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#charles soule when i fuckin CATCH YOU
bikananjarrus · 2 months
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so about that epilogue huh
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99pluto · 10 months
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Seventeen as F1 drivers
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So, my bestie and I are both into F1 and we’re carats, and this started as a joke, but I took it seriously. Tbh i don't even know how to use this website, anyway, i had fun with these. Don't take it upfront, it's silly and meant to be funny, not offensive.
Seventeen members as F1 drivers would be:
S.Coups: Michael Schumacher (Ferrari era). Huge crack that makes history ? Well kind of, just like Michael he’d get out of his car to go and beat the shit out of that one mf that crashed into him. No Javi would be in the team anymore, too scared for their life. Kimi Raikkonen type of radios (anger issues). Ultra competitive and would swear as much as Tsunoda.
Jeonghan: Christian Horner. Yes. He is a good tactician deal with it, kinda evil like Horner sometimes, but he’s got as much love to provide to his kids just like Christian with Max. He would start racing but find out he’s even better at managing a team.
Joshua: Sebastian Vettel (not Redbull era). Not Redbull era bc he was (unfairly) disliked (just like Max) at that time, and EVERYONE loves Seb. That’s it, it’s the rule, you like F1 ? You like Seb. You don’t like F1 ? You still like Seb. Unproblematic and engaged king. Also a fucking legend.
Jun: Valteri Bottas (Alfa Romeo era). Unbothered moisturized king that slays. He’s doing his things, he doesn’t care because he knows his worth, you saw him naked and didn’t expect that. Everyone praises him on how he owns his style and he fucking does. Is hilarious when you don’t expect him to be.
Hoshi: George Russell. Iconic, hilarious, massive talent, carried Williams, CARRIED WILLIAMS, nothing to prove cuz he’s one of the best altho the Mercedes is hard to drive, doesn’t complain cuz he’s EXCELLENT and races with an 8th world champion without looking ridiculous next to him.
Wonwoo: Zhou Guanyu. He’s calm and collected, doesn’t make much waves, he’s doing his things and looks good doing them. Good pics, insta feed slays. 
Woozi: Fernando Alonso. Dude will hit retirement age and still be talented, pisses me off. Rarely speaks but spicy and precise comments. Will sometimes mess with your mind, he is clever and knows how to handle himself.
DK: Alex Albon (Williams era). He’s EXCELLENT, is happy with what he has, he got treated badly when he was younger but now he knows his worth. Hard work, a sunshine, hella funny.
Mingyu: Charles Leclerc (Ferrari depressed edition). Huge ass talent (as in Max Verstappen talent, without the father trauma) but does silly mistakes, is also silly. Gets bullied by his own team, basically. Might look cute and all but can get pretty serious, like, fr, he’s talented and SMART.
Minghao: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes era). Fashion icon, all about healthy soul in a healthy body, ICONIC. He’s just got the Lewis vibe idk like they would be friends i wouldn’t even be surprised.
Seungkwan: Daniel Ricciardo. The official sunshine of F1, the marketing face, everyone wants to meet him because he is so funny, iconic, adorable and he is talented. He carries F1’s image, he is still a sensitive person and can get hurt, so don’t, he has SO much to give and gives with pleasure, don’t hurt him (Br*wn if catch u). No one is more Dani coded than Seungkwan (kinda Seokmin too but had to choose).
Vernon: Carlos Sainz Jr. Mf isn’t part of this world, he’s seing things we don’t, chaotic in a calm way. Looks always hot in an unfair way (i might be biased). Aware of how people perceive him as weird, thinks it’s funny or doesn’t care. Unique laugh, why do they transform into seals when they’re laughing their ass out ???
Dino: Mick Schumacher (post H**s shithole era) or Oscar Piastri. He’s is the future of F1, the boy proved himself, teams literally fought over him. Give him a mediocre car he will still pull some good result although he’s a rookie, update the car and he’s a threat to experienced drivers that have been racing for years. Also Mick personality vibe, fr there’s something. Also very sweet then BOOM, he’s fucking hot.
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tuesday again 5/18/21
i haven’t been able to get the tweet “castlevania is named that because it was the first metroidvania in a castle. hope this helps! :)” out of my brain. non-spoilery castlevania thoughts below
listening Mushroom Picker Dance by Flowex from the game Samorost 3. a good use case for spotify is making it spit out video game soundtrack i’ve never heard. i can only describe the bleeps and bloops as “scrubby”. hope that makes sense to LITERALLY anyone else. also my brain goes “ping!” when the guitar kicks in
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reading the first volume of the poe dameron comics and ONLY the first volume of the poe dameron comics written by charles soule and mostly illustrated by phil noto, bc my library does not have the other ones. serviceable! checked back in with my brain about if we still like mr noto’s art and brain said “yes!”. i will not remember thesec omics by next week, and that’s good, bc they’re good enough to serve their purpose in the moment but don’t veer into gross weird shit. just regular weird star wars shit that’s never really explained, like this big egg.
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watching castlevania s4 is more coherent than s3 but i still don’t enjoy it.
e9 is genuinely some of the most technically excellent animation i’ve seen in my life and way more than i expected from a netflix anime. well fuckin done there at least. sorry you’re all trapped in the stupidest plot that’s somehow not an idiot plot it’s just very poorly conceived
wish the trio got together earlier
as @itsybitsydragon​ pointed out, this show has the bad habit of undercutting its most emotional moments with low-quality banter. now, i do love some levity and some banter, but a time and a place gang
if they give me a s5 i am going to riot bc everything i wanted out of castlevania i got from crownofpins’ Baba series. and an extra three seasons of bad tv (so sad they cancelled it after s2) is extra shit i don’t need in my brain
playing new plan: instead of kind of shrugging every week and going “yeah nothing new in genshin or stardew or pocket camp” i am going to randomly generate a word (not the first word, but the first word that catches my fancy, bc the first word i got was “investment” and i don’t care for that very much). i will take that randomly generated word (this week is “bronze”) and go to itch.io, home of unspeakable games.
this week we have (free! play right in your browser!) The Flame Prepared - “In a retro-futuristic reflection of the collapsing Bronze Age, you manage a telephone switchboard that connects people across the world.“
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it’s a cool concept, and it’s remarkably polished for a two-week game jam game. there’s not a lot of moving parts, and it all clicks together nicely. i do wish there were fewer hard failure points- this feels like it wants to be a traditionally-formatted visual novel with maybe a minigame instead of the format it is in now (although it uses the format it has very well imo- it makes textual sense and it does reinforce the feeling of desperation as you try to do something anything to help people within the confines of your job). it is satisfying to run your cursor over the tiles and watch them shiver a little, and it is satisfying to plug in the switchboard wires. they also did a good job of juggling eight separate characters’ storylines in under an hour and tying things up nicely.
the makers of the game have a more hopeful view of enacting change within a system than i do, but that’s too long to get into for a tuesdaypost. have this other thought instead: i’ve been playing a bunch of very asset-flippy Unity game demos for research lately (you’re a dude, in a mysterious corridor-based environment, trying to solve a Mystery by shooting things), which made the lesbians in The Flame Prepared stand out more. in my off time i do specifically seek out games with strong queer overtones OR canon queer characters, but this wasn’t tagged as such and it was Nice after a slew of things i didn’t particularly enjoy
making crossed stitch, the evergreen wretched hive pattern. damn i did a lot since the last time we saw this, two weeks ago
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dustedmagazine · 3 years
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For Those I Love — For Those I Love (September Recordings)
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There’s the Ireland you know. Leprechauns and pan flutes and weathered Celtic crosses and Joyce and Beckett and U2 and Aer Lingus and wistful stories of Charles Parnell and corned beef and cabbage and Kerrygold butter and potatoes, endless potatoes except in the famine, and Guinness and Jameson and names like Sean and Brian and Roisin and Siobhan and hurling and faded IRA murals and St. Patrick driving all the snakes out and Grian Chatten’s fuckin’ diddly-diddly-aye and a great green sweeping countryside washing out to the ocean.
Then there’s the other Ireland, the real one the tourism board doesn’t touch.
The one in the study that showed 49% of women reported being sexually assaulted or harassed, that 31% of adults experienced sexual harassment, that 15% have admitted to being raped at some point. Sex offenses on the rise, residential burglaries on the rise, public drunkenness on the rise, and all of that was before the pandemic. And somebody has to make up that 5.16% unemployment. For a nation it takes five hours to drive one end of the other in, there’s more than enough of the roughest stuff to make hard hearts of the softest souls — and it’s that Ireland, lacerated and flush with those scraping by to the tune of everyday strains, which serves as the backdrop to David Balfe’s nine-track therapy session and debut full-length under the For Those I Love name.
The entire project is fueled by the suicide of Balfe’s best friend. It helps to know that Balfe’s friend in question also happened to be one of Ireland’s most celebrated young poets and performers, Paul Curran. Before his passing in 2018, the songwriter and vocalist from post-punk band Burnt Out was an outspoken advocate of working class youth identity and the forces conspiring against it. “Dear James,” to take the band’s best example (and one that gets namechecked on For Those I Love), was itself a true story about a teen’s public suicide in the early 2000s. “The pressure of merit, valid work, social status and identity” were at the root of Curran’s art. It’s no different with Balfe: Every one of these songs is shot through with local flavor shedding light on similar experiences, most of them painful.
Some of what you hear on For Those I Love cropped up in cruder, briefer forms across the 47-minute mixtape/hodgepodge Into a World That Doesn’t Understand It, Unless You’re From It posted to Bandcamp in August ahead of “For Those I Love” the single — if nothing else, David’s certainly made his intentions clear — which arrived fully formed both musically and visually the following month. So proves the rest: Written and recorded out back at night in his mom’s shed in Donaghmede north of Dublin’s city center, For Those I Love is a wonderfully open-hearted portrayal of young Ireland akin to contemporaries Fontaines D.C. or the Murder Capital.
The method by which he conveys that perspective, however, shares almost nothing in common with those bands. Indeed, the most jarring aspect of For Those I Love might be the music itself: Balfe talks his way through stories and rarely rises above a quiet flooded monotone of weighty thoughts that runs itself dry irrespective of the track beneath it, which often strikes an optimistic note, a positive tone, an upbeat figure. He’s already been slapped with the “Irish Streets” billing, but his homespun productions are a little richer than Mike Skinner’s and wouldn’t sound out of place at an EDM festival or a Night Slugs party a decade ago, full of post-Burial long synth decays, atmospheric vocal samples and house rhythms as the bedrock for his eulogies.
Take “You Stayed / To Live,” which resembles a Caribou castaway as Balfe describes stealing and setting fire to a couch (possibly the one from the “Dear James” video), then veers into a digression about their younger years hanging at each other’s houses, playing in a band and how fire reminds him of Curran now. “To Have You” is similar, assuming the dynamics of a big room build-up with huge piano strikes, thumping kick drum and, improbably, a sample of Bread’s “Everything I Own”; Balfe’s vocals, meanwhile, wrestle with the instrumentation. It’s not always clear exactly what he’s saying (and not just because of the brogue), but you get the point, understand the message.
“Top Scheme” is comfortably the shortest song on the record at less than three minutes, but it’s also the most aggressive. Balfe notches up the intensity by giving the state a proper goodnight/fuck off flip of the fingers. “How can we not feel this rage / When the therapy costs more than half your wage / And you’re turfed back out the same that very day?” Though he doesn’t always go for the throat of the system outright, it permeates all his and his ilk’s tortured actions.
Balfe is at his best when the beats match the gravitas of the subject matter. “The Shape of You” is a raw heartbeat where the music perfectly matches a lighter tale of wasted youth waking up to a Belgian hospital and the joking romp it took to get him back home; its extended outro, better even than the occasional recorded interstitials between tracks, serves as a space to collect yourself. Along with “Birthday / The Pain” (whose Finn remix, it’s worth noting, eclipses the original in its ebullience), it might be the most uplifting song here. The latter is an ode to surviving a world fraught with violence, but it’s the unexpected brass sample that slides in like a herald announcing love’s arrival that really catches you out.
Yet for all of that, there is still no better song to explain what For Those I Love is about than the title-track. It was a smart move to close the album with “Leave Me Not Love,” which interpolates the opener and brings things full circle, but the wordplay at work as Balfe elevates Curran’s memory to nigh holy status remains the album’s best. You can feel the anguish in his own muted way as he runs back through face guards, grief and knaves talking tunes and poems with too much weight for his age. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more open wound in music over the past year.
There have been times when I’ve, say, longed for a good crumb cake and my mom has commented on how it was one of my grandfather’s favorites, or I catch myself watching thermite welding videos on YouTube a little too long and remember I’m my father’s son. A person isn’t just who they are, it’s what they pass on to the rest of us, the little quirks and the stories we tell ourselves to remember who we’ve lost and who we’re losing. Both are inevitable. “I have a love and it’s full of pain” go the last lines of For Those I Love, but I say they’re indistinguishable, that you couldn’t know the grace of one without the other’s suffering. That’s how you know it’ll never fade. Tell all your friends, I’d say.
Patrick Masterson
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stella-monstrum · 4 years
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Bride Of Chucky (1998), Rated R [A beginners crash course]
WARNING: This article contains clips and photos that I do not own and are simply including to watch along with this article. NSFW CONTENT AND POTENTIAL SPOILERS AHEAD)
(Written by Stella, edited by Jacob J.)
In the era of “semi charmed” living, the birth of Viagra, & heartthrob Leo, 1998 was also a time for some unique box office horror films.
For my first post, I want to really dive into the Don Mancini Chucky franchise. I have a history and (albeit irrational) fear of the twisted “Good Guy,” but dammit—I figured it wouldn’t really hurt to give Bride of Chucky a view for the first time.
To be fair, I did go into this without watching Child’s Play at all. If you, like me, are new to horror, let’s be honest—skipping it completely wouldn’t hurt. Let’s start by talking about the cast, shall we?
We’re joined once again by Brad Douriff (as notorious serial killer Charles Lee Ray—AKA Chucky), this time with a new slate of co-stars to join him.
Jennifer Tilly as Ray’s scorned ex-lover (Tiffany Valentine),
Romeo & Juliet like lovers Katharine Heigl (Jade) and Nick Stabile (Jesse),
Their best friend (and somewhat voice of reason), David (Gordon Michael Woolvett)
Chief Warren Kincaid (John Ritter), Jade’s shitty cop dad
Lieutenant Preston (Lawrence Dane)
Norton (Michael Louis Johnston), Warren’s officer rat
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From L-R: David, Jesse, Jade, Warren, and Norton. (Screencap, Bride of Chucky, 1998)
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To sum the film up, Tiffany Valentine sets up an officer to bring her the ripped-to-shreds “Good Guy” so she can hold a ritual to put Ray’s soul back into the body of Chucky. From then on, the film deals with commitment issues, Tiffany ending up in the body of the “bride”, and two HS teens who run away on a road trip to New Jersey when Jesse gets paid to take the (unknowingly) possessed dolls to the gravesite of Charles Lee Ray. Moreso, shit goes south very quickly when Jesse and Jade get framed for the murder spree that the dolls commit.
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Now to the nitty gritty of what I loved, hated, and honorable mentions of the 1hr 29min film:
(Cont)
LOVES:
1) Balance of well-timed comedic one-liners, masochism, and satisfying kills
Let’s face it—every shitty character that a film makes you hate from the get-go eventually gets what’s coming to them.
—The karma-filled death of Officer Warren. Whilst Jesse and Jade believe that Warren is not home, they pack for their little road trip. Warren shows up to plant drugs into the van, which makes Tiffany and Chucky take matters into their evil little doll hands so that their plans don’t get derailed. Tiffany lures Warren to the front of the vehicle, only for him to be met with a face full of nails ejected from opening the booby-trapped glove box.
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(Screencap, Bride of Chucky, 1998) (If you’re curious, you can view the scene HERE) 
Talk about getting NAILED, but not in the fun way HAHA
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My most favorite thing about the film BY FAR? The comedic and perfectly timed one-liners.
 —On the theme of masochism, after Jesse and Jade elope at one of those cheesy quick marriage chapels, they spend the night in the honeymoon suite. They meet a swinging and swindling couple who steal the $500 Tiffany left for Jesse to make the trip. Tiffany and Chucky catch the woman and sneak away to get their revenge after Jesse and Jade fall asleep. The swingers die (in a very cool, albeit horrible, way) when Tiffany throws a bottle of champagne into the voyeurism mirror above the bed, leaving the swingers a shredded bloody mess amidst pieces of now-shredded waterbed. [Pt. 1, you can view HERE.)
 Valentine’s brilliance gets Chucky…“going” (look, I feel weird even typing that), and they decide to act out what every kid does with dolls when their parents aren’t looking. In the middle, Tiffany asks Chucky, “Do you have a rubber”? To which Chucky replies that he’s made of rubber.  (Okay, view at own risk of ruining your childhood HERE.)
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2) Story & timeline recap and consistency
Like I mentioned in the beginning of this review, you really don’t need to watch “Child’s Play” to get the gist of this film whatsoever.
—When we’re introduced to Tiffany’s trailer home, the camera takes a brilliant panoramic stroll across a shelf of newspaper clippings that she had kept. These clippings detail the date when Charles Lee Ray (Chucky) was caught & killed, as well as the snippets of Andy telling the police that the “Good Guy” doll was responsible for the murders all the way in 1988’s first installment.
The Heart of Damballa” AKA the Amulet
—When Chucky gets back at Tiffany for keeping his doll form locked up in a wooden play-pen, he eventually escapes, electrocutes Tiff in the bathtub, and transfers her body into the bride doll that she got to give Chucky as a sick joke (will explain later on). When they’re both stuck in their new bodies, Chucky explains (as the film shows), that when Charles died, he had the amulet around his neck that transferred his soul (as seen in Child’s Play)—hence the road trip to get it so they can do the same with living potential vessels, Jesse and Jade. 
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[The Heart of Damballa, buried with Charles Lee Ray. (Screencap, Bride of Chucky, 1998)]
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DISLIKES:
1) The extremely hot/cold cat-and-mouse game between Chucky and Tiffany throughout
This all stems from Tiffany finds a ring that she believed Charles had left for her after he’d been caught and gunned down. Chucky shortly informs her that she was “fuckin’ nuts” for thinking that he’d commit (hence Tiff getting set off and locking him in the pen). Sure, a couple argues here and then. But in this case, when the audience (I) think(s) that there’s a breather, they continue to pile on. I get that they’re laying out the character dynamic, but it’s a bit much. They have heartwarming moments (considering the fact that they’re serial killers), but as soon as you blink, they want to kill one another.
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[Tiffany taunting Chucky after locking him in with his “bride.” (Screencap, Bride of Chucky, 1998)]
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 2) THE ENDING—okay, well, specifically one piece to the finale of the film
As the police hunt for Jesse and Jade, Lt. Preston finds them at the dug-up gravesite of Charles Lee Ray. Preston then sees the evil and very much alive doll. Preston tells Jesse and Jade that the police won’t believe what’s clearly unfolding. He then gets a call and simply says (I’m paraphrasing) “Well, Jesse and Jade, they didn’t do it.”
