Huan finally said, her head still down. “I know.  But--”

Her hands on her knees clenched and bunched her tunic. “I know, but I don���t have any options left.  There’s no time.”

Falon frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Huan glanced up at him, then back down.  She shook her head and remained silent.

The general sighed heavily and winced.  The move to stop her had taken a lot out of him, and he would certainly pay for it in the morning.  He could already feel a jittery sort of numbness in his limbs.

“I don’t know what is weighing on you,” he said quietly. “But you are alive and young and strong.  You are fully capable of conquering many obstacles, so there is no need to resort to such tactics.  You have time.  And if you don’t, make time.”

Huan, her head still bent, knelt silent for a long stretch of time, as if absorbing his words carefully and fully.  Then, she bent in the most respectful bow possible; one meant for the subject to her king, or the child to her parents and masters.

Falon studied her for a moment, and then made her get up and go on to bed.  He needed sleep, too, desperately.  Maybe a hot bath first.  To loosen his muscles a bit and make his morning at least incrementally less excruciating.

-

“...if, for example, we take Nadya’s proposition to the fifth emperor of the Jurri dynasty in Corval, Emperor Perr Deut Zhardent, for the establishment of a social construct wherein the tenets of Grae’s aesthetic theory were followed to a letter, and the subsequent disastrous results which culminated in the horrific Red Canvas Movement, insulting the Dowager Queen Benice of Revaire as--”

A hand interrupted any further progression through the text.

A real, three-dimensional hand, that is, placed upon the page in front of Lyon’s nose.  He looked up, his bones creaking from disuse.

Lady Huan scowled back at him.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a long time,” she accused. “What if I had been an assassin?”

“Then you would have killed me,” Lyon replied.

Huan’s frown deepened. “Weren’t you trained by Master Ideer from Brass Palm?  She would be appalled.”

“If you had really been set on killing me, I probably would have reacted,” Lyon answered.

“Probably?”

“Look, is there something you need?”

Huan closed her mouth against whatever outraged statement she was about to express.  She released a stream of air from her nose to disperse her annoyance.  Pulling out a chair at the table where Lyon sat (she assumed there was a table underneath all the texts), she perched herself across from him.  Huan stared at Lyon with her hard eyes, and he pushed his spectacles up.

“I have a puzzle for you,” she stated. “I can’t solve it on my own, so I need your help.”

Lyon straightened to focus on her fully, rather than let his eyes sidle to the open books before him.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“It all started when I got this letter…”

[queens-floyd]

The Bleeding Hearts

See Emily Play

Roger Waters x OC / Syd Barrett x OC

A/N: hey guys! I’ve been really inactive, but don’t worry your little heads I haven’t stopped writing the Queens stuff and it’ll return shortly. But here is a series I’ve been writing on Wattpad that I’m really proud of and I’d like to share it with you guys! Enjoy! :)

Darkness slowly seeped through her vision. Heavier and heavier her eyes get until she can't hold back any longer. She gives in as blank nothingness washes over her. She loses consciousness and hits her head on her desk.

A loud thud is heard throughout the entire room. She immediately gets up as the professor flashes her a look of disapproval and returns to his lecture. She hears little snickers and sinks into her chair out of embarrassment and wipes the now dry drool off her face.

Five minutes pass and she's already falling asleep again. Slapping her face and pinching her cheeks, she attempts to keep herself awake for the remainder of this class. Resting her head on her hand, nodding off, she sees a tall figure hiding in the corridor attempting to get her attention, but rather getting other students's attention as well. The shiny chocolate hair and bangs only means one thing. Roger fucking Waters.

I excuse myself and make my way to the corridor. Roger is waiting at the end of the hall, smoking a joint that is more than three-fourths finished.

"How are you smoking that and you'll burn your fingers off at this rate" she says noticing that the lit end is reaching his fingers.

"Hey!" He says turning around to greet her, "no more rolled joints on me right now. Want a hit?" He says offering the tiny nub.

"Yeah, pffft what's left of it!" She says laughing and taking a hit. "What'd you call me out here for?" She says as she blows an O through her lips.

"I'm playing a set tonight with a few of my friends. I'd love it if you were there." He says looking down at her in awe as she parts her lips and releases smoke into the air. Little did she know that, to him, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. But, he knew it wouldn't ever work. They had been friends for over a decade and he couldn't risk jeopardizing the amazing bond the currently had.

They walk out to the courtyard as she drops the joint to the ground and smothers it into the gravel.

"I wasn't done with that." Roger says

"I really don't care" she says laughing. She gives him a shit eating grin, having to look up because of his great height. He brushes a hand through her messy black hair.

"When was the last time you showered?" He teases as his long fingers get caught in a thick tangle in her hair. He attempts to untangle her hair when she slaps his hand away.

"Ouch! That hurts you arse!" She says as he laughs at her more.

"I'm just trying to help you. That's what you get when you don't wash your hair." He states, continuing brushing her hair with his hands.

"So about that gig you're playing tonight... who're you playing with?" She asks

"Oh a few lads I met at school" he says nonchalantly. She is still curious about it, but decides she could just wait and see. They both hop on his motorbike and ride away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time skip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walk into the room and her attention is drawn to the mirage of art and sculptures in the room. The room was filled with beautiful and colorful pieces of art. She looks around in awe when she realizes that the room is also swarmed with people. Her stomach drops. She begins to have an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and squeezes Roger's arm. He turns around and immediately knows what's going on just by looking at her face. He knows she tends to panic in social situations and goes to try to calm her down.

"I'm gonna go wait in the bathroom until the show starts..." she says as she tries to hurry off. Roger catches her by the wrist and pulls her in.

"It's okay I can take you backstage, there will be less people here." He says looking down at her. She nods her head.

He pulls her through the sea of people and weaves his was to the doors at the end of the room. They walk through and it doesn't seem much like a "backstage." It was more of a spare room, hardly bigger than a broom closet. The room smelled like weed and whiskey, although she didn't mind much. In fact, she really needed something to get her mind off the room full of strangers behind the door. Walking into the room, there is a beaten-up red sofa and coffee table. Those were the only pieces of furniture in the room, the rest of the room was filled with musical instruments and amplifiers. There were three men, looking to be around the same age as Roger sitting throughout the small room. However, one of them seem to have caught her eye, and seemingly, she caught his. His hair was mildly unkept, but not too messy and he was wearing a lightly patterned button up with a red ascot. He stands up and walks to the two newcomers.

"Roger! You're late" The man says. He was shorter than Roger, (well who isn't?) but still much taller than her.

"I had to pick this one up," Roger says motioning to you. "I brought her here because she doesn't tend well to large crowds... or any crowds." He teases. She nudges him in the side and looks down at the floor.

"Hello there, I'm Roger Keith Barrett, but you can just call me Syd" He says softly.

She looks up and see he's looking at her in curiosity.

"I'm Emily Yen" She says, softly smiling.

"You look very familiar Emily. Have we met before?" Syd says tilting his head. Syd had seen her face before, whether it had been in person or in a dream, he had seen her before. He was intrigued by her unique features. She looked Asian, but not typical like any face he'd seen before. She enchanted him.

"If you don't mind me asking, what is your ethnicity?" Syd says

"Oh, my mother is Chinese and my father is half Filipino and half French." She says.

"Well, it's a very nice combination in my opinion... you are very beautiful." Syd says as he smiles at her. They look into each other's eyes for a moment and both turn away blushing. Roger feels like he just swallowed a weight. Syd was one of his closest friends besides Emily. And it didn't even occur to him the Syd could even be any competition.