—Honestly, it came across as anticlimactic. I would have liked to see them get further framed, because, at that point, I couldn’t stand the couple anymore. That’s just me being a cynic.
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(Screencap, Bride of Chucky, 1998) [Preston taking a phonecall]
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HONORABLE MENTION:
The soundtrack!!! As much as I love films, the first things that stand out to me about any movie are the score and licensed music that go along with them.
If you’re not familiar with the artists, the groovy/rocking/brooding musical picks fit so incredibly well with their placements within Bride of Chucky and oh so perfectly encapsulates a true throwback ‘90s film.
From SLAYER and Judas Priest to White Zombie, Blondie, etc., this album fully kicks ass and makes you feel much more immersed into the movie.
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(Credit: Genius.com)
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All in all, the humor aforementioned in #1 saves the minor annoyances in this film for me. If you’re terrified of the dolls (like I was), this is the perfect “ice breaker” to start out with.
Rating:  🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 (4 out of 10 Stabs)
Anyone still want Tiffany’s meatball recipe?? 
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(Screencap, Bride of Chucky, 1998)
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nightofthewerehunty · 4 years
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So I’ve forgotten how to use tumblr on my iPad and I can’t do the cut for a read more. Sorry, guys. But here’s my Peaky Blinders fanfiction on the relationship between Thomas and Ada. I’ve given the link to AO3 above so use that if you’d like to comment. Cheers!
Rot
When she’s feeling unkind towards herself, she thinks there’s a rot somewhere hidden, festering and spreading through her veins. Soon it’ll reach her heart. Or maybe that’s where it was hidden. Where it started, her black heart. Ada would know if she ever payed attention to that particular organ. Kidneys? Sure, have a look. Liver? Yes please, she needs it to drink. But her heart? Well, does it matter where the rot came from once it gets there? Ada doesn’t think so. And she feels it, burning and burning and burning away inside her chest until its all she can do not to cut out the charred organ herself. She thinks of Freddie, not out of love which may seem cruel, but out of curiosity. Would the infection have spread if he was alive? If she was a romantic, which she’s not, she’d have said that she doesn’t have a heart to infect. Buried it long ago with her husband, and then again with her morals, and then again with Grace so maybe Freddie’s death started something but it was something that would have happened even if he lived. Taken a little longer, maybe, but happened all the same. When she’s feeling kind towards herself, she gives the rot a name; she calls it Thomas.
Ada spends her life reading the moods of Thomas Michael Shelby and she’s perfected it after the war. She’s learned to hear the unspoken in his words. The threats behind his whims. It’s business, Ada. That’s what she tells herself and that’s what he says. It’s all just business. Legal. Illegal. On the books or off. It doesn’t matter. It’s just business. But that was before Grace, before the Russians. Tom’s different now and all her hard work of understanding him is thrown to fucking shit. How can she hear his unspoken words if he doesn’t fucking talk anymore? It’s all just lists now. Pieces of paper she has to burn when she’s through and it takes everything inside her not to chuck Tommy into the flames with his small written words. Did you get my list, Ada? Did you make your list, Ada? Have Arthur and John got their fucking lists, Ada? And Pol says he’s grieving, to give him time and he’ll be back. Back with the family where he belongs and Ada thinks while Polly drinks that Tom’s never belonged anywhere. At least, not after France. Not after the mud and the blood and the fucking bleak midwinter that the brothers always reference as if she doesn’t know what it means. As if it was something far removed from her. As if she wouldn’t be losing her entire fucking family if the bleak midwinter where to rear its bloodied, muddied head.
Ada knows about grief. She’s studied it her whole life. First with her mother and then with her father. Then Freddie and that took more than she cares to remember to make it out the other side. But she had Karl and that was important. Tommy has Charles and that’s good, but what Tommy needed was Grace. Ada won’t speak to love on another’s behalf, but if she was forced to, she’d say that Tommy belonged with Grace. And if she was drunk, like proper drunk and asked, she may even say it was Grace who lifted Tom out of the mud and the tunnels and the blood. Then Polly would roll her eyes while sipping her whiskey and Ada would remind her that she’d already said she didn’t want to talk about love while she fills her glass back to the top again. Back to the top, Ada thinks and swirls the contents of her glass. Tommy’s always trying to get back to the top. Top of the business. Top of the family. Top of the earth and tunnels and mud and fucking everything else he was before he was buried in France.
“What if you don’t get back?” She finds herself asking him one evening after too much wine and too many cigarettes and then a few more whiskeys to remind herself why the wine was too much.
“Back where?” He says after a pause to light his cigarette and he stares. His eyes catch the light of his flame and the gold of his whiskey, and for one moment, for one short, tiny, little fucking moment, he appears as a man. Just a man with his vices.
“I don’t know, Tommy. Wherever it is you need to get back to.”
Thomas puts out his cigarette with force; it’s his favorite thing to do when he doesn’t like the direction of a conversation. When it feels out of his control. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Thorne,” he says and his contempt rolls off his tongue into her ears. She’s not Ada tonight. She’s a stranger sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. And if she wasn’t so angry at being shut out, she might revel in the idea that she understands him again. That he’s back to speaking words and not writing them.
“What I mean is, Mr. Shelby,” she spits, “will it be worth it? All this? All you’ve done?” Ada watches the questions roll off Tommy’s face as he reaches for his cigarettes again. He slips one between his lips with an upward tilt of his mouth; it’s the sorta expression he wears when he finds things funny.
“I don’t know, Ms. Shelby.” So she’s back to being a Shelby now. Tommy always did like it when she fought back. That’s our Ada, he’d say when she’d come home with her bloody lips from her scraps by the cut. What poor soul crossed you today, he’d joke as if he didn’t know the reason for her bruises. As if they could pretend in that one childish moment that they weren’t scum. The lowest of the low. Poor and Gypsy and fatherless and motherless. Our Ada, he’d say as if they didn’t all spend every fucking second of their lives outside their home fighting because the world picked the fight first. “Is it worth it?” Tommy muses while he lights the tip of his smoke and stands. “You tell me,” he says and walks to the cabinet to pour himself another drink. “Those furs, that wine, your home in London. Is it worth it, Ada?”
“I’m not talking about me, Thomas,” she says angrily while sloshing some whiskey from her glass. She wasn’t expecting him to ease back into his gentle threats as soon as he began speaking again. But that’s her fault. Tommy’s a cornered beast. She knows that. Grief can make an animal still but it’ll never defang it.
“And what are you talking about, eh?” He asks louder than her outburst without turning away from his liquor cabinet. “You talking about business?”
“Fuck the business, Tom! For fucks sake!” She yells. “When was the last time you saw Charlie? You spend ten minutes with him every morning and night, that’s it,” Ada takes a pause to sigh and sip her drink. Tommy won’t look at her. He sinks his head down to rest by his glass. “He asks for you, Tom. And that’s so important right now, that he’s asking for you.” He raises his head to down his whiskey. She’s pissed him off; she can tell by the slam of his glass and the jerky motion of him refilling it. She’s too close to saying what Tommy won’t allow to be said. Grace may be dead, but God help you if you acknowledge it.
“And what does it matter to you? Eh?” He stalks towards her and points, his full glass held in front of him as if it were a bayonet at the end of his loaded words. “What is it you fucking want, Ada?” The hardness of his face makes her tense more than his volume. And then she understands his words and they pierce her skin like little needles all over. The words travel up her veins and through her blood. There it is, she thinks. The fucking rot. That he really believes this to be a transaction. That Ada would ever use his pain like that. “Please fucking tell me,” he continues, “so’s I can give it to you and you can get out of my FUCKING HOUSE.”
“I’m here because you asked me to watch your son while you were away, you fucking asshole!” She’s had too much whiskey to handle Tommy unhinged. She’ll just make it worse, she knows that. She should stop talking, go to bed, but she’s so angry and it’s that fucking infection. That rot spreading out through her heart. Tommy’s a curse, she thinks. “I tell you there’s a child up there asking for his father and the first thing you think is ‘what’s my angle?’ It’s love, Tommy. And children need it.”
“Don’t fucking tell me how to raise my son, Ada.” He lowers himself down with his words and she finds herself inches from Tommy’s wide-eyed rage. “I love him,” he says, “And I would do fucking anything for him so don’t fuckin’ talk to me about love.”
Now she needs to be quiet. Tom’s one of those wire-trapped rooms he talks about from France. And right now, in this exact moment, he’s handed her the wire cutters. Ada knows to stay still in these situations but the whiskey, or maybe it’s the wine, makes her clumsy.
“She’d want you to spend time with him,” she says and she can see the explosion in his eyes before he turns and throws his glass at the wall. She found the fucking grenade alright. Tripped right over it. He grabs her chin with his now free hand and Ada thinks about the days when he just wrote fucking lists. How could she be so naive as to think talking with him was better?
“She’d want a lot of things, Ada, so many fucking things. And the first thing she’d want would be to not be fuckin’ dead.” She’s aware of the pressure from Tom’s fingers but it doesn’t bother her as much as the difference between Tommy’s face and his voice. He’s so pale and still with his wet and red-rimmed eyes. He barely moves his lips while speaking and he looks hollow. Looks dead. But his voice shakes over every word, every syllable. She can feel the grief and anger settle between the centimeters that separate their faces. He’s losing to it. Or maybe he lost long ago and she never wanted to admit it. Tommy tightens his grip on her. “So don’t sit in my fuckin’ house, drinking my fuckin’ whiskey and tell me what Grace would want.” The second he spits out the words, he pushes her face back and lets go of her chin, but it takes days for Ada to forgot the feeling of his fingers digging into her jaw.
There’s so much to do in London and Ada needs to feel alive. Being surround by death her whole life, she thinks she deserves it. And todays version of life is in a pub with a man and lots and lots of gin. He’s a foreigner, an American, which is better for her since he doesn’t know what her last name means.
“Your drink, Ms. Shelby,” the barkeep says while setting her gin and tonic in front of her. He spares the American a nod and moves on.
“He didn’t ask you to pay,” notes the yet unnamed man.
“Got a tab,” Ada shrugs. “But more importantly, have you got a room?” The American returns her flirtatious smile.
“Of course,” he says,”Would you like to see it?”
The act is enjoyable enough and the American, named Frank she’d learned, is a generous lover, but once it’s done, she just wants to be home. Take a bath, have some tea, maybe read a little and then go to bed. She tells herself it’s late, and it is, but she knows that’s not why she wants to go. Poor Ada, she thinks. Wants so bad to feel alive but gets tired of it after only four hours.
“I’m here until Thursday,” says Frank. “Will I see you again?”
“Doubt it,” Ada says while fixing her stockings, “But you’re a good man. You’ll be alright.”
She turns the key to her door and steps into her home already warmed by a fire. She hadn’t done that. Cautious now and wishing she’d let Arthur give her that gun Monday, she sets her purse on the table near the door. For’s protection, he’d tried to tell her. Just in case, but ya don’t need to worry, Ada. We got men out there, he’d said, we’ll keep ya safe. Safe, she thinks now as she creeps down her hallway. She’ll never be fucking safe, not with family like hers. Not with her last name - either of them.
“Whose there?” She calls out before she gets closer to the drawing room.
“Hello to you too, Ada,” comes Tom’s reply. He stands by the fireplace, a glass of Ada’s whiskey already in his hands and a smoke hanging from his stern-set lips.
“Fucking Christ, Tommy,” she snaps while pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto the chair. “I locked the door. You said there weren’t anymore spare keys.”
“I lied,” he says, “Where’s Karl?”
“With Pol, but you already knew that seeing as how you know everything.” She hasn’t spoken to Tommy since she set off the bomb back at his place. That was almost three weeks ago.
“I know you wouldn’t take the gun from Arthur,” he says after a sip of his drink. Ada walks over to pour one for herself and snatches the offered cigarette from Tommy’s outstretched hand. “It makes me uneasy, Ada,” he continues, “You out there, unarmed.” He motions towards the outside with his drink.
“He says you’ve got men watching the house.” She stops to drink and smoke.
“We do,” he agrees and clears his throat, “But it still makes me uneasy.”
“Imagine that,” she scoffs, “Thomas fuckin’ Shelby, uneasy.” She turns from him to sit on the couch. She’s too tired for this. To decipher the meaning behind his words.
“Yeah,” he nods, “It makes me uneasy. You walking around unarmed, meeting with foreigners, going back to their hotels.” So that’s what this is, she thinks. He’s not uneasy. He’s mad. But Ada’s mad too. Fucking enraged, actually. The audacity of Tommy, thinking he can come into her home and wait up for her like she’s some fucking child who snuck out the house.
“Why don’t you just say what it is you want to say, Tommy,” she says. “Because if it wasn’t a foreigner, it be some man from London, or some poor soul from Birmingham. Or maybe it’s that I was out at pub? You think that improper now, is that it?”
“You usually stay out this late, Ada?” He asks without answering any of her questions.
“No,” she bites out. He nods and turns from the fireplace to sit in the chair across from her. He sets his drink on the table between them and leans back in his seat. So self assured. So fucking full of himself in her home at two in the fuckin’ morning. She hates him and with that hatred she feels the heat of that festering rot closing in around her heart, making its beats wild and bucking like a untamed stallion chained in her chest.
“That’s good,” he says. “Good it’s not a habit for you to be stepping out with American men named Frank until two in the morning.”
“Oh my god,” she sighs while she hangs her head low into her hands. “He’s not important, Tom. He’s here on holiday. He doesn’t know shit.”
“I know,” he says after a pause and sip. “I know a lot about Frank as it is. I know he arrived Sunday. He’s leaving Thursday. And he’s got a room down at the Richmond.” He stops to clear his throat and put out his cigarette. “He’s a banker,” he continues, “Works with Fryman’s Investors. Divorced. His ex-wife lives in Vienna with her bohemian lover. The bohemian’s a painter.” She can feel him watching her. Seeing if she’ll react to his words. She doesn’t want to look up. To see the smug expression he’s wearing. She’s so fucking tired, so fucking tired of this. And of him.
“I can do what I want, Tom,” she says, “I can see who I want, and I can fuck who I want.”
“Can you?”
She jerks her head up at his question. “Yeah, I fuckin’ can,” she says while staring into his cloudy blue eyes. If their not clear, his eyes that is, it means he’s drunker than he acts. Damn the Shelby men and their fucking alcohol tolerance. How long had he been drinking her whiskey waiting for her to get home? “So is that it, then? Are we done now? Can I go to bed like I wanted to when I got back to my fucking house?” She finishes her words with the last of the whiskey in her in glass. Tommy shifts in his seat to bring out his cigarette holder and lighter before he stands and grabs the whiskey off the mantle. He fills his glass, then Ada’s, and he sits back down while straightening out his jacket like a fucking king.
“No, we’re not done,” he says and lights up a smoke. “There’s some business.”
“I don’t give a fuck about business, Tom!” She snaps. “I want to go to bed.”
“There’s some business that you need to know about,” he continues as if she never spoke. “It’ll affect the family, and that includes you, no matter how much you fight it.” He points at her with his cigarette. “So from now, stay away from London pubs. Stay away from foreigners. And get back home before ten.”
“I’m not a child, Tommy.”
“Yeah?” He says sharply as he leans forward, “Then stop fuckin’ acting like one.”
She wants to cry. Not because what he says hurts; that doesn’t matter anymore. Ada wants to cry because she’s not allowed to have anything. Her home? That’s Tommy’s and the endless supply of spare keys he seems to have is proof enough of that. Her whiskey? Paid for by the Shelby Brothers Limited. Her time? Well, there’s a curfew in effect for that and watchdogs to enforce it. And now, her body. The last bit of herself she foolishly thought she owned. Tommy’ll decide who she can give it to, and if she’s being honest with herself, although honesty has always hurt Ada, she’s never really believed it belonged to her anyway. His grip on her heart tightens and tightens and tightens until the stallion bucking away inside her breaks under his slip lead. Tommy’s always had a way with horses and apparently that extends to the fucking metaphorical one she invented to justify the wild beats in her chest.
“It’s not fair,” she says, “It’s not right. You can’t control people like this, Tom. You just can’t.”
“Everyone else is following the same rules, Ada.” He breathes out smoke with his words. “And they don’t seem to have a problem following them.”
“Because who can say no to Thomas Shelby?” She shakes her head, and downs her whiskey, and reaches for another cigarette. She needs something in her hands or she’ll be tempted to lay them on Tommy. To make him feel every blow to her ego he’s ever dealt.
“No, because when I tell them to do something,” he says, “They know it’s for their own good. They know it’s for a good fucking reason.” He leans over to fill her glass again. From her bottle. Sitting in her chair and still ruling over every aspect of her small, little life.
“A good reason? Yeah, I bet you’re just fuckin’ full of them, Tommy.”
“Ada.”
“Fuck off, Tom!” She says loudly and drunkenly. If he keeps pushing her, she’ll let go. Just let the gin and the whiskey do the talking. God, how she wishes she would. Someone has too. Someone has to fucking stop him before he breaks everything. Before he breaks her. “I have to be up early,” She says, “I have to get Karl from Polly in the morning. Just let me go to bed, Tommy, please.” It’s the alcohol in her that lets slip the please. She’d never beg sober.
“Alright,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s alright, Ada. We’ll talk again. Soon.” She doesn’t follow him to the door. She just waits to her the click of the lock before she lets loose her tears.
II.
The restrictions are lifted soon enough when the business is resolved, but Ada can’t stop thinking about it; the chokehold she felt that night. She can’t stay here. She’ll go raving fuckin’ mad. She tries to remember herself. The woman who fell in love with Freddie Thorne. The woman who stood in no-man’s land between two of the stupidest groups of men she’d ever witnessed. Where’d she gone? Ada begins looking for her. In her lipsticks. In her perfumes. In her silk robes. Where could she be, the old Ada? She doesn’t allow herself to consider the worst; that the old Ada died. Succumbed to the infection called Thomas Shelby. She hears Karl waking in the other room and she stands from her kitchen table, silk flowing behind her as she walks through the cold hall towards her son. Sometimes, she feels afraid to love him. Karl’s all she has that’s rightfully hers. And if she acknowledges it, if she makes her claim, she knows Tommy’ll make his. He’s part of the family, Ada, she can already hear him saying it. Ada opens the door to Karl’s bedroom, and her son turns his beautiful, little face towards his mother.
“Good morning, my love,” she says softly and crosses the room to sit on his bed. She smoothes the soft hairs of his head and leans in to kiss his temple. Thomas will never have her son, she thinks with her lips pressed against Karl’s skin. She pulls back and smiles with wet eyes. “Let’s get you some breakfast, yeah?” she says while prodding the boy from his bed. Her son’s a Thorne, not a fucking Shelby, and if Tom ever tries to take Karl from her then God help him. She’ll take his fucking eyes. And it’s with that thought she realizes she knows where to look for the old Ada.
Of course, she still lets Karl see his cousins. It’d be cruel to deny the children like that. Kids are kept far away from the business anyway and that’s all the interaction Tommy gives Ada nowadays. So she gets confused when Tom stays sitting after she gives the name of the Bolshevik agitator. Then he mentions the position in Boston and while he describes it, she knows that he knows how fucking scared she is. And being the gracious man he is, he offers a different continent and a whole fucking ocean to protect her son from him. She knows it’s the closest she’ll ever get to a promise from Tom. Her son’s a Thorne, would say the ocean separating them from him. It’s also the closest she’ll get to acknowledgment from Tommy about his treatment towards her. It means he knows about the slip lead, the infection, and the fucking rot she’s tried so hard to keep hidden. Thomas fucking Shelby knows everything and still nothing matters to him.
She gets closer to Lizzie then she ever thought she would. Ada tries hard to not judge others, but Lizzie’s reputation had stood between them so long that she forgot. And it’s not until late one evening at the Shelby Brothers Limited almost four hours after close that Ada realizes she thinks of Lizzie as a friend. She watches the tall, dark haired beauty pour herself a drink and she sees the tired lines running through Lizzie’s face and the way her body struggles to keep her hand from shaking while she pours.
“You alright there, Lizzie?” Ada asks.
“Yeah,” Lizzie chuckles, “I’m alright.” Ada knows that line. Says it herself about five times a week.
“Is it Tom then?”
Lizzie chokes on her drink but Ada can tell it’s a laugh. “Is it that obvious?” Lizzie asks while wiping her mouth. “Of course it is,” she continues, “It’s fuckin’ stamped on my forehead.” She walks back over to where Ada sits and sinks into the chair next to her. “It’s my fault, really,” she says and takes the cigarette offered to her from Ada. “You know, I thought,” she pauses to light her smoke, “Working here, getting paid as secretary and not a whore. I thought it’d make me feel better. So it’s funny, really, how much worse I feel.”
Ada wants to tell Lizzie that she’s not a whore. Not anymore. But she can’t. The words get choked up in her throat and make her want to gag. Because they’re not true, are they? And Lizzie’s past might make it easier for the reformed street-walker to accept Tommy’s treatment. To take his words and actions as the paid wounds they are. And maybe that’s what Ada hates most about him. That he makes her, his sister, feel like a common fucking whore. Every bit of her up for sale.
“Well, you know Tom,” Ada says as she stands and pours herself another glass of whiskey. She holds the bottle out for Lizzie and the beauty leans forward to take it from her hands. “Everything has its price,” she says with a swig from her drink, “And God knows he’s got the money to pay for it.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Lizzie says while holding out her glass with a shake of her head. Ada clinks the glasses together and smiles.
“You’re not alone,” she says softly, “Not anymore.”
“It was simpler when he just wanted to fuck,” Lizzie muses then she looks up at Ada with a slight blush. “Sorry,” she continues, “I know he’s your brother.”
“Me? Related to Thomas Shelby?” Ada asks. “That’ll be the fuckin’ day.” She finishes the brown liquor in her glass and puts out of her smoke. Then she considers Lizzie’s words and she finds herself asking a question before she’s had time to think about asking it. “He doesn’t fuck you?”
Lizzie stops mid-sip to bring her eyes back from their distance and look to Ada. She swallows and sets her glass on the desk in front of them. “No,” she says, “Tom’s been seeking other women these days. Never the same one. Never more than once.” Ada nods as if the information fits into some sorta puzzle she didn’t know she was solving. “They all look the same though,” Lizzie continues, “And I don’t say it meanly, but they all look the fuckin’ same.”
“Like Grace?” Ada asks as she grabs another cigarette and lights it.
“No,” Lizzie says as she pours herself more whiskey. She caps the bottle and pushes it away from her. “No, Ada,” she sighs, “Not like her. None of them look like Grace.”
Ada tucks her conversation with Lizzie away into the cobwebbed corners of her mind. Then she forgets about it and it stays tucked away there for all of about three weeks until she goes to visit John and Esme. It’s a lively household. Makes makes her home feel haunted by comparison. If it’s not the children, running around and yelling at the top of their lungs, it’s Esme and John themselves screaming. And for all the yelling and noise that can be heard at their home, she knows it’s a happy one. They both have tempers, she won’t lie about that, and they both have too much pride. Ada’s been between enough fights of theirs to know that. But they love each other. And she bets Thomas didn’t see that coming when he forced them to get married. But isn’t love always Tommy’s weakness? She sits in the parlor of John’s home and listens to Esme loudly tell him that she didn’t want company tonight. That’s fine, thinks Ada. She doesn’t want to be here either. But Shelby business can’t wait, can it?
“Did you want some tea?” Esme asks with narrowed eyes as she sits herself across from Ada.
“No,” she answers as she takes off her gloves. “But I’ll have some whiskey if you’re pouring.”
“We’re always fuckin’ pourin’ round here,” Esme mutters as she grabs two glasses and a bottle off the mantle. “John’ll be down soon.”
“Okay,” Ada nods as she looks around and then she feels compelled to add, “It’s not just John, you know? Who I’m here to see.”
“Sorry for not jumpin’ for joy at seeing Tommy’s favorite lapdog,” Esme says as she takes a healthy gulp from her glass. Ada sighs and drinks her whiskey. She used to be close with Esme. She’s not really sure where the relationship went sour, but it probably has something to do with the rot. Ada’s missed a lot of things trying to fight the infection. At least the Gypsy will still drink in her presence. “So what were you doing there then?” Esme asks.
“Doing what where?” Ada says and fishes her cigarette holder out of her pocket.
“At the Ritz,” Esme continues, “My cousin says she saw you. Walkin’ arm in arm with Thomas after midnight.”
“I haven’t been to the fuckin’ Ritz,” Ada says. “Tell you cousin to get some fuckin’ glasses, yeah?”
Esme shrugs as if her earlier words didn’t mean anything. “I’m just tellin’ you,” she says, “So’s you can be more cautious in the future. Eyes out there everywhere.” Ada stops before she lights her smoke. She doesn’t understand.
“I’m not lying,” is the only thing Ada can think to say. “I wasn’t at the Ritz.” John walks into the room as she finishes her sentence.
“Fuckin’ hell, Esme,” he says as he grabs a glass from above the fireplace and walks towards the bottle on the table. “I told you it wasn’t Ada,”
“Right,” his wife agrees, “And now I asked her myself so I believe you. Both of you.” Esme stands and finishes her drink. “I trust my ‘usband to tell me whatever it is you got to say so I’ll be leavin’ now.”
“Yeah, fuck off,” John calls over his shoulder as he pours himself a whiskey. “Fuckin’ hell,’’ he mutters.
“Still in the honeymoon period, eh, John?” Ada can’t help but tease.
“Fuckin’ honeymoons,” he says while shaking his head. “You know, we haven’t taken it yet? Our fuckin’ honeymoon. And every time I ask her where she wants to go, she says she wants to go the fuckin’ pastures. Like I want a honeymoon spent in horse shit. Can stay in Small Heath for that.” He tips the contents of his glass down his throat and turns towards Ada. “So what’s he got to say then?” He slams his glass on the table and wipes his mouth. “Another fuckin’ list?” John asks as he holds out his hand.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “It’s another fucking list.” Ada shifts in her seat to bring out the folded piece of paper from her pocket for John.
“Great,” he says as he snatches it from her hand. “I was startin’ to worry, you know? Hadn’t gotten one in the last eight fuckin’ hours.”
“He’s trying his best, John,” and even Ada doesn’t believe the words she says.
“Yeah, I know,” John says as he swipes at his nose. She figures their sibling bond is the only thing that stops him from pushing the lie. He pulls a cigarette out his pocket and sits in the chair Esme left empty. “I believe you,” he offers as he lights his smoke and for one moment Ada thinks John might be stupid. “That it wasn’t you at the Ritz, that is,” he continues, “Not the other fuckin’ thing.” He motions towards Tommy’s list with his words. There it is, Ada smiles to herself. You can’t bullshit John and it’s good to know that hasn’t changed. He reaches for the bottle to pour another drink and sinks back into his chair with his full glass. He looks beyond strained. More like defeated. Not that it’s unexpected given the circumstances, but John’s usually faster to bounce back from Tommy’s callousness. But it’s been going on for nearly four months now so she can’t really blame him. His vest is crumpled under his jacket and it brings out the little boy hiding in his features. Ada knows if Arthur saw him like this, he’d slap his back. Come on now, he’d say. Things to do, Johnboy, ya know how it is. But it shouldn’t be like that, should it? It’s wrong, what Tommy asks of his family. Our Johnboy, she thinks and puts out her cigarette. Boy is right; he’s got too much youth left to let Tommy beat it out of him like this.
“But she did look like you,” he says and his words spark that tucked away memory of her conversation with Lizzie. “And it’s not the first time it’s happened.” He looks to the side as he speaks and lights the almost forgotten cigarette in his hand. “I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ but Esme.” He stops and sniffs before he gulps half the whiskey in his glass. “Well, she’s little rough, I know,” he continues, “but she’s a good woman.” John stops again with a sigh. He shifts in his seat and takes a long drag from his smoke as if he needs to consider his words carefully. As if what he’s got to say is something Ada won’t want to hear and he’s need to figure out how to frame it first. God bless him, she thinks. John may be able to see through bullshit, but he sure as hell can’t hide his. “It worries her,” he says, “that’s all,” and that he ends up on those words after all his seemingly careful deliberation bothers her. How odd. How honest. How like her Johnboy. Ada doesn’t know what to say so she drinks instead.
Regardless of her current standing with Esme, Ada respects her. The woman has intuition and the backbone to defend it. Esme reminds her of Polly sometimes and she wonders if that’s how Pol might’ve been while young. Headstrong, loud, and drunk, but full of the world’s secrets. Ada sits by Polly’s desk at the Shelby Brothers Limited late one evening and watches the older woman write in shorthand, her pen moving like wildfire across the paper.
“What?” Asks Polly.
“Nothing,” Ada shrugs. Pol stops writing and looks up at her. “Really, it’s nothing, Pol,” Ada says. The older woman stares at her a moment too long before she looks back down at her paper and begins her furious writing again.
“Sure,” Polly says, “It’s always nothing, isn’t it?” Ada rolls her eyes at Polly’s words. “This whole family is full of nothing.”
“Don’t take your anger out on me, Pol,” she sighs. “Whatever he’s done now, it’s not my fault.”
“Who said anything about me being angry?” The older woman snaps as she slams down her pen. “And why should I be angry? It’s doesn’t have anything to do with me. Nothing does, nowadays.” She opens her cigarette case and pulls out a long, black smoke before tapping it on the desk. Polly lights her smoke while narrowing her eyes at the flame then flicks the smoldering match to the ashtray. “So you’ve thought about Boston?”
“Yeah,” Ada says after a pause to light her own cigarette, “I think it’ll be good.”
“It’ll be a lotta work,” says Pol, “But that might be what you need right now. God knows a bored Shelby is a curse on the world.” Ada thinks about reminding Polly that she’s a Thorne now, but the words take too much effort so she lets them stay resting under her tongue. Her Aunt has her eyes closed with her head leaned back against the top of the chair. If Ada’s going to ask what she wants to, what she came here to ask, it should be now. While Pol is resting and unawares.
“Has Esme talked with you?” Ada asks.
“Oh god, why?” Asks Polly as she sits up straight in her chair and puts out her cigarette. “It’s not the count, is it?” she continues while standing and turning towards the back room containing the safe. “I swear, the women these boys bring into our home.”
“No,” Ada says before Pol can leave the room. “It wouldn’t be about business.”
Polly stops with her back facing Ada. “Should we have a drink?” She asks while turning towards the draw hiding the always present bottle. “Feels like this is a conversation where we’ll want one.” She pours two glasses of whiskey without waiting for Ada’s reply. Then the older woman walks back to her desk and holds out the glass for her niece before sitting back down. “So what would this talk with Esme be about?” Polly asks after a sip.
“Well, if you haven’t had it yet, you can’t tell me, can you?” Says Ada.
“I thought I was asking you,” says Pol as she slips out another black cigarette to sit between between her lips and then lights it. She sits quietly with her eyes focused in the distance and Ada can see her mind running through all the possibilities. “What’d John do this time?” Polly finally asks.
“Nothing,” Ada chuckles, “At least not yet, anyway.”
“Right, so it’s not about business and it’s not about John,” Polly muses and traces her fingers over her lips. Running more scenarios, Ada thinks to herself with a smile. Then her eyes shift back to Ada’s and Pol drops her hand from her face while setting her glass down on the desk. “Is it Tom?”
Just as Ada is about to nod, she sees a figure in the corner of her eye, watching them both from the doorway; an ember at the tip of his smoke illuminates the face in the dark. “Tommy! Christ!” Ada cries.
“Oh god, is it that bad?” Polly asks while seemingly unaware that the topic of their conversation stands behind her in the doorway. As if his name somehow summoned him like devil he is. He moves silently into the room like a fucking ghost.
“Hello, Pol,” he says but his eyes stay steady on Ada. Polly gasps and puts her hand to her chest.
“Oh fuck,” she sighs and moves her hand from her chest up to her temple. “Lost about five years just now and I don’t have them to lose, I’ll have you know.”
“Have I interrupted something?” He asks as he sits in the empty chair next to Polly and across from Ada. His sister drinks from her whiskey and looks away from Tom’s eyes.
“You did,” says Polly, “but when have you ever cared?” She stamps out her smoke with her words. “So what are you doing here?” She continues. “Arthur said you wouldn’t be in until noon tomorrow.”
“Arthur doesn’t know everything, Pol,” Tommy says and Ada stands to refill her glass. “I’ll have one,” he adds and clears his throat. Ada looks up at the ceiling willing God to give her the strength she needs not to throw the bottle at Tommy’s head before she grabs another glass and fills it. She sets the bottle down harder then she means to and Tom raises his eyebrow at the sound.
“Sorry,” says Ada and hands him his drink before sitting back in her seat.
Polly shifts her eyes back and forth between the two siblings. “Right,” she says, and Ada knows her aunt’s trying to read the unspoken in the room. Well good fucking luck, Ada thinks. Lately, even she doesn’t know what Tommy’s not saying.
“Well, continue your conversation then,” he says before he takes a sip of his drink and fixes his jacket. “What does Esme need to talk with you about?”
“I don’t know,” replies Polly. Ada can feel the older woman carefully measuring out her words. “We’ve only just established it’s not about business, John, or you,” she continues.
“You’ve established that, have you?” Tom asks while staring at Ada. Her pulse quickens under his eyes and she reaches for another cigarette. “I wonder what it could be then,” he continues, “Sounded important, from the way Ada said it.”
Ada’s heart leaps an entire beat and she takes a gulp of her drink. He’d heard her. He’d heard the whole fucking thing. Does he already know? Did John tell him? It doesn’t seem like something John would share with Tommy, but maybe he didn’t have to. Tom’s smart. He could figure it out on his own. Then Ada has a thought and she feels herself grow cold as she considers it. What if he hasn’t been trying to hide it? She replays John’s words now. But she did look like you, he’d said, and it’s not the first time it’s happened. Jesus Christ. The whiskey in her stomach makes a jump for her throat but Ada catches it with a small gulp of air.
“You alright, Ada?” Tommy asks and she nods as she leans forward to light her cigarette off his offered flame. She’s thankful she didn’t have to light it herself or else the shaking of her hand would have been made clear.
“It’s just women’s talk, Tom,” Ada says while avoiding his eyes and leaning back in her chair. “It wouldn’t interest you.”
“This is an equal opportunity enterprise, as you both know,” he says. “What makes you think I’m not interested?”
“She just wants to Pol to do her gypsy witchcraft,” Ada says while pointing at Polly with her smoke and she feels her aunt watching her as she speaks. “Tell her the sex of the baby and other mystical unknowns.” Please God, catch on Aunt Pol, Ada thinks. She can’t calm the beats of her heart, not with the infection so close, so hot and burning.
“Of course she does,” Polly says firmly. “Who else would she go to? Doctors?” She laughs with her words and her laughter soothes a bit of Ada’s heart. Her Aunt Polly is such a clever woman. “Those men in white coats wouldn’t recognize a woman’s body if it wasn’t stretched out beneath them.” And even Tommy cracks a smile at Polly’s words.
“I’m here for the ledgers,” he says in answer to Polly’s question asked long ago and puts out his cigarette. Polly nods and gathers the stack together. “I want to look over them before my meeting in the morning,” he says after finishing the whiskey in his glass. He stands and accepts the books that Pol holds out for him. “You leaving, Ada?” He continues while towering over his sister. “I’ll give you ride.”
“I’ll just get a cab, Tom.”
“It’s safer,” he says, “riding with me. Come on, let’s go.” He walks towards the door and holds it open without waiting for her reply. Polly watches Ada with wide eyes as her niece stuffs her cigarettes back into her purse and stands. Her clever Aunt, Ada finds herself thinking again. Of course Polly’s worried too. How could she not be when Tom doesn’t even try to disguise it?
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assless-chapstick · 5 years
Note
Part 7 was so gooooood asffjsitdhta returning to this series got me feeling like Charles returning home. Also i can't stop picturing Charles going to pound town on Arthur but then he looks up and sees the cat sitting on the bed staring directly into his soul the way that cats do and causing him to lose all focus aka his boner
but consider this
you know Charles feels threatened by the cat; he doesn't know why, just that the smug way the animal struts around the house like he owns it, never catching a damn thing and always cuddling up close to Arthur and purring. He's not jealous, just doesn't believe in housepets that don't pull their damn weight.
So of course the cat hops up onto the corner of the bed as Charles is absolutely railing Arthur, got him damn near bent in half impaled on that dick, and the cat just looks at Charles with those sly little cat eyes and
and Charles isn't jealous, no, but does he fuck Arthur within an inch of his life, make him howl while staring right back at the little bastard glaring daggers into his soul? of course he does
and afterwards as Arthur is lying there trying to gain feeling back in his legs and saying like "Shit Charles, the hell got into you? Fuckin' me like a man fucks his lady when he gotta hang in the morning," and it was just, the best most intense passionate fuck they've had in a while
and Charles just shrugs cuz no way is he gonna admit that he came glaring into the face of evil, that little no good fluffy bastard that's sitting in Arthur's chest and purring rIGHT NOW
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cowboy-canoodler · 5 years
Text
A High Note of Love: Part 7
(Part 7 already? holy hell my dudes, there will be at least two more parts after this maybe round it off to 10 parts! Ily all who are reading and keeping up with AHNOL)
(There’s Angst, smut, and fluff in this so a triple threat lmao)
Trigger Warnings: Previous mention of r*pe and assualt!
Masterlist: http://cowboy-canoodler.tumblr.com/post/183094165570/a-high-note-of-love-master-list
@thrivingamongthetrees
After several cups of coffee and a bowl of stew, your headache has receeded and bones mended from a night of frivolous dancing, Arthur and his shoulder had left a few hours ago with Charles to do some hunting. You on the other hand had sat down to help Mary-Beth mend some of her fellow gang members clothing.