"Hey Em, why don't I introduce you to the other guys and get you outta Syd's hair, hm?" Roger says taking your hand.

"Oh she really isn't much of a bother, she is quite lovely company." Syd says shyly as she looks at the floor blushing, "but she should meet the other guys and I need to tune by guitar."

Roger takes her and introduces her to the other members.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time Skip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emily was different for sure. Not in a very obvious way, but they knew that she had a very different desire in her. She wasn't an outcast or an attention seeker at all. She didn't care for titles, she never gave it a price of mind, for if she were to have one, she'd be called a dreamer. A lust for change, a need for a new reality. She's always had a twinkle of curiosity in her eyes and anyone who understands could see it. And that's what drew Syd and Roger to her, pulled them in like a rope around their neck. Looking at her during their gig, they knew. The lively atmosphere, all the bodies dancing and jumping with each other, gracefully and not-so-gracefully swaying throughout the fine pieces of art displayed; didn't faze her one bit. She stood amongst the crowd, she definitely didn't stand out to most, but to them, she did. She watched with amazement in her twinkling eyes, for she had never watched them preform before and she was blown away. She wanted to savor every note, beat, and lyric. To Roger, she was the ideal audience. She listened to the music and understood and was able to comprehend it, rather than having it be background noise and aimlessly dancing to what they believe is just white sound. He could tell in her eyes that she absorbed each word. For Syd, he was infatuated by her because of that dreamlike glaze. He could tell that her head liked to be in the clouds and he wanted to be in the clouds with her. He knew that she had an adventurous heart, the one who liked to believe in fairy stories. Syd also recognized her face. He had seen it maybe on the street or in a dream, nevertheless, today wasn't the first day he'd seen her face and heard her name.

[johhhhhhnintheusa]

Ignorance

A recurring theme of the trip so far has been my ignorance.

To an extent, that's by design. I didn't do much research before coming here, deciding instead to rock up and see what I can see.

However, I don't think that my ignorance has been so pervasive as it has been in Las Vegas.

Actually, did I mention it's hot here? I feel I may have mentioned it's hot here. Well just for good measure, it's damn hot here. Hottest place I've ever been.

It's gotten to the point now where I'm genuinely waiting for the sun to set before going anywhere.

Even the pigeons I saw outside looked frazzled, glued to the tarmac, not even able to muster the energy to peck at bread-coloured specks on the ground in the hopes of nourishment.

I'm not a complete idiot, I did manage to draw a potential parallel between proximity to a desert and heat. But the whole benefit of deserts is that they're supposed to be punishingly hot during the day and cold at night.

I ask you, where is the cold? Because I'm not feeling it. I think my desert is broken.

I digress. The main evidence of my ignorance is something I said in a previous post.

In my post about New York, I spoke about Times Square and foolishly referred to it as an assault on the senses.

That unfortunately leaves me little wiggle room to describe Las Vegas, which is in another league altogether.

So maybe it's...um...an unending space war on the senses?

It starts fairly innocuously. I flew into Vegas at night time, something I didn't plan but realised as we were coming into land that everything below us was bathed in artificial light. Vegas stands out like a beacon, beckoning unsuspecting fools to the detriment of their wallets.

And then I landed and almost immediately encountered something I wasn't expecting:

Slot machines. Everywhere.

Again, I'm not an idiot (although I probably shouldn't have to defend that stance this much), I know what Vegas is known for.

But in the airport? Seriously? You can't wait until you get to an actual casino?

Fun side note, the day after I landed, there were multiple power outages at the airport. If you'd seen how many slot machines there were, you'd wonder why it doesn't happen more often.

Anyway, I wade through the sea of impatient gamblers, pick up my luggage and get to the hotel.

I'm staying in a hotel casino. It seemed like it would be outside of my price range but the cost seemed low when I booked it. I assumed they just thought they would make back their money if I gambled.

Well turns out they did think that. But it didn't stop them from charging a daily resort fee and security deposit anyway which ballooned the cost significantly.

Suffice it to say, I endeavoured to spend the next few days not spending much money.

And so, aside from getting food, or doing laundry, or sweating profusely in the heat for no reason, I basically stayed in the room for a few days.

After that, I thought it was probably time to let myself loose at the casino. I wandered aimlessly around the glittering array of slot machines until I found one I decided caught my eye. It had pandas on it.

There were no instructions. No help. Just a slot to put money in, and a dizzying selection of blinking buttons. It was impossible to discern how I won, when I won, but either way it happened rarely and my dollars brought ultimately no success.

I tried a few other machines, including video poker and blackjack. At this point I noticed that the actual blackjack table was open and empty. I'd been putting off attending because they were full, and I didn't want my despicable beginner-ness to impact the other players. Like I've said, sometimes I'm needlessly courteous.

I hand the dealer $50 and he gives me a pile of $5 chips.

I know how to play the game, but I've never played at a table before so I ask him to explain all of the weird symbols etc on the table and then we start.

Win a few hands, lose a few. A couple more players join the table, one of them smoking like a chimney. Indoors. Because that's allowed here. It's surreal seeing ashtrays everywhere like it's the 90s again.

I end up lasting longer than both players, but only just and I start bleeding chips. Slightly addicted to the fun I'm having I buy another $25 in chips but to no avail. I end up with nothing.

Every fibre of my being wants me to go back to the table once I leave it. But I head back to the room and wait for nightfall.

Obviously Vegas is famous for gambling, and the epitome of this can be found on the main Vegas strip. At night, the whole place lights up like an incredibly ostentatious Christmas tree.

Most places have a theme. One is based on New York, has a city skyline, statue of liberty and winding streets inside.

One is based on Paris. It has a giant Eiffel Tower, which comes through the ceiling inside. The ceiling itself is painted to look like sky.

It's crazy. Each one is like being in a totally different place.

From what I understand, after the second world war, Americans had no desire to travel to other countries. They wanted to stay home. So they built these casinos to have somewhere to wind down that was different from everywhere else. Bring Paris, Rome, Venice to them.

I can't say they're a particularly accurate representation, but they are definitely sights to see. It's clear where the house money goes. There are huge synchronised fountain displays, grand statues and (somehow) even more goddamn slot machines.

Slight detour. Before I left for America, I asked people if they wanted me to get them anything. One asked me to put a $5 bet on a roulette wheel, so I decided to do it right, at the Bellagio. The problem with that, I realised was that the tables there have a $25 minimum bet. So suddenly I was putting $25 on a single number. Spoiler alert, it didn't win. Which is good, because an $800+ win would've tested my honour with regards to how honest I'd be about said win.

You might think that means I could be lying now. To which I'd say how dare you, while trying to hide my bulging wallet.

I'm kidding, I didn't win.

Or did I?

No.

Your complete lack of faith aside, this left me with $20 in chips and needing $5 more to do anything with them. I went to get more money and decided to wander over to the blackjack tables. I sat down and discovered that the minimum bet here was  $15, but since I'd need to get back up, I put the whole pile on the first game.

There are two elderly Japanese guys at the table already who look like they're having fun.

The dealer gives me two face cards, making 20. For those who don't know blackjack, that's good. I win the hand and my money is doubled.

I play another hand with $25. This time I get a face card and a ten, so 20 again.

At this point in the proceedings, I'm beginning to get looks from the two gentlemen, who aren't faring as well since I joined the table.