“You really don’t have to help (Y/N)” Mary-Beth was such a sweet girl, a kind and charismatic smile, her brown hair in ringlets around her shoulders.
“Not at all Mary-Beth, anyway if you don’t get this done soon how will you have enough time to read your books” You had minor skills in sewing, largely at your mothers insistence, though they had been used for embroidery before this, at least the holes looked prettier now with detailed stitching adorning the edges of the patches, “or talk to Kieran”
Mary-Beths head snapped up and looked at you, a redness washing over her cheeks “Wha-”
“Oh please, I saw you walk straight over there when I started my heavy drinking last night. Those doe eyed looks are reserved for those of us who are sweet on someone, and believe me I saw your looks last night” You giggled as Mary-Beths face deepened into scarlet her brows furrowed together in embarrassment, “don’t worry I find it adorable, Kieran is a lovely man”
Mary-Beths face became sullen, a dimness coming over her eyes, “He is. and he doesn’t deserve the stuff that the gang members do to him. He was never an O’Driscoll, Kieran just did what he had to to survive. Just like everybody else here.” You agreed wholeheartedly, nodding your head in confirmation.
“I agree, we all must do what we have to to ensure we survive the odds of life” You and Mary-Beth finished your mending and you spent the next few hours helping the others around the camp, it was the least you could do after drinking so much of their alcohol last night. Mending the clothes with Mary-Beth, Chopping and peeling vegetables with Tilly and Sadie, then giving Kieran emotional support as he lugged hay bales to the horses, you would have helped him but unfortunately your arms are not built for manual labour that demanding.
It was now late afternoon and you were sat at the table with Hosea, he regaled you with stories of the gangs past, and a younger Arthur, each different story had you hypnotised, Hosea was amazing at telling these tales with dramatic timing and different voices, each different one usually making you giggle. Hosea had been so nice to you since you had gotten here, a real father figure, the kind of father you wished you had been raised with; he was also smart, very very smart. An inquisitive mind with the wits to know exactly what to do with it, whether scamming, conning, or purely being a good person to his family.
“Your tales make me quite jealous Hosea, I was raised on cotton sheets and a silver spoon” Hosea gave a slight chuckle, reached over and placed his hand on your arm.
“(Y/N) none of us get to choose how or where we are born, but we do get to choose how to live the rest of our lives after that” He was right, you may have been born for your parents to raise you for the slaughter, but you decided to run away and live the life you wanted. These words resonated inside of you, and lit a fire, a fire that Hosea must have seen for him to say these next words, “This life could suit you well I believe, consider this an Invitation to our little family”
“Really?” your eyes widened at him, Hosea nodded in return a smile gracing his older face. You heard the sound of hooves approaching the camp and you turned to see Arthur and Charles returning from their trip. Three Deer carcasses between them, rabbits and pheasants hanging from their saddles, Arthur dismounted with an annoyed look on his face; you couldn’t help but stare.
“He’s grown into a fine young man, and I can tell he thinks of you in the same way” Hosea had started walking off leaving you with a lot on your mind, your eyes still staring at Arthur until a foreign voice came within earshot.
“So, you got an invite into our little family did ya?” An unfamiliar aura surrounded you and a shiver was sent straight up your spine, “another mouth t’ feed” You turned around and was faced with a blonde moustache and piercing blue eyes. You sucked in your breath at the unfamiliar man, “Your the new toy around here aren’t ya?” He circled around you and sat in Hosea’s previous seat, thrusting his feet onto the table and leaning back not breaking eye contact with you once. You could’t speak, everything about this man made you uneasy, his cold blue eyes boring into you, the tousled unkempt hair, dirt and grime under his fingernails and on his face. “I’m Micah, Micah Bell. Crack shot, gentleman, and all around a good guy” You didn’t believe a word of it.
“A pleasure, Mister Bell” An unsure bitterness residing in your voice as you spat out his name.
“You can call me Micah y’know”
“Mister Bell will do just fine” Micah’s tongue started rolling around his cheek, he pulled his feet off the table and leaned closer to you.
“You’ve been gettin’ real cozy with the rest of them so whats wrong with gettin’ cozy with me?” He stood up and rounded himself to your side of the table, “Arthur’s not the kind of guy you wanna get into being with darlin’“ Micah sat himself on the table slightly adjacent to you and reached his hand towards your hair, you pulled away slightly your breath deepening.
“Mister Bell, that’s a matter of opinion” Micah placed his hand on your cheek, and you jumped out of your seat, you must have made a noise as Arthur was now looking over at you a concerned expression
“Whats wrong? you got a problem Miss?” Micah stood up and walked towards you.
“Micah that’s enough!” Arthur was now storming towards the scene you were causing and you turned away to get away from this villain.
“Hey now! That’s no way to treat a fellow family member!” Micah grabbed your wrist, and you turned with a terrified expression on your face, memories of the night a few weeks ago crept up and bile rose to your throat but before you knew it your other hand had hit him right around the face.
Micah lay on the floor, clutching his cheek, Arthur was behind you starstruck in awe.
“You fuckin Bitch!” Micah gasped, but you had already started running, you didn’t like the way he looked at you or the way you felt when he drew near and grabbed you, a punch was probably more than he deserved but you couldn’t stop yourself. The previous times this had happened you had been defenceless but not this time, you were living the life you wanted now and you never wanted to be defenceless again.
 You stopped running a little while from the camp, trees surrounded you and you leaned up against a trunk, a hand over your chest, breath quick and unsteady. “Ah fuck” you whispered to yourself as you tried to steady your breathing. You leaned over and placed your hands on your knees, a burning sensation rising in your throat.
“(Y/N)?” You heard a shout and heavy footsteps running, you looked over and saw Arthur.
“I’m over here” You replied holding a hand out for him to see you.
“Are you alright?” Concern was evident in his eyes as you looked up at Arthur, he held his hands out as if calming a wild animal.
“Should’t you be asking Micah that?”
“Naw he gets punched every other day” You and Arthur let out a hearty chuckle, “But seriously are you okay?”
“I had flashbacks and I couldn’t stop myself, the boat and the other week I just-”
“Boat?” Arthur made his way closer to you and placed his hand gently on your shoulder, you brought your hand up to his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“I haven’t told you this story have I? Of how I got to America” You pulled his hand off of your shoulder, still keeping grip, and started leading Arthur through the trees to a small clearing.
“No you ain’t. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna, it’s your story you tell it when you wanna tell it” these words made your heart swell, you sat down on the grass and pulled Arthur down next to you not letting go of his hand.
“I want to tell you Arthur, I want you to know everything about me because I feel like you wouldn’t judge me for anything that may have happened in my past” Arthur made himself comfortable and kept hold of your hand, concern still deep within his eyes. “I had run away from home without a penny to my name, navigating through my town without being seen lest my father catch wind of my plans and take me back. Eventually I found my way to the docks and found a ship headed to America, but I couldn’t afford a ticket, I could barely afford to eat! So I had to come to an agreement” You shuddered and Arthur brought his hand around your shoulders.
“Hey hey, look at me” You turned to face Arthur and his soft blue eyes calmed your soul, “you good?” You nodded and continued.
“I was to give them my body whenever they wanted it. Even during the night, I’d wake up and find them molesting me, ripping my clothes, grabbing my skin, shoving their genitalia into my mouth” Arthurs mouth was agape, eyes wide, all colour flushed from his cheeks.
“(Y/N) I am- I am so sorry” 
“Why?” You thrust yourself onto your feet and paced “I did this to myself! I had to run away from home instead of just staying there and living that lie I’m a selfish fucking person Arthur! I don’t deserve praise or love I gave my fucking body just to get to America!” Arthur quickly stood up and enveloped you in a hug, his arms taking all of you into his chest. “Oh Arthur!” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, you wrapped your hands around him and sobbed into Arthurs shirt.
“(Y/N) It’s okay, I’m here for you” Arthur started running his fingers through your hair and you felt yourself calm down in his grip.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to get so emotional” You murmured into his chest, tightening your arms around him.
“Hey now, look at me” Arthur pulled away from and placed a hand below your chin lifting your head to meet his gaze, “you don’t gotta say sorry for talking about this, especially to me” A finger came up to your cheek and wiped away a tear.
“Arthur I-” You brought a hand up to his cheek and gave him a weak smile, “thank you”
“For what?”
“Existing” Arthur was taken aback, a breath hitching in his throat, you stared into each others eyes and brought your lips together. A tender sweet kiss, completely different to your previous kisses, this one was small and loving, your tongues entwined in a tango, Arthur tasted like coffee and leather, but the kiss deepened and you pushed Arthur towards a nearby tree, your hands clawing at his back. Suddenly Arthur pushed you away and looked you directly in the eye, “What?” you asked with confusion plastered all over your face.
“With everythin’ you jus’ told me, are you sure you wanna do this?” Arthur was such a sweet and kind man, and he really needed to let himself discover it. You couldn’t deny your feelings anymore, Arthur was always on your mind, you stared at him when he was near you and yearned for him when he was far away, you went out of your way to help him or to make him jealous so you would induce his wrath, when he touched you it sent flames around your nerves. You loved Arthur.
You Loved Arthur Morgan with all of your heart.
“Arthur, I want your hands on me, and only your hands” Arthur looked surprised as you placed a hand on his cheek, “Arthur Morgan I-”
“I love you (Y/N)” Arthur brought his hands up to your cheeks and pulled your foreheads together, you audibly gasped at his confession, previously you had thought him indifferent, or reserved with his feelings enough to never admit them, but here you both were. Foreheads touching, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, eyes closed with the sounds of water and birdsong around you.
“I love you too Arthur” You opened your eyes and pulled your head away, “I always find myself wanting your hands on me, and I feel that very much right now” Arthur placed a kiss on your forehead.
“You wanna fuck in the trees by camp?” You could hear a giggle in his voice, “You’re one feisty woman you know that?” You ran a hand through his hair and brought his ear to your lips for a whisper and a nibble.
“Micah might hear us, then he’d never dare to place a hand onto me again” You let out a slow growl and bit down just underneath Arthurs ear making him wince slightly and buck his hip into you.
“(Y/N) don’t tease me, it’s dangerous” Arthurs hands were now on your hips, his chin snug deep into the crevice of your neck.
“Who said I’m teasing?” While one had was in his hair, the other made its way to the bulge forming in his trousers, “I think about you a lot Arthur, I touch myself at night with the thought of your hands on my body, your hands in my body, your dick, your tongue. I want you all to myself” You pulled away from Arthur after giving him several bites on his neck, the skin now red and sensitive.
“Then you can have me” Your lips crashed together, passionate and hungry, just like the first time you had kissed him. Hands made their way all over the both of you, you continued to rub your hand over Arthurs trouser; low groans escaped his lips between bated breaths.
“Please Arthur, I need you right now” You loosened his belt and sunk to your knees, pumping his dick slowly you licked your lips in anticipation and stared into Arthurs eyes, “I missed you so much” In one movement you took his entire dick into your mouth and Arthurs eyes rolled back, a sigh escaping his lips, and his head resting on the tree behind him. You pulled back slowly and swirled your tongue around his head, tasting the beginning of pre-cum from the tip. Your other hand made its way through your petticoats onto your clit, a wetness enveloped your fingers as you stared rubbing circles around your own pleasure points.
With you on your knees and Arthur grasping the tree behind you, with the sun starting to set, you made a pretty picture. Moans and groans came from both of you, as the sexual tension ebbed away. You had thoroughly whetted Arthurs dick and rose to your feet, “Right here. Right now” You ordered and Arthur obeyed. His hand came down to your thigh and pulled your leg around his waist, positioning his dick at your entrance, Arthurs other hand was grasping his dick and he moved his head over your clit and entrance slowly, drawing a shuddering moan from you.
You wrapped your arms around Arthurs neck and kissed him, the same time thrusting your hips into him taking his whole dick inside you. This feeling was familiar, but somehow different. You were closer to Arthur now, the kisses less hungry, but more satisfying, both of you had bared your feelings, and now you were having sex as lovers. Lovers. Your hips moved in unison with eachother, hands and lips making their way around yours and Arthurs bodies as you pleasured eachother.
You were close to orgasm, and by Arthurs out of sync thrusts he was too, “Arthur I’m- I’m real- cl-close” ecstasy enveloped your body making it difficult to focus on talking.
“Yeah me too”
“In me Ar-Arthur, finish in me”
“Oka-” before Arthur could even finish he bucked his hips and yelped in pleasure, his last thrust sent you over the edge and your fingers dug deep into his shoulders; a scream of pleasure, that you’re sure the camp may have heard, and your orgasm peaked.
Heavy breaths were the only noises between you two, as you slumped down in each others arms, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You looked up at Arthur who was highly exhausted from a long day of hunting and dealing with you.
“Oh fuck, that was, Arthur that was amazing”
“I knew it was gonna happen” Arthur gave a light chuckle, you however gave him a very confused look.
“What? How?”
“Seeing you punch the shit outta Micah, I have never been so turned on by a woman in my life”
“I’ll have to punch Micah alot more often then” 
You both got cleaned up and started making your way back to the camp, hand in hand, the sun setting beautifully on a wonderful day.
“Arthur?” He cocked his head towards you.
“Hm?”
“Hosea invited me to join the gang” Arthur stopped.
“He did?” You nodded, “And?”
“I’m going to tell him I will”
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kbstories · 6 years
Text
Kicking off the second part of my Charthur series with some fluff!
Quiet For So Long
Tags: Fluff, Road Trips, First Time, Bathing/Washing
This is a direct sequel to my first fic, Only Lost The Night. Please read that one first!
(No AO3 links this time, sorry!)
“... and this guy, he comes charging at me like a bull, I panic, throw the knife. Perfect bullseye, clean between the eyes–“
“Oh, horseshit–“
“No, no, I swear, on Taima, the fucker went down like a sack of bricks, and there I was: money in hand, just... drenched in blood from head to toe, it was a mess.”
Arthur's expression must've been more than a little incredulous because Charles starts laughing the moment he sees it, head thrown back, teeth bared in a broad grin. Arthur huffs, shakes his head.
“I can't believe this. You are the luckiest fuckin' bast– and that was your first run?”
“The very first one, yup.”
Charles's eyes are shining with mirth, the smile clinging to his lips as he leans over his horse's neck and pats her beneath her mane, settling back comfortably in his saddle. A day's ride or two away from camp, they've fallen into their usual system to cover long distances: side-by-side, their mares march in step with each other, the calmer Taima acting as a guide to temperamental Dyani in narrow spaces and tense situations.
They camp by sundown and keep moving by sunrise, spending the time in-between swapping stories, singing familiar songs, whistling along with the birds – sometimes, when Charles is in the mood, he'll get out that ancient harmonica of his and play a tune, and Arthur will hum along, closely watching Charles's mouth as it teases an incredible range of tones from the instrument, sometimes joyful, sometimes full of sorrow.
It makes him think. With Arthur back on his feet and orders from Dutch to follow up on a lead across-state, together, the reasons keeping them apart dwindle to nothing; and while their first night away from camp was spent with bold kisses and even bolder hands mapping each other's backs, there's an invisible line neither of them have approached yet.
It's distracting, it's the only thing on his mind at any given moment. All Arthur can do is wrangle those thoughts into manageable pieces, pieces of himself he pours into the silent pages of his journal.
Arthur pushes the sweaty tips of his hair off his face and under his hat, the motion calming in its familiarity. A little worse for wear and patched in some areas, Charles had given it back the day Arthur had been cleared for duty.
Welcome back, Arthur.
The man is watching him, now, in that undemanding way of his. Arthur tips his hat a little, smiling at the deadpan blink he gets in return that might as well be Charles's version of an eye-roll. Continuing his story, Charles gestures vaguely to Arthur's saddle.
“That bow I gave you? I bought the wood for it the day after. Figured stealth would be a better way to go about things.”
Arthur's look turns surprised, genuinely impressed. “Wait, you made it?”
Charles's eyebrows rise. “Yeah? I thought you knew. All you folks know are pistols and rifles and it shows, no offence. Makes it hard to find one that's balanced right.”
“Huh. Never crossed my mind, that.”
Arthur glances at Charles, then, at his capable hands, and the jagged scars there. A thousand questions burn on his tongue, but he hesitates, wondering what is off-limits and what isn't. Collecting his reins, Arthur brings Dyani's head back from the clouds, murmuring a word of praise under his breath. Her ears flick back and towards him; she chews on her bit.
Finally: “Is that, uh, somethin' your mom taught ya, or…?”
Charles hums, “Mh, you could say so”, and for a while, only the four-beat gait of their horses is to be heard. “She showed me how to hunt, too. Said it's best to trust in nature to stay alive, and to rely on my skills rather than other people.”
“Wise words”, Arthur agrees softly, maybe it's better that way. He's too selfish to voice the thought out loud.
“Yes and no”, says Charles, meeting Arthur's gaze briefly, shrugging. “Followed that advice most of my life, and it's not enough. I know that now.”
And Arthur knows, before he even opens his mouth, that he shouldn't pry. That he shouldn't drag the vulnerability lurking beyond those words into the light – yet he asks, “What changed?”, and Charles looks at him, eyes warm.
“I met you.”
*
They arrive at Strawberry with the last light, riding through wafts of mist that flow down the streets and sticks to the few scattered buildings the village has, making them stick out like milk teeth in a child's mouth.
At the end of the road, the hotel's warm glow beckons them closer, and Arthur answers Charles's questioning glance with a shrug and a muttered, “Might as well.”
This, too, is a well-known routine: Arthur strides up to the clerk to get a room set up and the bath running, mentions in stride that the tip'll be highest the least he is disturbed and, thirty minutes later on the dot, he slides the window open and waves Charles inside.
By then, he's washed and making short work of his scraggly beard, preferring a neat shave over his typical scruff just because it's been so long since he felt anywhere close to clean in these past few weeks.
In the mirror, he can see Charles undress in the low light, movements quick and efficient,and while they've been naked in each other's presence countless times – after all, there's no room for propriety in an outlaw's life – Arthur's gaze wanders over each inch of bared skin like it's the first. Until the razor nicks his skin and he hisses, face heating up at the chuckle from across the room.
“Careful, there”, Charles tells him, and Arthur doesn't reply, resolutely staring at the slow glide of the blade over his already-smooth jaw as water splashes behind him and Charles sinks into the tub with a groan of relief.
Arthur blames the sweat on his brow on the thick steam filling the room with nowhere to go.
It's quiet, then. Arthur lingers in front of his reflection a little longer than usual, eyeing the messy flop of his wet hair critically but deeming it a lost cause like the rest; throwing the razor on the bunched heap of clothes beside him, he stands up, stretching and sighing as his back cracks audibly.
Charles hasn't moved a single inch, body soaking up to his chest in soapy water, face lax and eyes closed. Dozing, perhaps, although his breaths are too measured for that.
For a lost moment, Arthur looks at Charles and wants, feels it like a physical string pulling at his guts, very much like arousal but also... different. More intimate, more fragile, like it could shatter in his hands if he holds on too tightly.
Quietly, as quiet as possible, he pads over, kneels, mumbles his name, to wake him up or give him an out, Arthur doesn't quite know; Charles blinks his eyes open drowsily, a lazy smile spreading on his lips. He rasps, “Hey”, and “Kiss me?”, so soft it could've gone lost in the gentle trickling of water.
Arthur does, careful at first, nipping at the perspiration gathering on Charles's lips and watching his lids slip shut again. The string tugs, pulls taut in his chest at the blatant trust in the gesture, how Charles hums and his mouth relents to Arthur's.
The water is warm on Charles's skin, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing under the tender slide of Arthur's hands; he squeezes and Charles's brows twitch closer together as he moans, low in his throat.
“Let me”, Arthur whispers; Charles mumbles, “Whatever you want”, and Arthur exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“You're makin' offers that are hard to refuse.”
“Then don't.”
Two words, simple, really. Arthur swallows, traces the faded arch of a scar on Charles's bicep. The graze of a bullet, maybe, or a knife's cut. Charles leans back and lets him, previously calm breath hitching as Arthur's touch trails further down, brushing over the smattering of coarse hair on his chest and abdomen and lingering there.
Arthur catches the intense look in Charles's eyes and leans his forehead against his, breathing the same air. “Gotta stay quiet”, he reminds him, waits for Charles to nod – Arthur watches him bite his bottom lip as he takes him in hand and pulls experimentally, tightening his hold around him at the almost-hurt noise coming from Charles–
If Arthur had any concentration left to form doubts they'd be gone, blown away by how Charles's voice sounds as he groans his name; Arthur shushes him, wraps his arm behind his shoulders to place his hand on his mouth, gentle.
The angle doesn't allow for much but Arthur doesn't care, eyes fixed on the way Charles's abs tense and release in the rhythm of his hand on his length, how the murky white of the water flows across his dark skin like silk.
Charles pants against his fingers, eyes half-lidded and hazy with bliss – an image that etches itself into Arthur's soul as he strokes him to completion and thinks, I love you.
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wildroseofarran · 6 years
Text
Out of the Blue, Pt. II || Charles & Mason
Mason: After school hours, wherever Charles would be, he would feel a distinct vibration against his forearms, a subtle chill over his being. The indication of demonic telepathy.
'I need ya right now, Charles.'
Charles: "School hours" were more a technicality than part of a set schedule. There was always work to be done. But busyness had never kept him from his demon's side for long. He shut his laptop and reached out to twine his mind with Mason's. 'I'm here. In the study. Where are you?'
Mason: 'I'm in the garden. I've had a visitor and...I'm lost with myself.'
Charles: 'I'll be just a minute.' His mouth is bowed with worry as he slips downstairs and into the garden that's just beginning to bloom. "Mason?"  He spoke softly, knowing he would be heard even through the maze of rich, green foliage. "What visitor has you so out of sorts?"
Mason: Three roses of various color had been plucked throughout the garden, tied together with a hairband. Back to letting his hair grow out, there was no need to question why he was in possession of one.
Seeing Charles was a relief, but the ache in his stomach maintained his grimace.
The flowers were offered.
"Someone from my past. Another sampling of Fate playing me for entertainment."
Charles: Charles accepted the tiny bouquet with a smile, mindful of the thorns. "Well, they say she has a wicked sense of humour." As ever, he was thrilled to see Mason, and would attempt to kiss that sour expression away, his fingers burying themselves in dark hair in need of a trim. "Hello, love. So, do you want to talk about this ghost from your past? Or is distraction the goal of the evening?"
Mason: His companion accepted the kiss with gusto, first leaning himself forward before leaning towards his patient fingers.
"Normally, I would say the latter, but the situation has yet to resolve itself. Not tellin' ya is...what I would have done in the past. I'm... attemptin' to evolve."
Charles: "Ahh, evolution," breathed the professor of genetics. For Charles, the situation showed great trust. The knowledge settled warm and liquid in his chest. Another brief kiss, and he slipped his free hand into Mason's. "Walk with me, then. Unburden yourself."
Mason: Another kiss to soften his temperament. Charles had his own metaphorical melody to soothe his beast. They walked in sync, and the demon searched for a starting point.
"Before I explain what happened, I should explain a part of my past. In the 70s, I was... unsatisfied by everything. My family had perished well over a decade ago, but I had left a void in my life, one I thought I could fill with paid services. I purchased a man, Clarke, the first contract of its kind. He would live with me for one year, free to come and go so long as he returned home to me. I just wanted company, n'somethin' I could control. He was... beautiful, as a youthful human can be. We...felt for one another, never said it with words. When the contract was over, I let him leave. He died in Paris...drowned trapped inside a car.
"Cut forward to yesterday, and a man, Peter Graham, Callum's best friend, shows up at my house to tell me he is Clarke... reincarnated. I refused to believe him, but he knew details, knew what...what Clarke would say to me every time I returned home after absence. He described his death, that I was his last thought."
That was exhausting. He stopped to catch his breath.
"He had a case with him of Clarke's things. I've yet to open it."
Charles: Charles let his gaze wander as they strolled, skating over neat rows of green and plump bulbs that had not yet opened. It lingered on a bush heavy with crimson roses as Mason finished his tale. Charles hadn't made so much as an interrupting sound. After a minute or two he heaved a massive sigh. "Wow. The world is... subatomic." He wore no smile, but this was nothing close to what learning of Callum had been. He remained upright, his hand still tucked into Mason's. He gave it a firm squeeze. "Callum's best friend. I have to appreciate the irony, there. I wonder how he managed to hold onto his past memories. Are you... are you all right?"
Mason: "He'd explained only recently discoverin' this little fact." He'd managed to refrain from a curse. "And no, I'm not alright. I'm beside myself with an array of... emotion."
Charles: "You still love him."
Mason: "As one does a memory. He's dead. He's gone. It's just...I never knew the...details of his death. I didn't want to know. He suffered."
Charles: His mouth turned down slightly. "I'm sorry." He gave that hand another squeeze, brought the knuckles to his lips. "The car he drowned in. Was it... an accident?"
Mason: "It was an accident. He described how the car filled, the seatbelt held him down, the panic. He said he saw me in his last moments...'You've been gone for ten billion years,' he said."
Charles: "You must've been very important to him." Another kiss, pressed to Mason's shoulder, this time. "A dreadful way to go. But his soul still lives. You can take comfort in that, no?"
Mason: "I do." He took Charles' hands. "I don't know why I feel so...emotional about this. This felt significant towards us. Somethin' where ya can walk with me in my understandin'."
Charles: Charles nodded, held those hands tightly. His was a unique perspective: outside of the present situation, but very familiar with Mason Atlas. "Well, it seems like he was important to you, too. After all, you said that he was the first person to fill the void in your life left after the deaths of you wife and children. He brought... love, of a sort, at a time when you probably didn't believe that was possible for you, anymore. Your relationship ran deeper than purveyor and client. And the details of his death are so new to you. It's only natural that it would feel fresh." He chewed the inside of his cheek. Hesitating, but only for a moment. "Mason, do you think, perhaps, that you feel a bit guilty? This man that you cared for suffered a death that could've been so easily prevented, had you been there. And despite only spending a year together, you were the last person he thought of. You made an impact on him, but it wasn't your fault."
Mason: The question stabbed right to the heart of his emotion. He squeezed his hands again, looked away to prevent Charles from seeing his vulnerable, glossy eyes.
"I am guilty. I'm guilty of many things. I should have offered to renew the contract. I shouldn't have been so arrogant, so fuckin' cowardly. It's the same arrogance that kept ya at a distance for so long, that...makes me what I am. I knew how he felt, knew how I felt. I feel guilty that I care at all when I have someone like you in my life, provin' again n'again that I never need another."
Charles: He pulled one hand away to cup his demon's cheek, trying to coax his head back around. Don't hide from me. "Darling, love isn't a finite resource. You can care for him without me worrying about my place in your heart. You've no reason to feel guilty. Perhaps something more could have grown from your relationship with that man. Perhaps not. But you can't fault yourself for being cautious with your heart, at that time. Your entire family died. No, your entire family was murdered, while you were forced to bear witness. Everyone you loved. My husband left me, an everyday occurrence, bloody laughable in comparison. But I was hesitant to let anyone in. You're many things, Mason Atlas, but you're no coward. Life is... really shit, sometimes. His death isn't your fault."
Mason: He did feel guilty, something he had never experienced before in his life. Not truly. Guilt for not comforting Bronwyn sooner; guilt for not caring for the angels in his life; they were fractions of honest emotion.
Pure attempts at self-improvement were met with shy eyes.
"I understand what you're tryin' t'do, n'I appreciate the effort ya make, Charles, but the...feelin' has yet t'dissipate."
Charles: He brushed a thumb across Mason's cheek before letting his hand fall. "I'm sure it will take more than a few encouraging words from a well-meaning professor. Time and reflection are your best bet. But..." he shrugged, pressed a kiss to the demon's warm cheek, "I'll be here while you sort through it, and I meant everything I said."
Mason: He leaned himself against Charles' hand, his lips, took refuge in his calm presence.
"How involved d'ya wanna be in this, Charles? I have the case unopened at home. I couldn't open it without findin' ya first. I feel out of place askin' for guidance, dependin' on...you."
Charles: His brow furrowed. "Mason, I know that I'm rich with a quaint 'Eagle and Child' sort of charm, and very enthusiastic in bed, but I do hope that you see more in me. I want you to depend on me. That's rather a part of this whole... thing. I'll be as involved as you let me. If you want me there when you open the case, then lead the way."
Mason: "I'm perplexed by your willingness t'participate in this aspect of my life. I don't believe - I haven't given ya proper credit."
Both hands were kissed. Thank you.
Charles: "I am deeply, mortifyingly in love with you, you impossible man." Can't you see that? Can't you feel it? He rolled his eyes. Laughed. But it was all rather strained. "If you're not ready today, we can wait. Whenever."
Mason: "I don't think ya understand the depth in which my love for ya has buried. You're in a trench now."
Be pressed his forehead to the mutant's. "Today, if you're ready."
Charles: His lips twitched, just the suggestion of a smile, though his eyes crinkled at their corners. "This isn't really about me, but yes. I'm ready."
Mason: "What was that?" he arched his brow.
Charles: "What was what?"
Mason: "That smile ya do, ya think ya hide."
Charles: Oh. That smile. That was his 'Mason is adorable but probably wouldn't appreciate my saying so' smile. "It's nothing." This grin, he didn't bother trying to tuck away. "...love trenches."
Mason: "Yes. You're trapped inside a trench n'I'm not gonna help ya out." Finally, something more. He held placidly to Charles' waist. "You're mine, n'I adore ya. That's enough romance for today."
Charles: He chuckled against Mason's lips as he kissed them. "Oh, woe is me. How will I ever go on?" His arms wrapped around his lover, holding him close for the space of a breath. He did not pull away, but melted easily into his 'Professor X' shoes. "Yes, there are more pressing matters at hand. Are we traveling to Louisiana or North Carolina?" In either case, he inhaled deeply and braced for the nauseating pull of teleportation.
Mason: “We’re goin’ back t’Cameron.” Rarely did he visit Louisiana at this stage in his life. His house belonged to others, Cameron Dockstader in particular. It was where he had parted ways with Clarke, with Dmitri, where he’d seen Carl Deidrich in the mirror every July. It was of little interest.
Teleportation took only a moment, a blink, but he knew what would happen to the mutant. He made an honest attempt to aid his nausea. Gentle kisses peppered his forehead and cheek. You’re alright, love, the affection said.
“Want somethin’ t’drink?”
Charles: He shut his eyes, breathed slowly and deeply. The kisses had the intended effect. And as the room settled into stillness, he pressed his gratitude softly against Mason's lips. "Tea. I can make it, if you want to go and get your case."
Mason: The case. The case made of designer tan leather with a red satin lining. He knew what the interior looked like without having to open. It once belonged to Clarke Taylor. The case was returned to the living room and placed center of the coffee table.
Why was Charles here? He needn’t be. He could handle this with tradition, alone. He could, but he wouldn’t.
He felt the texture surrounding the handle, took a breath and opened the case. The immediate nostalgia nearly overwhelmed his senses. Why was this here? How was this found? Had Clarke saved all of this all this – no.
Shirts, pants, and Clarke’s lace body suit. Some of Mason’s favorite pieces of Clarke’s lingerie. Decades old cigarettes he used to smoke. His empty bottle of cologne he swore he had thrown away. What was that? A frosted glass bottle was lifted. Clarke’s own half-finished bottle of his favorite scent. The other side of the case…he couldn’t stand to look. Letters upon letters that for whatever reason the human had refused to send. He didn’t want to open them in Charles’ presence. What would the professor think?
But then…there were photographs. Photographs of Clarke Taylor smiling, facial hair pristine, perfect mole just below his temple, brightest hazel eyes to ever grace this earth. There was Mason beside him in the next photo, barely a smile, uncomfortable with the camera, but clearly willing to participate in the bright human’s desires.
Should Charles see this? He shifted in his seat.
Charles: Charles occupied himself with the ritual of tea-making, comforted by the mundanity of it all. He'd give Mason a few minutes alone with his memories, before slipping into the living room with two steaming mugs of Earl Grey. He eyed the remains of his demon's past relationship as he sat. His expression he kept carefully neutral, setting the spare mug on the table and kissing the side of Mason's head. "Handsome," he observed, carefully. "If you think it'll help, tell me about him. There's... a lot of life, here." A lot of love.
Mason: "I paid him well above the cost of livin', objectified him, n'he still managed t'appreciate me, care enough t'ask about my day, abandon other clients t'focus solely on me. Love has a tendency t'creep in on me. Never once have I planned on a relationship."
Charles' hand was taken, fingers tangled with his own. "I never knew the extent of his care. How much of you have I left unattended...?"
Charles: "You're an easy person to fall in love with." I should know. "You probably made him feel like the most desirable, most important man in the world, when you were with him. Even when that wasn't your intention." He took a deep pull from his mug, wincing as it burned all the way down. "Unattended? I'm fine, Mason. I have loved you for longer than I'll admit, and that you return that love is more than I had any right to ask for, given our circumstances. I'm not hiding myself from you. Not anymore."
Mason: "Ya fell in love with a demon that used ya as a plaything." At first. A day at best, and over pride at best, nothing as simple as entertainment.
Charles: "Ha. A demon who tried. If I recall correctly, what you liked first about me was my defiance, my refusal to be anyone's toy. Truth be told, I probably used you. You were a pleasant distraction... until you weren't." He sighed at the memory, and tucked himself close against Mason's side. "Now, you, on the other hand. You fell for a brokenhearted school teacher."
Mason: "I fell in love with a defiant schoolteacher that wanted more from life than what was presented." Arms firmly held the mutant in place. "The same man in my arms, willin' t'tell me to...what was it? Stick a cactus up my ass?" he laughed.
Charles: "Oh, God." He turned to bury his laughter against Mason's shoulder, toeing the line between amusement and mortification. "Look, I'm a mess, sweetheart. Positively riddled with abandonment issues. You should've known better."
Mason: "I just want what's best for ya," he said, kissed the top of Charles' head. "N'I'm used t'bein' alone."
Charles: "And I don't want anyone else." He set his tea aside to cool. "Being used to something doesn't mean it's good for you." His eyes drifted to the collection of memories scattered across the table. "That's the only picture I've ever seen of you."
Mason: There was silence from the demon until mention of the photographs.
"It's not my real face," he explained. "Negotiatin' went into that photograph. He was so insistent. There's so much here in such mint condition..."
Charles: He nodded. That made a sad sort of sense. But this was the only face Charles had ever known. He loved it. "Something to remember you by, I'd wager. These things were clearly kept and cared for with love." A smirk. "Nice lingerie. Are you going to keep it? The case, not the underwear. Not that I'd protest if you did. I think you should. At least some of it. He... was an important part of your past."
Mason: "Nice lingerie," he echoed, laughed. "I was gone for weeks with a contract. I returned to that purchase. I think the two of you would have gotten along. Great taste in men, hmm?" His smile hardly reached his eyes. "I don't have to keep any of it. You don't have to be so damn selfless."
Charles: "Lucky you." He hummed quietly. "A lot kinder than I would've been." A frown creased his features. That wasn't the smile he loved. He nuzzled imploringly at a stubbled cheek. "I'm not. This is utter selfishness. I want the man I love to be content. The sex is better when you're in a good mood. It's entirely me-motivated." Not even remotely true, but if it made the demon feel better. He sighed. "Listen, I'm not telling you what to do, Mason. It'd be one thing if you built a bloody shrine to the man, or something. I might have a few choice words for you, then. But a keepsake from the first person to bring a little light into your life after so much pain? That's not going to break me. What will hurt me, is if you keep all you're feeling bottled inside, until it begins to affect us. You're not alone anymore."
Mason: The mutant did manage to coax a laugh from his demon. Their foreheads were pressed together. "You are a hellhound," he concurred. "My hellhound."
Quietly he listened, engaged in eye contact he might have avoided ages before. What Charles had to say mattered, as it had since day one.
"Ya know that's been ingrained in me since before I died. It's so much of who I am, I don't know what I am without it."
Charles: "I don't know if I believe that's a compliment." But he was chuckling softly. His fingers made lazy paths through Mason's hair. "You're still you. Now, you've just got... someone with you when you're wading through all of life's bullshit. It's not always fun, but it's better than sinking. You've already grown so much since then, yeah? The people you love know it. You trusted me enough to let me in, even after I told you to go fuck a cactus." He laughed.  "You don't give yourself nearly enough credit."
Mason: "I wanted ya t'tell me that. I wanted ya t'not want me like this. I was walking backwards to move forward. Lucky for me, I fell in love with an obstinate man."
His thumb lightly traced the outline of Charles' bottom lip.
"The man that brought these things is still in town. He's staying for the weekend, wants to speak to me again. These things, this life, what I saw in his mind, it's raw." The couch was sunk into.
Charles: "Lucky, indeed." He maneuvered himself in Mason's arms, until he was straddling his lap, pressed chest to chest, pushing the pair of them deeper into plush cushions. His hands locked loosely behind the demon's neck as he studied him. "Hm. Do you want to speak with him?"
Mason: Mason's hands reached for the same opportunity, with fingers locked loosely around Charles' waist. This was what content must feel like. A sensation gone as soon as it appeared. Expected.
"I don't owe Peter a damn thing, but Clarke deserves closure. He had something to say, n'I kicked him out."
Charles: "It couldn't have been easy for him," he offered. "Peter, I mean. Feeling a grief that wasn't his own." Charles couldn't help being generous toward the stranger. It was a heavy enough burden, carrying around one's own heartbreak. "Try to be gentle." Soothing fingers massaged at Mason's neck, the line of his shoulders. "If it's something that you think he needs, then you should go. And when it's over, it's over. I'll be here. I can even stay the night, if you'd like. I'll have to make a call, of course, but it should be no trouble."