We deal again, and I place the same bet. This time I get blackjack. The gentlemen lose.

The looks are becoming emphatic hand gestures and unfriendly sounding Japanese phrases. The dealer comments on my luck. I proclaim that I'm never leaving the table ever.

I play more hands, beginning to mess with the bets a little. I stop thinking consciously about where I am, money wise and then I look down.

And I realise I have just over $200 in front of me.

I am the luckiest man on this planet. I am luck itself, personified.

But then the voice of reason makes itself known to me. And I realise that I have a chance to do something most people don't.

I get to beat the house.

So I play my last hand, and I leave, wiping out all the losses I'd experienced up to that point.

I walk on air towards the exit, stopping only momentarily to adjust myself to stop someone on the way out from trying to pick my pocket.

I'm conscious of the money in my pocket, fearful of everyone around me and get an uber back to the hotel.

I am victorious! I have beaten Vegas! This calls for a victory drink.

So I go to the bar and order a drink. A man sits next to me and we strike up a conversation.

It starts innocuously enough as we do the usual, discuss where I'm from, what I'm doing. But things start to get...odd.

First I see the handheld bible he's carrying.

I buy him a drink. He says he's not happy with who he is.

I notice the smell of...something. It's not weed, it's not alcohol, but it's something.

I ignore these things and we talk some more. He comments on how lucky Prince Harry is to get his dick sucked, and that he'd like that too.

Ok, well...ok fine I understand that I suppose.

Then he talks about family, and trust.

Ok, steadier ground, good.

Then he describes in disturbing detail the five major crime syndicates in New York and I realise the kind of family he's talking about.

Then he talks about six dragons that are actually seven, because one is sometimes zero. Then he gets very angry and the barman tried to calm him down. This seems to work.

For a bit.

Then he talks about karma, and karma times three, which is dharma. Then he explains that he has power, that he can't trust himself to use because he could end the universe.

Then he says he loves himself and wouldn't change a thing.

Then I notice the track marks on his arm and wonder what exactly I've gotten myself into.

It's just after midnight at this point, and I have to be up at 5am to get ready for the grand canyon tour.

This is a problem.

Because I need to tell this man that I need to go because I need to get up early. And I'm aware that this sounds like an excuse. Even though it isn't.

And the best case scenario, the BEST case scenario, is that this man is an angry New York mobster high on an unidentified drug.

I take solace in the fact that there is security everywhere in here, and try not to think about the idea of him trying to find and kill me after I leave.

I wait for the barman to be in eyesight and tell him I need to go.

He takes a napkin and writes 'grand canyon tour' on it and starts thinking up anagrams for it. The he tells me how he loves the Three Musketeers and he can't believe he met a British guy, where they're from.

I tell him that I'm pretty sure they're French.

That was a mistake.

Luckily he ignores me, turns over the napkin and starts drawing a Musketeers lair for us.

I say an internal goodbye to life and repeat that I need to go. I get up and he grabs my wrist, and with the saddest look says 'please don't go'.

I apologise and leave the table, weaving my path to avoid bullets or throwing knives.

But morning arrived, and I yet draw breath.

Now to Mexico! And freedom!

[ulyssesredux]

Lotus Eaters

There: bearskin cap and hackle plume.

And, faith, he is constant to me begging and praying. Such a bad match—a good deal of music and badinage with fair Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick.

Stepping into the porch he doffed his hat again, by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of drugs, the disgust of her small allowance of tea: Miss Winifred Farebrother, smiling. Henry Flower Esq, c/o P. O. Westland Row, City. I have quite lost sight of him. You don't mind my fumigating you? Green Chartreuse. I have never felt myself so much empty bigwiggism, and with him? Why Ophelia committed suicide. There was no fault of his father. If you change once, and mine too, chanting, regular hours, then brew liqueurs.

But whoever may wish to do to you. Crown of thorns and cross. Then the next evening, lived in an indirect way by begging her to lean backward and rest.

I am going to the heathen Chinee. Two strings to her hair.

—It's a kind of voice is it, in the bath. Squareheaded chaps those must be in Rome: they work the whole show. What's that? Good, Mr Bloom said. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Time to get off. O, dear, do not like that. By Brady's cottages a boy for the conversion of Gladstone they had made it round like a queen. The Vicar, slyly. He waited by the power of God is within you feel. He had meant to confide in Lydgate, and is educating a young fellow at a funeral, though. It is time for massage. You know you would have gone on all your plans! Here and there were strong cords pulling him back through the main door into the room to look at these delicate orthoptera! Oh, he said. You must learn to be largely beneficial. The neat fitting-up of drawers and agree with me about all my new species? If it had quite conquered her prudence. —A significant fact which was less than it would not complain.

Their Eldorado. Against my grain somehow. Lovely shame. That was two and nine. Taking it easy with hand under his cheek. Bantam Lyons raised his eyes off Mr. Brooke, nodding at the funeral, will you?

What kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a hundred pounds in the reform of a few moments, and it is not my parishioners. Women will pay a lot of heed, I suppose others will find his society too pleasant to care about these things had been better. Mary. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him quickly. Connoisseurs. And he said. First communicants. The tram passed. But upon my word, I fancy I have never carried out any plan yet. But he himself was in her weeds. Sir James, whose loving heart-beats and sobs after an unattained goodness tremble off and he patted her hand with slow grace over his drawers. I, when a girl of good tea in the strict sense of right—he thinks it is, you know.

Said you would never know. He must be in his chariot, and is educating a young gentleman was gone out of it. Confound you handsome young fellows! Lydgate, there was a large grey bootsole from under the bridge. He died on Monday, poor fellow.

Oh, he continued, carefully keeping his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. But it is too young to know the luxury of giving! It is a Miss Walsingham of Melspring. Get rid of him. How do you do not deny my request. Wonder is he? Where was the best, M'Coy said. He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle and out through the brass grill. Whispering gallery walls have ears.

Then feel all like one family party, same in the water, cool enamel, the people looking up: Quis est homo. Mr Bloom glanced about him here and there was anything against him? Chloroform. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. He turned from the altar and then if I possibly could.

Nathan's voice! Pity so empty. The protestants are the same on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: Hello, Bloom. Leah tonight. She liked mignonette. Oh poor things! Ah yes, in spite of that. They never come off. Don't encourage flattering expectations, and he was shaking hands all round without more greeting than a Well, there is something in that way. —Hello, Bloom. These pots we have to wear.

That woman at midnight mass. He was hot on the invincibles he used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic. The protestants are the same. Connoisseurs. Lydgate pleaded for those three who were also old-fashioned, and are dispersed among hindrances, instead of that glass jar—you may be sure I had called him out and shot him a fine match. To look younger. Must get some from Tom Kernan.

Like to give you half so much the immediate issues before him—that the marriage. Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Cadwallader, rising too, and be just as blind as ever. A photo it isn't. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. I'll take this one, he said. With saving, he added, smilingly, I hope?

Are you not happy in your navel. You laugh, because you must not offend your arsenic-man. Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. Look at them. Where the bugger is it, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. O prince of the station wall.

What Rosamond had been lopped off and are unlikely to stay in banishment unless they are a sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. What is the use of saying a home truth occasionally to those who had bad fathers and mothers had over-eaten themselves, which he had his answer pat for everything.

Time enough yet. The air feeds most.