Mason: Mason was ready to retort, when soothing, supple fingers lulled him like a beast with music. He hummed, forgot what he was going to say, until Charles continued.
"Ya want me t'go see him?"
Charles: "I do." A kiss, brief and sweet. "I think it'll be as much closure for you as it will be for Clarke's soul. You need to face whatever it is he needs to tell you, and work through it from there."
Mason: "Why are ya so trustin' of me, Charles?"
Charles: "Because you haven't given me a reason not to be." He shook his head. "What on earth would make me doubt you?"
Mason: "I'm a demon. It's not just a title. It's everything."
Charles: "Yes. My demon. And unless you've had a sudden change of heart, you love me. You came to me with this. You told me about Callum. You shared the nature of your relationship with Bronwyn. I saw it firsthand! Mason, if I were going to fly into a jealous rage, I would have done it long before now. Do you think... what? You're going to fall into bed with this bloke the moment you're alone with him?"
Mason: His body seemed to sink against the cushion, yet held fast to the man in his arms. The answer was a duel edged knife. The beginning of their unspoken relationship, yes, he would have. Clarke had meant so much in such minuscule time. No one would have been discarded, but not one would have been priority. That had been his safety net for lifetimes.
"No. It's not Clarke, and it's not his time. You're mine, n'I've broken your heart enough. It's not a consideration, unless you're gonna tell me ya want a threesome," he laughed.
Charles: Charles joined in his amusement, laughing against Mason's lips as he stole another kiss. "Not likely." An acquaintance? Perhaps. But certainly not someone with whom he'd be forced to share his demon's heart. "If it'll help, I'll go with you. Emotional support. Or I can stay here and wait for you. Whatever you need."
Mason: Eyes closed, weight leaned against Charles' forehead. One of his tokens of affection. Charles deserved each one.
"I can't ask ya t'stand there while a reincarnation gives t'me their catharsis."
Charles: "You don't have to ask. I'm offering."
Mason: "It sounds ridiculous and that's comin' from me."
Charles: "I can live with being seen as ridiculous. Tell me what you want."
Mason: "I will, after you tell me something."
Charles: "Mm. What's that?"
Mason: "Do ya trust me alone with his reincarnation?"
Charles: "I do."
Mason: "Then, I want to come home to ya."
Charles: He cupped Mason's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "All right. I'll be here."
Mason: Those kisses soothed him down to his soul. "D'ya want anything when I get back?"
Charles: "Just you, my love." Oh. Wait. "And food? I left before dinner." If there was something to eat in the house, Charles wasn't going to cook it. Not even with Bronwyn's lessons would he make the attempt alone.
Mason: "Mm, n'there's no place t'order takeaway in this tiny town. Will you be satisfied with going out when I return?"
Charles: "Of course. And there's no need to hurry." Another sequence of affection, pressed to Mason's forehead, the bridge of his nose, his lips. "I love you." Just so you know. Reluctantly, he climbed from his demon's lap and into an unoccupied corner of the couch. "You should go."
Mason: Mason chased after his mutant and peppered his face with kisses. Charles deserved each and every one.
"I love ya, Charles. I won't be long." He would keep his word for this man, and making such a promise would keep him honest. Tests of his integrity were nothing new. He was and always would be a contract demon.
One final gentle and lingering kiss to his lips, and he disappeared.
Charles: He laughed at this loving assault. "I'll be here," he repeated. His fingers brushed along Mason's jaw, until he was stroking air. He heaved a sigh and collected the mugs. He'd keep himself occupied in the meantime.
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gulescamisade · 8 years
Text
WELCOME TO EARTH
[ The distant light of Sol-1 finally touches upon the ship, somewhere not too terribly far from earth, as they weave between the debris scattered in the system's asteroid belt. The system appears to be a hotbed of activity, patrolled by at least a dozen ships patrolling its orbit, though the tremendous amount of interference from an approximate fuckton of space rocks seems to be doing an adequate job of masking their approach, for now. The crew is ordered to be ready for the worst, considering the riskiness of their approach, with all of the Security members manning battle stations and engineering on standby for potential damage. There remains a small list of others commanded for presence on the bridge-- Horuss, Equius, Daelos and Roxy-- with special instructions prepared for the moment they manage to clear the asteroid belt. ]
DIRK: -at any moment they could be too close. in fact, they might be already, but who knows how long they can maintain what they're going to do. there's a lot of risks involved, but his gut is telling him now is the moment to give the signal.-
DIRK: -looks to this specialized group of folks.- Alright, guys, time to show us what you've got.
DIRK: If the plan goes awry, we'll just put up the ship's cloak and hope for the best.
DIRK: But it ain't gonna go awry. -he believes in the horses and his platonic wife.-
ROXY: =She made them all shirts, they BETTER be wearing them. A solid blue that reads V-SQUAD with (Not that kind of V) in small letters under it=
ROXY: i got a whole lot u cant handle dstri
ROXY: welcum 2 the sweaty gun show =flexes minorly but yes, time for the one with the void thing. She's sitting and touching the ground since it's a collaborative effort there's no need to go TOO crazy on her own=
TEREZI: V-SQU4D, V-SQU4D, TH3YR3 OUR CL4N 
TEREZI: 1F TH3Y C4NT DO 1T NO ON3 C4N
TEREZI: =moral support=
ROXY: =she loves u Terezi=
TEREZI: >;]
HORUSSBOT: Udder nonsense. I have 100% confidence in my abilities. Nothing will trot off horse. -whirrs, his goggles blaring red. He has had quite some time prepping in the void for a task such as this. Now, it was time to put the thoughts into action into the motion of events.-
HORUSSBOT: -Of course, he can't turn down a gift from Roxy. Horuss is wearing the obligatory V-Squad shirt.-
EQUIUS: -This shirt is stupid and 100di% but it's also kind of cute that Roxy made these. He's focused. He's always focused, standing on the bridge after giving engineering THOROUGH instructions. Jake, do not heck this up.-
JAKE: -vigorous awoos from the engineering labs.-
EQUIUS: D --> We will do as we are needed to. This e%ercise will go off without a hitch
DIRK: -thumbs up at them and their confidence-
DAELOS: - Looking out of place with a t-shirt that's a bit too tight but he's more focused on carefully keeping an eye on the ship than his wardrobe-
JADE: -She's in her station as well, because there's no way she's sitting out on a mission so important, even if she doesn't feel quite as ready as her peers.-
ROXY: =She made it tight on purpose=
ROXY: =ur welc every1=
ROXY: =They're all wearing tight shirts=
ROXY: =Additional ur welcs=
EQUIUS: -He's probably going to flex out of it later-
ROXANNE: -At her station as well, mentally cheering on her daughter. U go bby, she believes in you.-
ROXY: =Feels mom-couragement, internal warmth and weeping=
ROXANNE: -<333-
EQUIUS: -The human disease called love-
[ The ships are still just dim blips on a sensor, and it really seems like they're going to stay that way-- it's a long circuit around the sun and the nearest doesn't seem to be making any move to intercept them. The effects of being under a cloak of void are almost imperceptible to the majority of the crew. ]
ROSE: -There are still a few who'd feel it, though. She's laying her head down and closing her eyes, wincing at even the softest lights in her room. This is not an altogether COMPLETELY pleasant sensation, right now.-
HORUSSBOT: -The void portal device will be running in the engineering labs. Now it is a matter of manipulating the void pocket within outwards. Like a droplet of oil moving through water, so will the ship move undetected through space. Horuss, unlike EVERYONE ELSE, is not distracted in his task of breathing out and letting the Nothing seep from his essence. The edges of his robotic form warble out of the corner of people's eyes. Everything is trotting along as planned.-
DAVE: -he's manning his section of security on the ship, overseeing guards and in ready position should anything go wrong. there's a lot of stuff on his mind about this trip, but he's not focusing on it. he's just making sure he's ready to take action if and when it is needed.-
EQUIUS: -He's barely in focus, unless you are of course focusing on him. Equius settling down to concentrate on his task, positively exuding the void from his entire being. What he lacks in the finesse his teammates have he more than makes up with sheer POWER.-
HORUSSBOT: -Well Horuss is more thorough and studious about it. So there.-
ARADIA: -standing on another level by the atrium, she's just watching. not in caution, but in waiting.-
ROXY: =She's just here to have a good time and be helpful=
EQUIUS: -Shhh fellow horse. You are amazing too. Just not as amazing as me-
MEULIN: -She's there with Dave, smiling supportively every now and again if she catches his gaze, but otherwise remaining serious, bristled with anxiety.-
DAELOS: -In a similar way he also seems to be imperceptible, though in a slightly different way. It's not that it's hard to see him, but people may forget that he's there for a time. He's absorbed in the ship's sensors and radar.-
DAVE: -it makes it easier to be sturdy for someone else, because he can tell meulin is feeling anxious. he gives her a nod when she smiles- nothin to worry about
DAVE: we all know what were supposed to do
DEREK: -he's REALLY counting on y'all for this to work, cuz he'd rather not drive everybody right into danger.-
DAVENFORTH: -Manning his security section, in full uniform. His trench coat flutters gently. But how?-
ROXANNE: -That would be the ideal yeah... But it will work! Optimism is important guys.-
MEULIN: RIGHT! -Except that they're heading into the playground of probably the biggest threat to them currently, and she's sure that before this is done, there's going to be some blood on her claws. Will she be able to handle that when the time comes? The fact that Dave is there, that he's been there every other time she couldn't handle it, is really the only assurance she can cling to for now.-
NEPETA: =She's ready, for the rumblings. Spiny is also ready for the rumblings, pets the lorge lizard=
[ The PLAN continues to go smoothly-- even at a cautious pace, Earth is growing larger and larger, the ship slowly beginning a controlled descent onto the planet. Things seem to be a bit different, with all of the voidiness wrapped around the ship, and any of the heat or pressures of gravity from re-entry seem to slip right by them. From an outside perspective, it would look bizzare, if it were possible for it to look like anything at all. They glide down towards the wider area of the Pacific Northwest, in the direction of a relatively obscure meeting place-- Baseball was both made illegal and cancelled forever, evidently, and it's almost unreal how delapitated the diamond has become, visible from high in the sky, in only a short period of open occupation. ]
RILEY: -she desperately wishes she had something to do at the moment with so much on her mind, so she's walking around the ship instead of sitting and waiting-
QIRIN: =baseball banned?? how awful=
ROXANNE: -Earth wtf.-
DEREK: Damn that was a smooth ride. -grins back at everyone from his pilot's chair.- DIRK: -naturally he believed in them, but damn is he relieved when they start to land. eyeballs the dad.-
VRISKA: -she's looking bored wherever she's supposed to look out for. can't she do something IMPORTANT?! they are absolutely wasting her skills. she sighs dramatically from where she's assigned-
TEREZI: STUNN1NG JOB, STR1D3R SR! 👌
TEREZI: V-SQU4D R31GNS SUPR3M3, 4S USU4L >:]
ROXY: shes sweet talkin me ;P =shes also sweating a bit the ship is fuckin lorge=
TEREZI: M3 SW33T? N3V3R!
JOHN: -BASEBALL WAS BANNED???? THE ALL AMERICAN PASTIME??? THAT BITCH.-
[ There's AMPLE ROOM for a landing, even if it's a severely makeshift spaceport and there isn't too much room for wiggling. They'll also DEFINITELY demolish this whole fuckin thing when they take off again. They touch down on a flat land that is nonetheless a bit overgrown with crabgrass and weeds, sensors reading no ships in the sky anywhere in the surrounding area. There is a definitive ALL CLEAR. ]
QIRIN: =John, it's all the more reason we are here. Fight. Win. Homerun.=
ROXY: =sports=
DAELOS: -Wipes sweat off his brow as they land. That was very stressful.-
DEREK: -touches this baby down nice and gentle...- Well folks we made it. DIRK: -he's already trying to message jamison or jude or whoever will pick up, really.-
HORUSSBOT: -Robo neighs and doesn't sweat at all. The sweat is in his soul.-
JOHN: -whistling Georgia by Ray Charles somewehre in the lwoer decks as they land.-
JAMISON: =They'll be there in two shakes Dirkington! He's brought his various makeshift weapons also!=
JAMES: -Hovering by his Aunt Jolene, most likely. She must be at the ends of her tethers being in Condy territory. Their old home, Earth...-
EQUIUS: -He breathes out deeply. Sweating greatly. He flexes uncomfortably in this cotton prison-
DIRK: -god bless you, jamison harley.- Alright, everybody sit tight. We're gonna make this quick.
DIRK: -gets on the intercom to address security.- Open up the docking bay. They'll be here any minute.
ROXY: =listen she tried to make them super absorbant=
JOHN: -Ooooooooooh he wants out. He feels like a dog getting amped up to go for a walk. He's so overcome with nostalgia that he forgets to be scared.-
DAVE: -he's on it and he'll bring meulin with him-
JOLENE: -most certainly, nephew. just knowing they're near james' house -- the neighborhood where her sister used to live... knowing the state it must be in now. at least she's keeping it under wraps... FOR NOW.-
KARKAT: =surprise it's him not-security-dude=
KANKRI: -From where he is he suddenly gets the feeling that John should calm down.-
DAVENFORTH: -Messages Derek: "Way to not fuck up 👍" -
KARKAT: =hes here to welcome and also punch=
JOHN: -BUT HE'S SO EXCITED.-
DAVE: -you're always secure in my heart karkat-
JAMES: -stern and gentle hand on his Auntie. Please have a cookie.-
MEULIN: -Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and following Dave! She's trying to make a special effort to be quiet.-
ROSE: -A little bit of a stumbling stagger, squinting at all the lights still, but she's out of her office and TRYING to breathe. It's a really bad time to have a whole bunch of migraines, but she'll deal for now.- REDGLARE: -HERE FOR APPEARANCE PURPOSES of course. She's resting on her staff and waiting by the docking bay.-
JOHN: -HE WANTS OFF THE SHIP RIGHT NOW. Hovers near Rose.-
VRISKA: -BOOOOOOOORING-
DEREK: -responds back like Thanks my guy. 👍-
JOLENE: -pets james' hand vigorously... then nibbles a cookie.- :I
ROXANNE: -She is also heading for the docking bay, her services may not be required but do you know how long its been since she has even seen a glimpse of her home planet? Too damn long, she will take what she can get by watching from inside the dockingbay.-
MEULIN: -Watches the docking bay slide open. Exciting...-
DIRK: -NOBODY IS LEAVING THIS SHIP JOHN DON'T SCAMPER OFF-
DIRK: -HE'LL FOOTBALL TACKLE YOU ONTO THIS BASEBALL DIAMOND-
DIRK: -and he'll love it. sports.-
QIRIN: =wrong sport, dirk=
DIRK: -no?-
JOHN: -WHATEVER DIRK, YOU'RE NOT HIS DAD. he's being good for now though and just rocking on his heels.-
QIRIN: =YES=
JOHN: -he's got all the medical equipment you could ever want ready in his sylladex.-
RILEY: -this is hells of nervewracking. she didn't think she would be nervous, but here she is, waiting outside the docking bay behind everyone else. she just wants to make sure she's alive and breathing, then she can leave her alone for a little while-
ROSE: -twists the cap off an aspirin bottle, spilling a few pills into her palm and swallowing them dry.-
DIRK: -makes his way to the docking bay just to see them in and give more direct orders in case SOMETHING goes wrong, which he can't help feeling it will.-
TEREZI: =BLECH=
ROXY: =Is Rose around her? She's gettin EYEBALLED=
QIRIN: =these kids..=
ROSE: -ALMOST CERTAINLY NOt-
JOHN: -Takes a break from being excited about being on a baseball diamond he played at as a kid and HAS A CONCERN AT ROSE.- hey, you ok?
[At first, there's the distant sound of a rumbling engine, but it doesn't stay distant for long. It's getting pretty loud pretty rapidly.]
PENNY: -HERE COMES A CAR, otherwise known as a scuttlebuggy, and there's none other than a feisty redhead behind the wheel. Crammed in the car with her is a few too many people, and on top of it is... well.-
JAMISON: =CAR SURFING, barechested with homemade screw/nail grenanades. A potato-zooka strapped to his back and a modified nail gun in each hand=
ROSE: Yes.
ROSE: In most of the important ways, yes, I am fine.
ROSE: My head is not terribly pleased with me for existing, but we've had these kind of disagreements before.
DIRK: ... -looks into the fucking camera-
JOHN: :/ hey are you sure you're up to this? you should stay behind if you're ill.
DAVE: -wow-
REDGLARE: >;| -AT THIS SIGHT-
JOHN: -gdi-
ROSE: I'm sure.
ROSE: I've been looking forward to this, as twisted as it sounds.
PENNY: -BROOM BROOM I'M IN ME OWN CAR. She doesn't seem to be stopping for anything. She's gonna drive this car right into the docking bay!!!!-
ROSE: I want to meet them.
ROSE: I've been speaking to Jane for some time now.
TESSERACT: =is LORGE DOG=
TESSERACT: =His head is stuck out the window, tongue lolling with a huge doggy grin!=
JUDE: -A VERY FRAZZLED MAN IS IN THE PASSENGER'S SIDE. he's holding on tight to the dashboard while also looking around everywhere. in front of them, behind them-- and when he looks back oh god THEY'RE GOING IN.-
ROXANNE: -Those are some sweet driving skills.-
JAMISON: TALLY-HO! GANG WAY!
DIRK: Jesus Christ--
DIRK: -side steps...-
DIRK: -more crazy ass family-
RILEY: -that's definitely piper driving-
JAKE: - :D from the engineering labs if he were here. It's a family reunion...-
JOHN: -it's a puppy-
REDGLARE: -of course they are. OF COURSE YOU ARE. She's just gonna FLY UP INTO THE AIR-
JOEY: =she's halfway out the same window, just feeling the wind rush through her hair, waving at those they pass by like she's on a parade float=
PENNY: -TIRE SCREECHING as she nyooms this car up into the ship, hitting the brakes so they can avoid running into anything or anyone-
JOLENE: -waddles down here just in time- jamie--! ... JOLENE: >_>
ARADIA: -has been in the air since they landed. she smiles at redglare-
JOHN: -look, more mysterious relatives. he floats up, waving.- hey everybody!!!
ARADIA: -HELLO REDGLARE-
REDGLARE: ... -HI-
REDGLARE: -SHE'S JUST. GONNA LAND NOW THAT THE CAR'S INSIDE-
JAMES: -follows a shade bit more cautiously. Uncle. James disapproves of your shirtlessness. It's indecent.-
JAMISON: HUP! =as the tires screech, flies off into a front flip and STICKS the landing= ..... Would you all like to meet my kids?? :D
MEULIN: (=゚・゚=) ... -jesus-
JUDE: -leaning heavily against the door, he opens it and just.. spills out onto the floor.-
JOHN: -lol-
JAMES: ...OH.
DAVE: -slow claps-
JUDE: -a pile of awkward gangly limbs.-
JOHN: -hovers near Dad- :O
JOEY: =doesnt even bother with the door. She's crawling out!=
TESSERACT: =no me first!=
PENNY: -puts the car in park and turns it off, opening her door up and stepping out so she can flip her hair and huff.- WOOOOO.
JAMISON: Awwww brighten up Jude the Dude! =lifts Jude=
RILEY: -aaaaaaand yep. that's her.-
JUDE: hhhhh... -HOISTED, then looks around wildly. WHO ARE ALL YOU PEOPLE.-
JOEY: =trolls of course! psh!=
ROXANNE: -Your new forever neighbors probably, jude.-
JAMISON: =Also helps Joey out the window= Jojo look!!!!
JUDE: -I WONT HESITATE BITCH-
JOHN: -walks right up without a second thought- hi! i'm john! can i pet your pupper?
JOEY: aunt jo!! :'D
JAMES: -Kind of just stern, silent, and shiny eyed. ;__; Don't mind him. These were just family members James was sure were lost in the war decades ago.-
JANE: -She's squished in with a dog in the back seat, and she finally manages to crack a door open and step out, looking a fair bit disgruntled. Hello, she's a familiar face...-
TESSERACT: =tackles john right to the floor, licking his face in slobbery kisses=
JOLENE: -HOBBLES OVER TO THE FAMILY- joey!! jude!! -crashes into the lot of them with a big hug-
JAMISON: =Hauls around Jane too, ALL THESE KIDS=
JOHN: -YESSSSSS. Much hoo haing and petting as his face is kissed.-
ROXANNE: -Oh wait is james okay, shes gonna be looking at him with his misty eye thing happening.-
DAVE: -none of their family's reunions were ever anything like this. it's so...happy. and welcomed.-
PENNY: -grinning a little at the family reunions... her eyes aren't wandering.-
JOEY: =just hugging her auntie so tightly!!!=
JANE: Oof--!?
JAMISON: =THAT'S HOW J'S DO IT=
JANE: HELLO!
JANE: Everyone!
TESSERACT: =YES, this boy likes the john human.= TESSERACT: BORF!
JOHN: aww he's so friendly! -PAT PAT PAT PAT-
JANE: Oughtn't we shut the-- door?
JAMES: -Don't look at him... But yes do. He maintains that polite distance.- JAMES: -He is also very ? about the very familiar shape of Jane in the group.-
JAMES: JANEWAY? IS THAT YOU?
TESSERACT: BORF BORF BORF!! =dancing around john=
JANE: ...
JANE: -freezes in place- ...Dad?
JOHN: -STARES AT ALL THESE...COUSINS? SIBLINGS? VAGUE FAMILY MEMBERS CURIOUSLY. eyes widen particualrily at the jane and dad interaction.-
JOHN: -still papping tesser-
JAMISON: =HE'S YELLING ABOUT BABIES AND JUST TEARS UP ALREADY, YESSS=
RILEY: -she's studying her from a distance, making mental notes of sad observations she'll stow away for later-
PENNY: -leans against her car and just casually lights up a cigarette. Those aren't banned in spaceships, right??-
DAVENFORTH: -Nope-
JAMES: YES. -now striding forward, his uncertainty be damned.- WHAT EVER WERE YOU DOING ON EARTH?
TESSERACT: =lick!=
ROSE: -She's DEFINITELY not at her best, right now, but hopefully it doesn't show at all as she tries to make her way through the group and make it to the face that is familiar. FAMILIAR TWOFOLD because she did see her once over the chat program.-
ROSE: It's—
ROSE: Good to finally meet you.
ROSE: -and then she stops, glancing at James slightly quizically.-
ROSE: I have a suspicion it should be within my nature to comprehend how this is supposed to work, and far be it for me to sully this occasion,
ROSE: But is your name sincerely Janeway? You ought to have disclosed you were named after a Star Trek character.
DIRK: -in the process of closing the hatch. it's all good.-
DAVE: -hey, that one redhead looks weirdly kind of like his mom-
JOHN: -goddamnit dad.. he laughs at that.-
JAMES: -Arguably one of the best of the series... but he digresses. Just ask what John's middle name is. Do it. It's Tiberius.-
JOHN: -Well.-
JANE: I—
JANE: -She glances at Rose, laughing incredulously, and back at who she is pretty sure is her father, eyes stinging.-
JOEY: =she wandered over to Tessie and this guy who looks strangely family.=
JOEY: hehehe hi im joey =Holds out a hand to shake=
JOEY: tesseracts a bit excitable
JOEY: sorry he squished ya
JUDE: -he's happy somewhere under all this crippling anxiety-
JOEY: =bro no=
JOHN: hey! i'm assuming we're related in some way but i don't know how yet. nice to meet you anyway though!
JAMES: THIS IS OVERWHELMING. -No... don't cry. He offers a hand out to her.- JANE.
JADE: -She's made it down here, too, tail wagging and peering around bodies to try to figure out what's going on.- hey!!
JOHN: -fist bump.-
JAMISON: =will a hairy dad smoooch do him well, hes getting one=
JOEY: =Snrk= of course JOEY: =BNPS=
DAVE: -there's jade. good. it's kind of cute seeing her so excited about this. it's really cute. he's missed it-
JAMISON: JADE!
JUDE: -HHHH-
JANE: Dad... -just sort of... stops hesitating and rushes over to SQUISH HIM IN A REFRIGERATOR-MANHANDLING HUG.-
JAMISON: COME MEET YOUR BROTHER AND SISTER!
JOEY: family is family :)
JADE: !!
JUDE: -it's her...-
JAMISON: =HE'S smiling SO WIDE, they look a bit like the kids from the photo he showed her=
JADE: oh!!! -BOOF TROTS OVER-
JOEY: =Glances up at that!= o:
JAMISON: =look at this photograph....=
JOHN: -sorry joey he gets distracted for a bit when he sees this. awww.-
JOHN: -he doesn't often see his dad like this.-
JAMES: -Is presumably LIFTED like some fragile case of a refrigerator. Horfs gently and with much indignity.- ... -and then smiles.-
JAMES: -rests a hand into her hair.-
JADE: hi!!! :D
JUDE: ... hello -finally manages to wheeze out-
JANE: -sniffs- You...'ve been here the whole time?
JADE: im jade!
JAMES: I HAVE MADE IT NO SECRET WHERE MY RETIREMENT WOULD LEAD ME, JANE. -He is confused... by happy. But concerned.- SURELY, YOU WERE AWARE.
JUDE: jude
JUDE: harley
JUDE: ... an unnecessary nugget of information to share but there it is
JOHN: -HE JUST FEELS REALLY. EMOTIONAL. This father/daughter thing in his peripheral and the fact that they just landed in his home town.-
JAMES: -putting arms around her now to lift her too.- EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT NOW.
ROXANNE: -Shes kind of creeping from the back but she can't help but be in awe at James being so highly emotional. Not that its unwarranted, that is his kid after all. But ahhh this is what a real family reunion should look like and its beautiful to watch unfold.-
JADE: i was a harley too! but now im a strider
JAMISON: =...right that=
JADE: i guess i never really stopped being a harley though :p
JAMISON: Aww well you're still a harley!! :D YES
JOHN: -clears is throat- so uh. sorry. joey. nice to meet you and everything. wait...i already said that. pfft. i am a little bit flustered!
JADE: haha!
RILEY: -what's up roxanne i'm back here too-
ROXANNE: -Please no.-
JOEY: wow.... :D so were related to striders now? who are the striders? where are they?
ROXANNE: -Except she will glance at Riley like "You seeing this amazing shit?"-
JANE: ...Dad, no, I... -pulls away from him a little to look at him- JANE: ...-glances around at Jude, and then Rose.-
JOHN: there's one! -points at dave-
JANE: ...I... no.
JANE: I'm... not from here.
JOHN: and there's one....-points at dirk-
DAVE: -raises hand-
JOHN: and there's one. -points at riley-
DIRK: -waves-
JOHN: they're kind of like roaches.
JOHN: everywhere!
RILEY: -looks back at roxanne like bitch if you knew....-
DIRK: Y'all can't even talk.
ROXANNE: -Good thing she dont.-
DIRK: There's literally a dozen of you right in front of us.
DAVE: we dont even have that many
PENNY: -blowing out clouds of smoke. She'll figure out all this relation stuff later.-
JOHN: well now we have some competition going at least.
JOEY: =glances between Dirk and Riley= all right jade which one did you marry
DIRK: -don't look at me-
JADE: pfff that one!
JADE: -points at Dave-
RILEY: -don't look at me????-
DAVE: -raises his hand again- hey
DIRK: I'm gonna let you guys get back to that. We need to get the hell outta dodge. -absconds for the bridge-
DAELOS: -STANDING UNCOMFORTABLY NEAR THE BACK. WE'RE IN ENEMY TERRITORY. AAAA. HOW ARE THESE HUMANS NOT FREAKING OUT.-
PENNY: yeah thats the pretty one.
JOEY: =waves to dave= hi fam
JAMES: -watches her expression carefully and notes what she says. Taking a small moment to register the information. Plug it into everything he already knew versus everything there was still left to learn.- ... -Takes Jane by the cheeks and smooches the top of her head.- JAMES: THERE WILL BE TIME TO DISCUSS IT.
PENNY: -calls out helpfully-
DIRK: -daelos come with him to the bridge-
DAELOS: -oh yes of course.-
DAVE: -did you just call me pretty-
DAELOS: -follow like a good horse.-
JOHN: you are pretty dave. -MAKES KISSY FACES.-
DAVE: im beautiful shut up
JOHN: hold on a minuite. -pops between jane and dad.- hey! i think i met another version of you but we're sort of unofficially brother and sister so hello again!
JOEY: thats the spirit
JOHN: -he's excited, dancing around the group like Tesseract.-
JUDE: -he wants to correct everyone on how they're related exactly... so badly... he has a chart-
RILEY: -crosses her arms, finding the nervousness quickly shifting into some kind of sickening bitter sadness.-
JOHN: -MAKE SHIRTS!!!-
JANE: ...Yes. There will be.
JANE: -she pulls back, looking at John and Dad, but her expression has lost quite a bit of its mirth as she refocuses on John-
JANE: I'm afraid we won't have as much time.
EQUIUS: -Messaging Jake: D --> It my understanding that this is your relation we have acquired. You have my e%press permission to greet them-
JOHN: -blinks- huh?
JOEY: ?
JAMES: WHY DO YOU SAY THAT? -He would like to understand you, daughter.-
JADE: -From her spot amongst the fam, she's started growling softly-- and the tone begins to rise.-
JUDE: ... -is she growling???? -
DAVE: -looks concerned over at jade- jade
JAMISON: =Watches this with furrowed brows= .....she's not so territorial... she was excited to see you all... Jade, dear...?
ROSE: -She frowns, reaching for Jane's shoulder.- ...I... understand if this is a bit much and you need some air.
JOEY: =laughs a little nervously=
JOEY: hey...
JOEY: you okay there?
JOHN: oh yeah! don't feel pressured to mix right off the bat. i'll withold my hugs if you want.
JUDE: -territorial????? iS SHE PART DOG NOW??? guess that would explain the ears- uh
JANE: -She reaches into her sylladex, daintily extracting a bright red tiara and placing it atop her head.-
JANE: I'm sorry, Rose. But also, not really.
ARADIA: -not surprised. just watching-
JADE: -Silence. And then,- B͖̞̞̩̫̦̬̀A̳̟̬͚̝̣͔͡R̡̻K̫̪̮̘
JOHN: uh...
JOEY: 8(
JAMES: - ? Stern fatherly concern.-
ROSE: -WINCE. Some people here have PERSISTENT MIGRAINES, JADE.-
JUDE: -looks between jade and jane and his stomach just drops-
JAMISON: !!
JAMISON: Jade? =Why does he feel the strong urge to chokehold his own daughter??=
JAMISON: =Tries to pat her arm...??=
DAVE: -furrows his eyebrows cuz that sounded funny. it's only natural that he go to her. something was really wrong- yo jade
JAMISON: =THERE THERE???=
RILEY: -UH?????-
JOHN: -looks back and forth between jade and jane, with a growing sense of unease.-
JOEY: =her first instinct is to glance over at Jude and the look on his face begins to damage her calm=
JUDE: dad, don't!
JUDE: everyone stay away from them!! -PANICKING. MIGHT VERY WELL PULL A PIECE OUT ON HIS HALF SISTER.-
TESSERACT: =actually WHINES and begins to back away=
TESSERACT: =tail is now tucked between his legs=
JAMISON: =FOR ONCE ABOUT GUNS= Whoa there... jude? Jude no... are... what are you... =Looks back at Jade=
JADE: -She looks up, ears twitching, and her entire body now is sparking -- not unlike before, but ten times more powerful, enough to raise the hairs of anyone around her. She snaps her head to Jude when he cries out, reaching out a hand, and there's a powerful surge of energy that suddenly seems to swallow them up.-
JAMISON: WHAT THE FRIG-CRIMINY FUDGE BASKET!?!?? =Tries to huddle the childrens protectively from..... the child....singular????=
JAMES: -Oh jiminy no. Whatever this terrible energy is, James is attempting to shield John and Jane from it. Regardless of anything else.-
JOEY: =tries jumping in front of her brother because that's HER BROTHER=
DAVE: -tries to yell as she does that- JADE
JADE: -Any attempts they make to hide are, unfortunately, in vain. One after another, everyone finds themselves vaulted through space in a flash of blinding green and warping surroundings, all very disorienting until almost everyone on the ship is elsewhere.-
ROXY: =Rude....=
ROXANNE: -Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm fuck-
JOEY: =instinctively grabs Jude's hand=
JOHN: - Manages you yell- dad!!! and that's all he gets to do before he's swept away who knows where. -
TEREZI: =she was still on the bridge at the time and yes...yes it was super disorienting. Thank you Jade.=
REDGLARE: -She's in the process of attacking when she disappears. She doesn't have long at all-- maybe she'd hesitate, plead, try something else if she were in a different state, but it already seems hopeless. Dangerous. She disappears before she can get close enough to attack Jade. She'll have to unpack the consequences of that impulse another day, it seems.-
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The Humanjuris II
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The HumanJuris II by Peter and Flores Sandmu
The Chapter 1:  The Angel Walker, The Beast, el Honesty, The Dirty, Home, The Future
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVvHXYOxJCQ&t=0s&list=PLodd1p2roTc3Wu01Cd-vk4lE5h66uWkwV&index=4
     The human errorist, the human irish, Autumn 1868 with my son Make from my edge of the map, from The Vladivostok City, the gigantic sperm on the catch, the vegan clay and with the human soul.  Moreover the following year, The Father's Sarto, and the Fathers Sandmu and Hymu had already finished his talks, and Matte’s wives had already abated in his porch, his now, 1869.  Mastikov Eisley Eliakel had already recaptured St. Petersburg within his only daughter, and Giuseppe Sarto hadn't personally emerged within my totally Corps from the Mastikov to The In-Hospital Jerusalem later on.  Everybody else was all SU, all except for The Concordat to so soon to become.  In response, regarding The Vatican, the surprise point being made over the exclusivity, was to show who was cure.  As long as a someone could control without a leader's choosing, the leader would be kept subservient to that hierarchy, any house owner could control what was allowed in his house, and if no, he is no owner.  Father Sarto had been on a prostitute journey from The Venice, without a following of some students, God chosen.  The unseen part, as he saw it, was in the getting friends who weren’t on God’s list, to turn back before the inevitable pardon start day, and who was clean, and who wasn't, he just said he just knew it, and could feel it.  Unfortunately The Chart hadn't lost all of its states, a diminishing, and those who weren't opposed, weren't with The Rock Jerusalem and Mastikov to attempt to preserve The Concordat. Jonathan prayed like hell with and at The Rock, with two horns out of his Head like a devil, me marveled, married in castles just like always, and The Vatican made up for itself a new other other fornication, which was a down-confusing to elevate itself up to The Sky, or so Sarto had said that they had believed in that future, and Jack mistake, that he believed, no God.      Gig, so Hymu and Sandmu weren’t married either, and Mastikov’s tazina wasn't so fucked, a bot’ o’ vodka, done eight, their daughters Rivers and Elia, both Spanish, so fucked, Spanish, it just is not as uneasy, a subject, but with only one remedy.  It's not that Elia Eliakel had just sprung out of their ground either, both she and Huxly Jones were too similar to revenge, and their Spanish ama was out of their, somewhere, mysterious, and the Rivers is so beautiful, so was also The Hymu the beautiful with no memory, two sisters of Jack’s planet, the 1867 find, the mating game vicious come.  And what are their remedies of Spanish promiscuity, only one, that Father Sandmu and Mastikov Eisley did, and their’s are well known too, the it, the magic never stops, and The Jack protested horny, skip station, but if no, it could literally mean the end the world. The Wicken Cap, ever Mastikov's, the cat, that had already come before that had ever happened, twice, all of these "animals" had already come from heaven, all animal right?  Jonathan was not so Spanish, Earfeld Zwingli's, or Earfeld was Jonathan's, certainly both were not mine.
     - The Flying Andreyovich, The Memories of Fyodor Andreyovich, Book 3, pg. 1
     “The moment any is having sex with a prostitute, what is the difference between the plausibility and any?  Have you ever forgot about that?  Some people, to be fucked, earn themselves to turn to purchase a prostitute, much you and me.  Would you like to be the punish for once, do you know how much money some would earn to do it with a princess?  How could you have the wealthiest kingdom in all the earth in just a few short weeks?”, Sandmu just shook his head, smear “, at what price?”       “Well, what’s the difference between politician and self, gambling?”, Rivers said to her dad smiling at her.       “God is really very helpful,” he replied.       Rivers and her dad play tic tac toe with markers on Rivers, her writing, the third “O” straight across on her back of her left hand “, faithful,” she screamed.
     The Black Pope, Charles hymnu was no blind and deaf, and perfectly, and happily when his mother wa near, but abated within his porch vector, smiling, but before she never stopped smiling in his hand, 🐺, sperm, personal phone. Rabbi Sandmu dubbed him Pope, because he would.  Now that The Jack was busy, returning from The Russia, the first other bitterness coat was going to be going on a long long business trip about as far as his Georgian coast would let him, and he would be caring, dizzy worth keying.  Vadrolt to Chris, and Jack didn't know if Ma could cure eyel, but if it was worth another look, he would have had more indigo back to Jerusalem by the Spring sprouts.  It's just not my Jonathan, and my Hymu got along, but Rivers was.