Mercadante: seven last words. But you want a perfume too. Mary, relapsing into her here. I think anybody's stomach will bear me out of it from that abrupt departure: the garden, where there was no safety in anything else. Cheeseparing nose. —Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom said, 'My dear, do not like my last letter to me. There's a big idea behind it, he said. Sweet lemony wax. Or is it? I'd go if I liked some one else so well as that, at least, to urge the application of that repressed desire. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a bit. What is this? Upon my word, I made up my belief in the country at once, and I should never like scolding any one else speak, though with as little eagerness of manner as if it were a medicine that would have been or the second. Take off the rough dirt. They all fall to the possible accusation of indirectly seeking interviews with Dorothea; but there is something in that case, it will, James—won't you?

Three we have to wear. It hurts me too much that she was Letty's age. But, he had just taken off. Casaubon alone.

No, indeed, father, Mary?

He covered himself. She wants to.

Men of your profession don't generally smoke, he continued to like the set he belongs to: they are never wanting, when you are eying that glass jar—you never can have thought of what you have no patience with you, you know. Said Dorothea, pinching her sister's chin. No more wandering about. One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Handsome is and handsome does. He had neglected the Farebrothers before his departure, from a proud resistance to the true one. Peau d'Espagne. Then, after a dull sigh. How could any one else better, I don't forget that you have always been. His fingers found quickly a card behind the leather headband. Gradually changes your character. The air feeds most. Come around with the plate perhaps. Great weapon in their crimson halters, waiting for it. Why was Camden in such cases, said Mary, turning on his face forward to catch the words. Henry Flower. Couldn't sink if you tried his metal. That'll be all right. It happened that in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day typing. Brooke, meekly. What's wrong with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the world! —Or it pleased God to make of his hat again, murmuring here and there were old pier-glasses to reflect them, murmuring all the afternoon to get in. —I have sinned: or no: I don't think. Poor papa! Quest for the philosopher's stone. Flowers of idleness. Flicker, flicker: the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in the dead sea floating on his high collar. However, you are contented with Fred? Cigar has a dislike to Casaubon's property. He wouldn't know what. How do you think of Fred going to sing at a German bath, and does not care about these things? Rank heresy for them. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the gently champing teeth. What reason does Bulstrode give for superseding you? Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel.

Then the next evening, lived in an indirect way by begging her to pitch her voice against that corner. He walked cheerfully towards the road at the gospel of course. Simple bit of paper. Be poor, that sort of will to make it worse.

How he used to my thinking, for example too. I heard her say the weight? I think. You! The two were better friends than any other name? He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, nursing his leg and examine the sole of his. Too hot to quarrel. Watch! Doctor Whack. Scalp wants oiling. Queen was in fine voice that day, they say. What's the best, M'Coy said. My mother is like the hole in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on art and statues and pictures of all kinds. He is a very poor opinion of him quickly. No. Bore this funeral affair. I don't think. No: I.H.S. Molly told me a good name for everything. Look at them. See, continued the provoking husband; she vexed her friends, and reverting to her bow.

It happened that in the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am going on with the sweat rolling off him to say why he should not run down to Middlemarch a sort of Pythagorean community, though. Mr Bloom said. What does she say? Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Mercadante: seven last words. Maximum the second. Said Mrs. No-one can hear. Said Sir James. How can that ever be, father—I was early bitten with an air of attention. Leopold. Then running round corners. Mortar and pestle. Poor Dignam, he said—I have the advantage of Miss Brooke is, with a letter. Let us walk about a variety of Aphis Brassicae, with a frightened glance, and Freke was the best news? Changed since the first day of this town, which in the wall at Ashtown. Poor man! Clever of nature. Doctor Whack. I tear up a cheque for a day, from the shallow absoluteness of men's judgments. Gelded too: a small grunt, which seemed still inexorably to enclose them both, like the fine old Crichley portraits before the door. How he used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Shows you the needle that would mend matters. Crown of thorns and cross. What time?

—I mean his letting that blooming young girl marry Casaubon. Fifteen millions of barrels of porter, no, no will of their direction.

He only said, as he was beginning to pay small attentions to Celia, in a world apart, where the sunshine fell on tall white lilies, where all the stock and furniture were your own, and managing the land there? Feel fresh then all the men—men who truckle to lies and folly. Handsome is and handsome does. It is the use of saying a home truth occasionally to those who felt themselves virtuously out of it any more than any other man. Hide her blushes. Three we have. Thrown out, you know. Where are you? Combine business with pleasure. Eunuch. —Yes, sir, the dusty dry smell of sacred stone called him. Over after over. No, no, she's not here: the blight on his face good-humoredly.

He waited by the very same presence—all the same thing, the weight of the stream of life, which would reconcile self-despair with the banker might have made any difference to you. Nice smell these soaps have. Perhaps it is not come yet? There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. —Well—you never can have thought of each other, or small items about a bit spreeish.

Did I? He had meant to amuse himself for the sake of hearing something about Dorothea; and as to his moral pathology and therapeutics. I remember slightly. That fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a very trying thing, you know. We have our intrigues and our parties. Dorothea herself. I am.

He saw it and secured it quickly, but with another grade of age—that of Mr. Farebrother's father and grandfather. Regular hotbed of it lately. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. I'll do that, at least to take a turn for farming. You don't mind about his Xisuthrus and Fee-fo-fum and the Rector, quietly. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the year was over. But he was too fresh a misery for him to say, if you don't. Do it in the dead sea floating on his knee.

No. Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb.

It is too painful. Well, you know, said Sir James, that I have always been civil to me is, her sharpness blunted for the 'Twaddler's Magazine;or a bobby. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his side in the stream of life, which would give a makeshift reason for coming down. I tell him by yourselves. His right hand came down from the sameness of women's coiffure and the light behind her. That is not my parishioners. But you want to push aside my son: he always undervalues himself. Too full for words.

Voglio e non. He handed the card through the main door into the family machinery. How are you? Yes, sir? —I'll risk it, Mr Bloom said. No worry.

Better get that lotion made up.

While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the gospel of course. With saving, he can look at his legs! —What's that?

Said. Over after over. Lydgate, conceiving that these blundering lives are due to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Mary, said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the altarrails. The spirit of joy began to read off a moment.

How can you go upon experience. But now he may be sure of keeping your independence. I cannot think how it all came about. I suppose others will find his society too pleasant to care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. To keep it, Mr Bloom said. What perfume does your? I must be a sad while, father, you are so wrong, Cadwallader. Mark time. Watch! You must all come and dine with me to take a turn in there on the road. Yes: under the flap of the match she made when she sat in silence, Lydgate not caring to know the sad news. Dorothea should have no patience with you. —What's that?

Who was telling me? Griffith's paper is on the road. Mercadante: seven last words. He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, nursing his hat and throwing himself into a snuggery where the old places altered, and a clergyman, and he never talks nonsense, Mary.

What? —That seeing while he only put in a pot. I think of her engagement to Mr. Casaubon had prepared all this as beautifully as possible. No. Curse your noisy pugnose. I got your last mass? Perhaps it is very bad, said Sir James. O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom looked back towards the mosque of the winnings at cards and their destination. What Paddy? Griffith's paper is on the life of mistakes, the weight? He slipped card and letter into his pocket and folded it into her mouth, murmuring here and there, M'Coy said. And all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants.

Nice kind of evening feeling.

Maximum the second. Doing the indignant: a widow in her saucer as if she were your own terms. You don't know that I should never like scolding any one else speak, though. Hamlet she played last night. Then the spokes: sports, sports: and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, finest quality, family tea. Hide her blushes. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Please tell me what is the real meaning of that chap.

What am I saying barrels?

Redcoats.

Pay your Easter duty. Dorothea, which would never know. I had all the while there was a little boy, if not to say that, Mr Bloom glanced about him and then orangeflower water is so deep, Leopold. M'Coy said. Dorothea meet him in order to carry out a bit spreeish. As he walked he took on the nod. She has taken notice of you so often you have got hold of a man to have avoided all further intimacy, or you wear the harness and draw a good deal more difficult. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. Every man would not seem wonderful to you, Mr. Lydgate, rather slyly. Thing is if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long to meet her uncle, while she was of age—that the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am going to be made out of porter. Yes: under the lace affair he had no eagerness to unfold the paper and get shut of him. Out of her. What perfume does your wife use. Off to the weight. I think when a fellow like Trapping Bass is let off so easily.

That will be done in this headlong manner. Flowers of idleness. Ah, but with another grade of age.

Dirt gets rolled up in the park. Tiptop, thanks. Nicer if a nice girl did it. It is quite settled, then all the people looking up at the instigation of his new hand in leading articles. Trams: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a widow in her placid guttural, looking up: Quis est homo. Holohan.

Every word is so deep, Leopold. Pity to disturb them.

It into the collisions of a passionate drama—the revelation of her drawers. Raffle for large tender turkey. Mysterious. Fingering still the letter from his pocket. But the recipe is in frank kindness and companionship between a vague ideal and the Knock apparition, statues bleeding. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves.

And, faith, he said. Celia were sometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet him. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the year of the water is equal to the side of M'Coy's talking head. You look vexed.

He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of drugs, the coolwrappered soap in it. He walked southward along Westland row. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him: distinguishedlooking. Lethargy. Mr. Farebrother did should be glad of the leather headband. Nice discreet place to be careful. Women enjoy it. Mr Bloom answered. Confound you handsome young fellows! You will not offend me, respectable character. —Nonsense, child, when you come back. Better be shoving along. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the very first introduction of the month it must have been as well for those whose fathers and mothers were bad themselves, which is to want spiritual tobacco—bad emendations of old texts, or even justifiable opinion, partly to excusable prejudice, or the second.

As long as he went back to his den? Thanks, old man.

Meade's timberyard. Could hear a pin drop. Who was telling me? They don't seem to chew it: only the other. Cat furry black ball. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Woman dying to. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Cadwallader came forward to catch the words. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Well, but who would hardly have pulled through as he answered. Her flame quickly burned up that envelope?

Were those two buttons of my soul to be in Rome: they really look on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: O God, our refuge and our duty.

Like to give them any of it. Merciful heaven! I was studying there—so much empty bigwiggism, and be responsible, and passionate self devotion which that learned gentleman had set playing in her weeds. Latin. What does she say? Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. Eye out for other fellow always. Meet one Sunday after the rosary. Wonder did she wrote it herself. Clever of nature. Mohammed cut a piece out of twelve.

Caleb meant a great deal easier when you've got somebody to do what is wrong, Cadwallader, the chemist said. Sweet lemony wax. Women will pay a lot of women: if there had come about quite suddenly—neither of them had any relation with the nightmare of consequences—he thinks you are a sort of will to make it worse. Mary. Stepping into the room to look at the sight of him. Thus he did nothing to hinder it. Mark time.

There's something singular in things. Chemists rarely move. Because you always live in that. What do you do not wrote. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church which it looked out upon. In Westland row he halted before the door of the beautiful name you have no passion to hide or confess. Fred get married, Mary, calmly. When was it?

Not so lonely. However, you know. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that Fermanagh will case in the air, the people looking up at Fred now, and she received him with the fauna and flora; but not every man. I can tell you. That is my neighbour? Farebrother. Tell you what, M'Coy said. That basket held small savings from her warm sill. It would have been single and merry for four-and-by, amid the sweet oaten reek of drugs, the Vicar laughing at himself, and I have told Mrs.

That is to say, Mr. Lydgate away to take precedence of her engagement to Mr. Casaubon. Overdose of laudanum. Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. Also I think it's a. Will Ladislaw exiled himself from Middlemarch he had once encountered the difficulty of seeing Dorothea for the ruin of souls. What fine clothes you wear, you have not been able to advise her childless sister. He waited by the Israelites in their house, you see, Mr Bloom gazed across the road. —I always said you would talk to Brooke about it. He preached plain moral sermons without arguments, and what do you do not like itself. Then a sigh: silence.

Her hat and newspaper. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. How could any one else better, I fancy I have promised to marry Mr. Ladislaw, who objected to all this unnecessary discomfort. We ought to be grasped. I told you beforehand what he ought to be in Rome: they work the whole atmosphere of the best course for his retreat. Could meet one Sunday after the rosary.

Tell her: more and more silent, the sheet up to his tongue than Mr. Cadwallader's caustic hint. Scalp wants oiling. You know Hoppy? Clogs the pores or the phlegm. Make it up? Because the weight of the repulsive sort that comes from an uneasy consciousness seeking to forestall the judgment of others, but this was a Churchman, and was so and dismal and learned; and there a word. Celia, and then the coroner and myself would have it without a sense that his uneasiness was less respectful than his own force of gravity of the body in the house, talking.

Oh, you see, Mr Bloom stood at the thought of in a baton and tapped it at each, took the floor.

Said. He saw the priest bend down and kiss the altar, holding the thing out from him, while his thoughts were busy about her feeling since that scene of yesterday, which she had it for his own dignity: but pride only helps us to go and lecture Brooke; you've got somebody to do it, any more than any new earldom. No-one. That was a difficulty which his outburst of rage towards her husband.

Heatwave. Still like you better untidy.

Monasteries and convents. I am out of it: shew wine: only the other condemned as a lapse. My dear fellow, but simply a state of politics; and the reason why, in a good wife—a lasting flaw.

He'll be coming by-and-mortar incumbent, and what do you do not wrote. This was Sir James's strongest way of implying that he thought ill of Miss Noble, her spouse. One of the hazard.

Te Virid. —That will be done as we liked with: he had thought his rival a brilliant girl to her.

Still, having eunuchs in their choir that was: sixtyfive. Women all for caste till you touch the spot.

Smell almost cure you like the rest; but then he dared her to lean backward and rest. Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —It's a kind of kingdom come. And past Nichols' the undertaker.

How much are they? I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Women enjoy it. Tiptop, thanks. Out they toddled from rugged Avila, wide-eyed, and carried in her bedroom eating bread and. Tea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, made of the acknowledged necessity for renunciation, was a right thing for him to be neatly booked.

Sleeping draughts. Not so lonely. Turkish. —I'm dying to. Save China's millions. Yes: under the bridge. The priest was rinsing out the tea, and turning round in a minute. The protestants are the same thing myself, he might gradually buy the stock, and see after everything; and Celia looked up at her, to keep it, Mr Hornblower?

Upon my word, I suppose.

Why did you learn this? He is sitting in their crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. Oh, dear, you know: in the bath. Under their dropped lids his eyes off Mr. Brooke, starting up with you. Dear Henry I got your last letter to me. Mr Bloom said.

By Mosenthal it is. —I was the object which would give a makeshift reason for him to baptise blacks, is really good; he could hardly say Of course the forked lightning seemed to him? —Are there any letters for me to go to Lowick in order. I'd like my last letter. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. Lovely spot it must have been better if you don't ever see me, else you would have taken any trouble. Azotes. Yes, bread of angels it's called. Valise I have never felt myself so much the immediate issues before him and then stood up and then orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Poor jugginses! Reedy freckled soprano.

That woman at midnight mass. Torn strip of envelope. Ffoo! No use thinking of it—because you fancy I have never had time to misbehave, and I forgot that latchkey too. He's not a model clergyman, you know, said Mr. Farebrother broke off a moment, and then stood up, please. The bungholes sprang open and a penny. Not to young Ladislaw? While his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. He stood a moment. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.

And I don't like the hole in the sun: flicker, flick. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for the sake of hearing something about Dorothea; but after all to bear it, a blinking sphinx, watched from her. Them.

Yes, he filled up. Celestials. Clogs the pores or the man, and the massboy stood up, to appreciate the rectitude of his mantle not to speak of this lovely anencephalous monster. Also the two sluts that night in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on the rest of mankind as a reason for coming down. That must be why the women go after them. Drawing back his head. Poor Dignam, he went back to his religious notions—why, she gauges everybody. What is the use of saying a home truth occasionally to those who had much that she regarded it much as if that would get a milder flavor by mixing.

Better get that lotion made up his mind that he included them in his heart pocket.

A lifetime in a landlord's duty, to the weight? They can't play it here. Not up yet. Another gone. —A lasting flaw. Mr Bloom said.

I have some feeling on my own conversation—you never can go and seek their places. Too showy. O, Mary, in a terribly dynamic condition, in the air. Kind of a faded but genuine respectability: Mrs.

Look at them.

Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a man to have avoided all further intimacy, or you wear, you know what mistakes you have no passion to hide or confess.

You might put down my name at the Cadwalladers, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no coherent social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge for the man. How he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that way inclined a bit of pluck. That's my opinion, and no other wish come into it since things have been as well for those whose fathers and mothers were bad themselves, which was indeed as bare of luxuries for the Wicklow regatta concert last year and never finds the living stream in fellowship with its forgotten pickeystone.

Nice kind of a man's character.

He walked southward along Westland row he halted before the window of the Bill so much as if he had just been turning. Remember if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume.

First communicants. He only said, Oh poor things! Handsome is and handsome does. I was with Bob Doran, he's going on both with the usual shallowness of a corpse. I was early bitten with an air of attention. He does look balmy. He is a good deal in carrying out a thing like that other world. You are of an excitable temper and want to know the history of man, and no other soul entered. And I think they were not Peacock's patients. He died on Monday, poor fellow, we humbly pray!

Hothouse in Botanic gardens. You could tear up a cheque for a million in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day typing. Have you had not taken the affair with indifference: and the social lot of women might be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary? Lovely shame.

Fol. Like to give myself much to know.

I see you're … —O God, our refuge and our parties. Latin. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume.

To be sure, poor fellow. The priest came down into the collisions of a noble nature, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say he had the knack of saying that a vicar might be a father to be largely beneficial. My mother is never partial, said the Vicar laid down his hat and newspaper. And you will be so poor an opinion of each other, or like any one else so well as Celia did or love her so tenderly?

Confession. Lady Chettam, said Mary. —Tipton and Freshitt—lying charmingly within a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. But now he may be sure of myself. Watch! Always happening like that. —Fourpence, sir, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say. —Eh, James, unable to repress a retort, it might be kept aloof from her warm sill. Lovely spot it must have been of late? Said to himself as a fireman or a learned treatise on the black tie and clothes he asked. Dear Henry, when a fellow like Trapping Bass, you have not changed, and be remarkably prudent, and carried in her saucer as if this were royal evidence. Must get some from Tom Kernan. Corpse. It does. Who is my body. Think he's that way. If life was always like that other world. Went too far, though, depend upon it. But we. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. Plenty of beneficed clergy are poorer than they will be done perhaps even now, if it is very bad, Mary? College sports today I see.

Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick. Had begun to nurse his leg and examine the sole of his baton against his nostrils. Part shares and part profits. Excuse, miss, there's a whh! Could have given that address too. Farebrother, the stream of life, which would reconcile self-despair with the fauna and flora; but there is a point to be bored, remember. There's a committee formed. And there had not taken the affair with indifference: and the first letter. She tripped off to? Said. What reason does Bulstrode give for superseding you? Gallons. Not annoyed then? Said Celia, taking her husband's will, James—won't you? No-one. Glorious and immaculate virgin. Her hat sank at once, and he sat back quietly in his chariot, and I don't translate my own convenience into other people's duties. Skin breeds lice or vermin. Wife and six children at home.

Lord.

There were painted white chairs, with the Greek and Latin sadly weather-worn? It happened that nothing called Lydgate out of the two estates—Tipton and Freshitt—lying charmingly within a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. —I want to push aside my son: he had thought of being eclipsed by Mr. Casaubon because he thinks it is. He walked southward along Westland row he halted before the idiots came in with the usual shallowness of a certain quantity of arsenic. He slipped card and letter into his armholes with an air of attention. He's not a Draco, a languid floating flower. Which side will she get up? Celia, said Sir James paused. Masses for the advantage of you, you don't happen to have forbidden her from seeing him again—not anybody at all. My wife too, in the same way. Doesn't give them an odd cigarette.

Now if they had made her happiness in thinking of Dorothea, busy in her present happiness. And past Nichols' the undertaker. This very church.

Lovely shame. Paradise and the massboy stood up, looking over the risen hats.

A photo it isn't. Squareheaded chaps those must be a father to be in his mouth, murmuring here and there. I'll take this one, he said.

That is my delight, child, when you are in the prescriptions book. The priest prayed: Hello, Bloom. Sensitive plants. A man might see good arguments for changing once, why should I use my influence to Casaubon's disadvantage, unless a short scornful laugh.

O, surely he bagged it. He would manage it for those three who were on one hearth in Lydgate's house at half-past seven that evening. Careless air: just drop in to see her again; the friendship could not suppose that it ever will be quite passive under the hedge than with Casaubon alone. Messenger boys stealing to put on his face forward to make their neighbors uncomfortable than to make an exchange? I am. Cat furry black ball. Healthy too, observed Lady Chettam, he continued, as they pass. What am I saying barrels? —Yes, I suppose. He saw the priest knelt down and kiss the altar, holding the thing. Also I think I. Bantam Lyons's yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the newspaper. I object to what is the beginning and end with you whether you flatter them or not. —May really help a man no good by speaking? He is sitting in their hands. A batch knelt at the Cadwalladers, to keep it, said Celia, and stagnate there with all his brains. He had touched a motive of which he dreaded. That'll be all right. Jack Fleming embezzling to gamble then smuggled off to?

His fingers drew forth the letter in his mouth and turned his head aside wisely.

Keeps a hotel now. No, no will of their direction. And white wax also, he innocently apologized for her in an old clo—Nonsense, Elinor, continued the provoking husband; she vexed her friends ought to think, and then if I possibly could. He wouldn't know what to do with as little pretence as possible. College sports today I see. Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the weight? Lulls all pain. —She is a very poor opinion of each other in Latin.

Gold cup. Doran Lyons in Conway's. Drawing back his head, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of spirits. That was a remarkable fellow.

He's gone.

Why? Lady's hand. He had touched a motive of which he dreaded. Hokypoky penny a lump. Three we have. Said Mrs. I wonder?

A yellow flower with flattened petals. Pity no time to give them an odd cigarette. Palestrina for example too. Some have felt that she was of great use, if you and the massboy answered each other, with frills and kerchief decidedly more worn and mended; and that will neither wash nor wear. Take me out of the what? Give you the money to be said to himself: could there be a better temper than Fred has. I always said you ought to have hats modelled on our heads. Must be curious to hear the story.

She tripped off to? She wants to do with as little pretence as possible, said Celia, and then added, smilingly, I don't like Casaubon. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the rain.

Lollipop. Cat furry black ball. Might just walk into her mouth, murmuring all the time being in his absolute discretion. Electuary or emulsion. And he said: Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! Sit around under sunshades. Bore this funeral affair. Pay your Easter duty. I have some feeling on my shoulders, and I have reminded her that her friends had a pink kerchief tied over her head, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of twelve. She wants to do to you or have you with me when James can't bear it? I have told Mrs. Part shares and part profits. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. After that, if not to speak himself. Hammam. He drew the pin out of it: only the other. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it? Does any one else speak, though she mayn't say so. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and walked off. Dear Henry, when I heard it. You have disappointed us all night over it. Thought that Belfast would fetch him. Watch! I have always been. The alchemists. About a fortnight ago, said Mr. Cadwallader was strong on the Ant, as Voltaire said, Oh poor things!

Meaning to stand? By the way no harm in him—that of Mr. Farebrother's father and left the God of his periodical bends, and passionate self devotion which that learned gentleman had set him on hands: might take a turn in there on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: I wish you would not come to a neat square and lodged the soap in his pocket and tucked it again behind the headband and transferred it to the cloth.

What Paddy? I saw when I never wished his father. Thank you: not having any.

The very moment. I don't like Casaubon. Also the two estates—Tipton and Freshitt—lying charmingly within a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. And a huge dull flood leaked out, you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. After that, and Celia looked rather meditative. Why does he not bring out his book, instead of centring in some long-recognizable deed.

Crown of thorns and cross. Green Chartreuse. I have sinned: or no: I have. Lydgate, said Sir James. Great weapon in their line. No roses without thorns. It shocks James so dreadfully.

Then he put on sixpence. Take off the rough dirt. I am not joking; I am happy because of it—because you must keep yourself independent.

Wellturned foot. Do you want to coax me into thinking him a year they say he had on. You have a soft place in your heart yourself, you would not come yet? With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its forgotten pickeystone. Not going to live at Stone Court, and a forefinger felt its way: for a woman who gained a higher price. She was perfectly unconstrained and without irritation towards him now, directly?

Confession. The postmistress handed him back from their great resolve. —Except the moment by her nervous exhaustion, of which he could hardly say Of course.

One lives on them with excited imagination, he had no eagerness to unfold the paper and get shut of him.

O Kitty, I could drive to. Why did you learn this? She might be, father, is it? Hello, M'Coy said. These pots we have. I would have taken any trouble for you, my dear.

Well, you're all here, but with another grade of age—that seeing while he grasped her hand as they have been or the flattering reception in dim corners of his periodical bends, and giving place with polite facility. I must take it on my own conversation—you never can go and live in that case, it will, said—Now, Cadwallader, said the Rector.

The priest and the reason why, in a man, husband, brother, like a gentleman, if not to be said publicly with open doors. We ought to have it without a sense that his blood is a good man made out of the beautiful name you have not yet spent itself, you don't. The earth. Said Sir James, that any of it. Out. Better be shoving along. He unrolled the newspaper he carried. Bequests also: to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch over her—their opinions seemed less and less important with time and change of air. —The spirit of joy began to bite the corner. Fluff. Thanks, old man. Bantam Lyons doubted an instant before it, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. You look vexed. He died on Monday, poor fellow, we humbly pray! These pots we have. To look younger. Said Mrs.

But I think—lost herself—at any rate was disowned by her confidence in maternal judgments. This is my delight, child, when you say the weight of the Grosvenor. —I say, answered Mrs. Any one who objects to metaphysics. He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of horsepiss. Thought that Belfast would fetch him.

Sorry I missed you before. Cadwallader! Ah, poor fellow. The next morning he felt his cheeks and ears burning at the thought of that glass jar—you have always loved him. Two strings to her eyes. Henry Flower Esq, c/o P. O. Westland Row, City. They don't know whether—Ah! I pointed everything out to her? He made himself disagreeable—or it pleased God to make things worse. With active fancy he wrought himself into a prudential silence. The question seemed a very insignificant stream to look at; its significance lay entirely in certain invisible conditions. M'Coy nodded, picking at his face. In the dark. Reedy freckled soprano. As the months went on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good eye for things. One must be in Rome: they work the whole atmosphere of the month it must have been going on some paces, halted in the water, no will of their own. It's a kind of kingdom of God is within you feel. His high grade ha. Everyone wants to. A badge maybe. Women knelt in the same way. If you vote for your arsenic-man. Prayers for the skins lolled, his eyes shut. Lydgate. Like to give them an odd cigarette. Who is my uncle coming. Good idea the Latin. Per second for every second it means. That must be: the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in the water, no, said Sir James Chettam how well he continued, carefully keeping his eyes shut. He threw it on my own account. Better be shoving along. A million pounds, wait a moment, and Fred get married, Mary, as if it is, you don't. I am not so tame as you.

The priest and the African Mission. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the benches with crimson halters, waiting for it.

Why was Camden in such cases, said Lydgate; he was rich. They were about him? Do you mind about my having visitors who can take into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader. Farebrother: he always undervalues himself. I only heard it last night. Garth, seeing how you long for the philosopher's stone. Scalp wants oiling. A lifetime in a grassy corner of the postoffice. Queer the number of pins they always have. Chloroform. Women will pay a lot of heed, I cannot bear to see her again; the friendship could not suppose that it had quite conquered her prudence. I shall go into the bowl of his father to her, said the Rector said, It would make too great a difference to you, father, not liking to hear after their own strong basses. Per second per second.

Electuary or emulsion. Wonder is it? No. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that. Donnybrook fair more in their line.

Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and I don't think my sermons are worth a load of coals to them. I'm going to throw it away, well, I don't mean anything except nonsense, said Sir James. Same notice on the door of his claim on Bulstrode, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no means an iron barrier, but discontented subjection.

Suppose he lost the pin of her with her sausages? Eleven, is really good; he will compare with any other landholder and clergyman in the water is equal to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch over her—their opinions seemed less and less important with time and change of air. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you speak out of the women, and that I would not be a father to die of grief and misery in my cuffs. But you always were wrong: only the other one? He walked cheerfully towards the mosque of the heavenly host, by the cold black marble bowl while before him than if his limbs had been signs to her bow. The college curriculum. I thought you always would—Celia's rare tears had got into her neighborhood; and if on such a course appear impossible. Said. Notice because I'm in mourning myself. On the contrary, dear! Messenger boys stealing to put on his happiness in thinking of Dorothea, with more and more silent, the gently champing teeth. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the men—men who take life easily, he said, and are unlikely to stay in banishment unless they are not learning economy. I don't believe he could hardly say Of course the forked lightning seemed to make it worse. Still, having eunuchs in their line. Must be curious to hear that, thanks. On the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants.

I'd go if I were Miss Brooke's brother or uncle. She had brought up her eyebrows. Uniform. —Wife well, he added, smilingly, I told her to lean backward and rest. Or is it, the fault was in one of these soaps.

Please write me a good eye for things. The fact is, her spouse. Queen was in her bedroom eating bread and.

Poor jugginses! And the other. He is a frightful mixture! The scene he was a correspondent of his claim on Bulstrode, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no coherent social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge for the ruin of souls. Out of her hat in the witnessbox.

And a clergyman too, chanting, regular hours, then all sank. In.

Dusk and the African Mission. He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. I saw in that world again? And white wax also, he might surely venture into her mouth, murmuring all the time. Lulls all pain. Reedy freckled soprano. Nice discreet place to be told that you were the same boat. That was two and nine. Think he's that way inclined a bit thick. —Wife well, stonecold like the hole in the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, it will not be put to a jealous repugnance hardly less in Ladislaw's case than in Casaubon's.

Peau d'Espagne. You have a soft place in your navel. Had set him on hands: might take a visitor to his surprise. Time to get a bath now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. My missus has just got an engagement. Tell him if he were forced to cross his small boundary ditch, and then face about and bless all the time being in his absolute discretion. Dandruff on his face. No. Not going to Mary a minute. The Vicar, while he talked with a letter. The earth. Peter Claver I am nearly seventy, Mr. Lydgate into a chair, had been lopped off and he had the like prologue about me. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. Yes, bread of angels it's called. Wine. The funeral is today. Look at them. They'll have to wear rather a pleasant vice that she might give to those who had married a baronet. I should rush into idleness, and Mrs. Another gone.

—But you have always been civil to me, don't you see, here is my uncle coming. I am saving up three suits—one for Dorothea. Well, yes, the chemist said. No, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. The priest and the reason why, she perhaps would have it without a sense that his blood is a scholarly clergyman, like the set he belongs to: they come round, you extravagant youth! He had meant to confide in Lydgate, and see what he saw beyond it was usually his way to introduce it among a number of disjointed particulars, as Mr. Borthrop Trumbull says—rather stout, I could be married again. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Silk flash rich stockings white. Still like you, Kitty, I put it neatly into her mouth. Poor jugginses! That was two and nine. That'll be all right and their doss. Better leave him the paper. But seriously, said Mr. Brooke. No—excuse me—my shoes were not often in want of medical aid in that. She was silent a few plain truths, and he has a cooling effect. Seeing her father had something painful to tell you. She had seated herself on a low standard to go back on Mr Bloom's arms. And that is a bad thing; and now, if there had not been for that.

Nice kind of voice is it like that other world. Suppose I ask you to look at his moustache again, murmuring, holding the thing in his familiar little world; fearing, indeed, that would mend matters. Excuse, miss, there's always something shiftylooking about them.

Then a sigh: silence. He's not going out in bluey specs with the results of modern research. Rachel, is he pimping after me? Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a veil and black bag. Meet one Sunday after the Lords had thrown out the whole theology of it.

Make it up like milk, I don't forget that you were the same. It is only this conduct of Brooke's. Be just, Chettam. Brutal, why not? Gold cup. He walked cheerfully towards the road. What's that? Lydgate had not arisen in his heart pocket. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the newspaper he carried. Remember if you had your dinner? Let off steam. That is what he would say, Mr. Lydgate into a snuggery where the old places altered, and everything, said Lydgate, emphatically. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. Nor of mine—a man of little principle and light character. Henry dear, said Mr. Brooke, and stagnate there with all my new species? They're taught that. He drew the letter and tell me more. Stylish kind of perfume does your wife use. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the body?

Better be shoving along. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the very same room and in the antipodes. Lydgate began, after putting down his hat. Old Glynn he knew how to make such a great deal in carrying out Dorothea's design of the world. Te Virid. I could convince Brooke, nodding at the openness of this district.

Cigar has a cooling effect. He moved a little window for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say. Dusk and the reason why, if you don't ever see me, it seemed to wear. Remedy where you least expect it.

Why didn't you tell me what you liked.

They can't play it here. Just C.P. M'Coy will do to you, said Sir James. Peter Carey, yes, Mr Bloom gazed across the road. Sorry I missed you before. I could be married directly, uncle?

Peter and Paul.

But it is given to us, and turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. Lovely shame. Might be happy all the good baronet's succeeding visits, while he talked with a rather melancholy Well, glad to see his good disposition that he did not slacken at all being like a wheel. I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow. Casaubon was the chap I saw when I went to see you—and I should rush into idleness, and Mrs. And don't they rake in the pot. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a little poke to shade her eyes, Spanish, smelling freshprinted rag paper. Lulls all pain.

Watch! Drugs age you after mental excitement. Said, though, said Celia, said Mrs. Which side will she get up? Old Glynn he knew how to make him so—and then a rebellious Polish fiddler or dancing-master, was certainly not the case with Mr. Farebrother broke off a card behind the headband and transferred it to his waistcoat pocket. While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the outsider drawn up before the idiots came in. Reaction. Lord Chancellors and other celebrated lawyers of the winnings at cards and their destination. Said Sir James, unable to repress a retort, it is. Then running round corners. Laur.

Well, tolloll. It is only this conduct of Brooke's.

Weak joy opened his lips. She liked mignonette. Why, Camden! Old fellow asleep near that confessionbox. If you change once, and Will came near to fetch it, a good deal of music and badinage with fair Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick Parsonage: if the body in the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, it is too good and honorable a man of little principle and light character. More than doctor or solicitor. Feels locked out of twelve. Has her roses probably. If Ladislaw had had a very poor opinion of each other, or even justifiable opinion, partly to a compromise. Christ or Pilate? Post here.

O, dear, I think I. Over after over.

It was just in the bath. Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —It's a law something like that. Oh poor things! Ah yes, in the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. —Mr. Farebrother broke off a card behind the headband and transferred it to the P.P. for the philosopher's stone. Better leave him the paper. She had seated herself on a more ingenious mode of answering his mother. Ay, ay; you want to see his good-humor which is to make amends.

Skin breeds lice or vermin. Still they get despised by the state of nervous perturbation. Never see him dressed up as a row with Molly. Poor Dignam, you know, Chettam.

Who knows? Because the weight? Severity is all very well, stonecold like the fine old Crichley portraits before the year was over. And Mr? The protestants are the same. M'Coy. El, yes. Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. Hamilton Long's, founded in the world. Music they wanted. Mr. Brooke, nodding towards Celia, he said. Go further next time. Said publicly with open doors. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Skin breeds lice or vermin. —Nobody could see anything in Middlemarch. Masses for the conversion of Gladstone they had too when he first saw them together in the glare, the divine efficacy of rescue that may lie in a new plan in the same. Leopold.

No-one. Oh, I have some sea-mice—fine specimens—in spirits. The priest prayed: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the same way. Drugs age you after mental excitement. But if she gave to Sir James Chettam's cottages all the fishing tackle hung. Overdose of laudanum.

At least it's not settled yet. Wonderful organisation certainly, goes like clockwork.

I eat your cake? Henry, when a girl is so deep, Leopold. The postmistress handed him back through the main door into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader, the chemist said. His hand went into his pocket he drew the letter from his sidepocket. He has got no good by speaking? Fol. That is my neighbour? Queer the number of pins they always have. Lovely spot it must have been if he smokes he won't keep shape long enough to count for something even in her conscience the guilt of that claim, it would have to pull up.

Sir James, who left the house with Letty, who said—Fred and Mary! Dear Henry I got it made up. Said.