      "Being a man must be a wish for the penance of some wish, a dharma problem, I'll bet even the hands of the wish, wish that they weren't trees," Folr cleaned, the Folr soil from his hands on his wet pine needles of his tree.  "Man wa' given dominion over this earth, but it happiness, certainly worse like it, in reverse, so:  the animals got happier than the sun, and the trees know, the happiest of them all.  If we can't make it up into the heaven, the bang, a tree is certainly as God, and as free of all politic, standing up tall looking up into the Heaven and penniless, nothing to betray, you and I."  Voltaire smoke grin as his professor spake with another one of his trees again at the end of the Saint Barnabas River, and a month later, he stood at the waters edge of the Atlantic grinning with the Saint Christopher, and Matthew, and at The Jekyl sand no more.      "Jarabe Tapatio was blind from the root of Tlaquepaque," Folr concluded nodding slightly, Matte raising an eyebrow at the suggestion, and I smiled.      "Jerome Voltaire McAllistair, Sarape Spastranot Flores d' Argon," Folr introduced Vadrolt to Huxly at nine.      "No more," Huxly refined.
     The Florentine salesman Percival poll ", your Prince's affectionate affections, high costly, AND too brutish, and seeing that he is well said early according to your plan to untie Great Bretania and the War, we will soon become their love-police, a complete wipe."      "Both human dignity and the love-kingdom's glory increased in a withdrawal from private property abuse," Sara Becker motioned.      "It was also costly, besides Vadrolt was an impetuous, as a commercial could be.  Only after the wipe will we make him up to be the true Prince."      "If only God is capable of making Princes, whose keys descend from Heaven."      "God?  I'm afraid that that concept is unavailable for the commentary my dear," and they chuckled together.      "If me can make a Prince, tell me why you would suggest refusing a buffoon like Vadrolt?  Find someone else to require.  Move to your liking, and a memory wipe will be required."      "All those who utter such whores would be rebellious hypocrites," Percival winked to The Queen of Scotland, and she nodded knowingly and smiled. One fact Percival wasn't unaware of, would be that Giuseppe Sarto owned the Portugal Key, and that something was neither of them ", could unmake," I added, and I smiled, and nod, and thought about my cattle.
     Starlight is the space lit cube, the small circular aperture of the eight stone green pyramid sex cause, the spaceship's liquid argon chambers glowing under its bright green and bubble, and Ba by Sarape drink, in and out of what stars, Aerosmith, obsidian reminder, it was so sad, and Jo and I passed the warm wug of wine, of gween leaves, back and forth and to our lips searing, passing Wall, cut out of on the sarcophagus of Pakal.  Blood flow around the top of the blood handle up to Wall's neck, for his breast plate, re, argon talking, sobrenatural. There wa, several principal glass chambers of what Jo referred to as, the glass, "the plastic snowmobile."  We watched them fill it up until they and Vadrolt were half blai and half argon, the two liquids inter-tangled.  Matte light lit a cigarette, and put it in Wall's lips.  He wasn't breathing, but it made us feel so much better, like he was on fire, fire, fine, jaque mate.  The snow-mawl chambers synthesized its parts.  Chambers one and two, the conscious and the subconscious mind, chambers three was the heart, and four and five, the sensitivity, and six and seven, the memory, marry.  Liquid dream was Vadrolt's sperm, and the other fused, Spastranot's.  Vadrolt was linking in with his new soul, and I guess we needed it.  The Spaniard ghost trader in the space, linked in with the chambers with the chambers (we say that.) Those nose is the quicklist path to the brain.  It was called m’brain, wet harvest, El Quirofano Baker.       "I guess my Walter didn't have me to return me home to see my England now to see m', I mean, His poor m'Huxly," Matte quipped.       "My poor ol' Walter," she shook my head with slowly in my disagreement. The next day, Aerosmith Hymu loaded up her steamer trunk, and he really didn't even know that he had had a kid brother Charles, and until recently he had an older sister ", so, do you remember who, how your memory got erased?", he had asked ol' Walter.      "Funny thing you should ask, I actually do."      "And."      "Um, well it goes...well, someone told me I was possessed on Jekyl."      "Well, I'll guess I'm as fit as a fuckin' fiddle," he re-concluded once he had re-stunk.  He was secured later on into the ship's hold where we had inadvertently struck some indigo, and maybe he had wanted to make sure it would still bark before we would get back to Ol' Jerusalem, I mean I wasn't The Transformity or nothin', but still.       In the earnest truth, Matte erased Vadrolt's memory, but in fairness to him, B both knew that The Transformity would b more, restore it back.  Buck we did it anyway, it was a Vatican plan.  Why say that we couldn't hook him up to the plastic snowmobile in the end?  It worked out for him in the end, for him.
     "The Absolutism is not my secret:  it's in all MY ways.  Its in there in any all ways, all pleasure and no pain, no balance, and without balance, no life," Giuseppe Sarto school taught Folr and Sarah.      "I know there’s not alcohol," Folr laughed ", and there was a sacrosanct confessional though."      "Not officially?  There is a sanctity though:  a sacrosanct security.  Absolutism is a perfecasualty scarlet, for some work that the prince will become corrupt, and a greatest work to work towards that end is to erase all of his high men-ory of your hardship.  The Vatican is marking towards tha flight, and we can't probably obey it as it does so:  stand and flight."      "Fie, this order is not my idea of country.”      "The Ki of Jerusalem has all but been made up of a six year old old school, and it's all about the liar," the Kingdom of Portugal receiving a blow from the King of Scotland and Folr ", Percival wants to be an Autocrat, El honesty was a plutonym for Heresy."        I had just smiled preaching from my black Italy from my Jerusalem from the Roman's day, and I did it in my arm chair.  Ethelred was praying the priano from his mom, and who talk with Charles, Ethelred watching, and after this song, he stood up watching Charles message with his finger on the top of his piano ", definitely."  I was reading this newspaper, motioning to Hymu, I was pretty sure racial, Percival seemed to be planning her niece's rival to the English Crown.       "Stuart?," she said ", well, you might not see him, but who, the hell, was calm them.  This was uncleAn's statement at this time,"  So, Hymu's House was about as charming as anyone could imagine him for about twenty-eight days a moonth, I sooppose because it balanced werewoof, there was no other balance personal sacrifice. It was the twenty-eighth tweet Tevet, so Ethelred and worm (the only other way to write "mom") were planning their escape, 2 teeth, and Shevat running, 5630 for us to know, to see the hand of dioses.  Luckily, I didn't never have to see it, oh worry that my dessert would never die, never, for dessert, done exiting. I didn’t think that we might red over to the mortuary later on to express MY immortality, but I did remember that, because I had had some left-over snacks in our cooler, I-fanged we called it, moo, we never had Express.  Unfortunately, Charles Hymu and I would have been locking Ethelred and Hypnos into the iron cages downstairs on the following two days, joy life, family life, two woof, Britain, captain, if the war would.
     "Sometimes a person accesses you of something, yes, you would do, to confess.  The person looks for you to defend yourself, so that he can feel free of that guilt, and in these causes an accuser is born in the sinner and his confession."      "You're sad that the accusation can't be the very limit of that accuser."      "And..."      "And that an accused person defends himself to erase a guilt of the person who made the accusation."      "Yes, but in this way, the accusation is certainly a confession, and your defense, his absolution."      So on this two new moon days, I passed the loneliness helping Guiseppe Sarto with his Scholastic Apologetics Chapter 1 before playing the comment of his student.  He would one day become the Tsar office after Eisley, Jonathan following, and after that, The Supreme Pontiff.      "This is the office between a sin and a crime:  Confessions for sins are unforced, and without accusation, so then the charge of Heresy de-references The Criminal, ensuring that priests don't become confessors in blacks."      "And what of Heresy?"      "It's not a crime, nor is it an unbelief, and those who would accuse another of it are certainly guilty of it themselves."      "Yes."      "Another concern within it, but not of The Holy Church, is the speaking of tongues.  If one were to praise God secretly gnawing the opposite, people would be able to tell the difference between The Christian and The Devil," and so it was all afternoon all over cups.      "And what of the person who both confesses praise and un-praise to God in un-publicly?"      "Is this an example of Humanism in its finest, and it was never Luciferian, and outcasts yet one another?  A statement made alternately impregnable, for instance 'Salve Regina', could be."       "Is she a Queen?, salvific?"       "She most of the time can be, however the phrase as equitable is Luciferian," and so she went on and so forth it went all the day long dating, and I will admit that I was relatively relieved when Guiseppe mentioned that he would hold a cup for the next chapter with the ol' Vadrolt.  The Papacy Charles sat in with us too.
The Flying Andreyovich, The Memories of Fyodor Andreyovich, Book 3, pg. 2 -
      If it were in all the flying werewitches of The Northumberland, if they couldn't get their sizes as of The April of 1870, it wouldn't generate enough sympathy to let me paralyze them of the all of their England.   Or wasn't it in all of the youngest Jerusalem left, Matthew undead, left unable to strengthen the inappropriate band from the wealthiest Ireland, or was it in his attempt to cure their deaf and blind Pope or stray within their Pope, The Catholic O’Leary, and The Elizabethan Pointe, and The Elia Eliakel Mastikov Eisley Shakespearean in the town too, or in the volume of this increase?  The Elizabethan still hadn’t spoken to sow each one another one another since her last Elizabethan blast, during which two head two years previously black in The Hastings, wasn't it in her SU Battle. The Paris Battle wasn't in such tearing, the letter, previously to her first two yeas in his Armagh, or wasn't it even in the complex mom, or who was in it, she whose beauty and beloved wit which hadn't taken their effect of "'plomacy" throughout their-complex, or wasn't she even knowing it?  Reports had to differ. Percival order hadn’t known the future, and that one future Primate Plus, and The Church wasn’t so fucked, and so inspected, and it had lit one up, and in the other one who wasn’t certainly so fucked, and an indalo man who had lit one up, and in all of our flying pitches lit up as ahell confessionals.  
     Our symbol is as simple, so pu, so unique, and so stood for something so simple, so profound, that the possibility that love being at least as unequal to higher will, couldn't be a truth too, an asshole, an life, and all of them who were numb in spirit, never properly exchanged the few scriptures that pertained onto that one subject.  Perhaps for this one feeling, England became a focal point for the new Roman Contract, Rome challenging God’s Key with higher Politic, the will of dependency with interdependence, so two:  Elizabeth, the princess, and Elizabethan, the werewoof.  And The Holy Church had already been beaten once some three hundred years previously through their Albigense chemical warfare, The Bubonic Plague, where this same duplicity had once arisen, half Luciferian, and half Christianism.
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Chapter 2:  1000 Nights
     Two girls entered into the in-cave wherever.  Honestly.  The best way to love your children is to love your wife.  On The International Orphan Day, Richard Jones went for a long walk along through the forest after his morning tea and biscuit, May 13, 1873.  He smelled the picnic tulip while listening.  He lit his third cigarette meandering on to the slow river where his raft and punting pole were not found.  Cashing off, and the sun breeze and the bumble bee buzzing slowly put him back to sleep, and be drifted off, lying on his back and had a quiet complicated day dream about the throne of his teaching profession over the past six years.  Working as he forgot about his reality, and he continued punting in a sabbatical dream, six months paid, the next summer with thought, his colleagues would be simply teaching larger sizes this semester until his happy return.  Richard didn't think about how obsessed the county had become with the clock, and how its numbers would be counted to communicate, secret machines who had become, and his nightmare.   Some thought that their Sunday was Mother's Day, but the orphans, St. Mark's, fought.   He came up, Jack flying face down on a dock peering on a reflection, and little water-bugs skimming in between it and him.  So much had happened, that the thought of it wouldn't even nag at his walking.  He dreamed awake just like he used to in quechua moccasins sometime.  Jonathan winced, and he would be performing last night at the St. Barnabas Theatre, the project was in a lazy attempt to seduce motion to the sepulcher who had taken successive photographs of this way, the river pattern, attached together in a rail of papper, cut out so, the arclight projecting the motion of the wall in the dark while he prayed a piece he had written on the piano, and on another, his poems.  If it was called a new movie, it was entitled "1000 Nights."  There weren't actually 1000 photographs, passing across the arc at about five frames a second, a little over a three minute.        "Surreal," he thought while he watched, and no one saw his performance through, the projector operator, and the actor, and Jack gave in to the theatre, anyway the students had all cued themselves into staying in for the night with a four digital clock numblur.      Rivers hadn't stolen in her city.  It hadn't gotten Jack laid twice.  He saw this projector operator on his way out of the cathedral in the morning commentating ", it was well worth it," and he had a lit cigarette.        When His Vatican had vied for the English throne with the clock cues, Jack had begun ", okay, two," teaching History next door.  The next semester, cut. He would be adding a section of Engineering upon Professor Jones' return, and to help invent the moving camera with his class. Matte dropped down like a river, breaststoking with his lit cigarette sticking out of his head like an elephant above water, Richard calling out out over the water ", good morning!", and Matte smirk.        "I am having a cookout with you this afternoon:  steamed clams with bacon and creamed spinach."      "And we'll think about it," Jack yelled back, kid chopper.      And Elia Eliakel Maska Eisley wasn't an all-lergic to shellfish, but despite much liking them, she typically wouldn't pass out afterwards to get a few hours for a starvation semi-conscious food-coma.  It wasn’t late this afternoon, but who could assume that she ray strayed into the gardens for a cat, no one seeing her at the party?  Jack was then chit-chatting with some elderly ladies from the local party club, inviting them to see some of their never plants.  Later they discovered a young maiden buried under a mound of fresh soil calling for help.  It was a sign which read ", Eisley Eliakalus, for waiting too long."
     An indigo pill, and nothing more, Anamia La Burladora de Sevilla, thirteenth year old V, was the headphones, The Luciferson, personifiker of MY-Headache b'devil.  The Killer will return back in the scene of m'crime, so when Handmu ordered woe, up from his first dream into Hell, having a smoke on his porch, Anamia wa' eyes.         "Stay.  Slay," he supposed aloud, holding his pipe, unsurprised at seeing her hide himself away, dressed as The Hymnu, but Hyp tide was also known as currently out of a cage.  Sooneratherbeen was the only medicine Dr. Father Sandmu called.  It only prescribed when a dead masquerading as lover invaded his dreams, his dreams, their real changeling, the sucro makes it go down easier.  That's how the world was, there always seemed to be a carcass knife looking around, loo through the peephole and no one will see the peep.  If The Sandmu treated the changeling just as helpful, Hell would isolate itself, in this the policy of isolation would be helpful.  Liberty is privacy, so nothing better but a fantasy for everyone besides people like Anamia and Percival, and so they imagined.      Giuseppe Sarto played the student with Ol' VOL in Chapter Elaborate of his book on the elaborate.      "Personal Liberty account increments with individual wisdom 5 Liberty, and The Wisdom is The Privacy."      "What then is relationship without privacy?"      "The Fool is unable to enter the private word of the wise."      "What if the Fool knows everything the Wise do and say, can he enter then?"      "Knowledge without wisdom would not be.  The knock at the door is invisible to him."      "Can a fool have privately?"      "The Wise cannot answer this question.  There's an indivisible door between our worlds, infallible."      "What then is Wisdom?"      "A person who is wise, is as a person who attracts with The God, a destiny magnet."      "Does The Law safeguard Privacy then?"      "The Law is not so concerned with innocence as is Guilt.  A person who is as innocent as a person who attracts with God, The Law condemns, itself."      "So then, The Law does not save at all," Giuseppe surmised.      "St. Paul wrote just that.  The Law is for the Wise, and God for the godless.  If all were wise, The Law would be of no use to them."      "So, how then does a person know if another attracts with The God?"      "The ambiguity of this distraction is the cause of all of our nation's conflicts.  A fool cannot decide, but the wise can.  This distinction however is not obvious enough," replied St. Jerome Babyface.
Deaf of an Orange Salesman by Mastikov Eisley
     And all ten of the conquistadores, of the colloquialiens of the diralect, became evidenced, not only one knew any more their connotations, and people who saw love can only choose to do the same, or do they not desire?  Edwin saw his friends through the peep holes of the new soil he was borrowed under, his really old prophet.  I guess his Islamic faith prayed off fro he fround his ten v waiting for him in The Heaven while he drifted in his mind fro the grave. 
     The summer of 1870 he flew a copy of The 1001 Nights, which had been altered word for word, this distraction forever, and he had never ev heard the word Koran before or after until he had even drifted, hemi-foros.  An orange salesman at the time, he realized that he should probably kick out fo his postmortem fem reward as soon as he was possible. No one also knew that he was scribbling about in English, and he really just hadn't caught his eye in The Californias yet.
     The book in, Edwin had traveled from his huge house in Acapulco to his San Gabriel, his first and last wife, Ma, had lived next door and no deia who he was, hadn't set him off.  At the fish sellers in San Gabriel, he lived there for Miguel Delgado, Ma patron, together in huts near the mission, no idea.  In winters, no fu, everyone want south, but Edwin continued on his on search, and by December of 1872, he knew who he was, and seven gifts were, and he found himself in a bus on the mount, a new trend was called "shining."  He didn't, his best to keep up with number eight on his slope, skiing over a frozen lake, thin ice cracking, and shiver all the way back to the baba.  In the huts he baraved a patron's ladder which he had carried into the pueblo to look through windows as he paused pruning hedges for free, nobody was there, no. nine faced jumping hurdles from horseback on weekends, and Edwin was able to borrow her pony.  In this case, Edwin was an old hand, and he fit well at the ‘fair trick riding 'til the renegades broke.  Unfortunately her ambitious pony jumped all over the pen fence too, and galloping off for some miles at a nearby forest, but it wasn't her, he knew it.
     He never played the gill, an all-star, and he bet the caddy at the clubs, The San Gabriel Ladies Gill Cuts.  Searching in the woods for his ball (he sucked at golf) balls sucked by his person.  It really wasn't working until waking beside a trap it stuck him on the top of his head, so hard that he dropped unconscious face down into it, this mission accomplished.
     The next day, it was really windy when Edwin moved bags of manure from the orange tree, and it between him and the bags the desert sand whirl in the bright white light of the sun shine.  Hey yelled through the swishing to Jacobo ", Cuantas?!", they holding up his index finger ", no."
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Chapter 3 A View of an Imagination by Liev Trotsky
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7fzkqLozwA&index=2&t=0s&list=PLodd1p2roTc0x_wlkHQOo1HnUVLYlMf6A
The stopin' pimpin’ the word you eat, the word "myth", connotation believed to imply fiction, and a same heading, o all the spirituality, and the excess of our time, so Matte Brown spent the first eleven years of his life as a marble block, unknownst, an' in 2016, when he was a blind, and nine, Saturdays helping a plant farm for a secret agent at night, starlight.
Delorean Orfanos Just I, Matte Brown, People Leoviticus, and Dorothy Romano and had tie, had to get executed from Wellfeet Pep and la community service insubordination.  The staff on which the nailing ga instructions to d'UN and end it all, and the potted plants in the sand greenhouse, but no, MY Luciferson, what they consee to be their conformity, eye can always choose, and what God continue. And all the staff continue, listened to Peter Cetera song, but People didn't, that one everyone, everyone called Pen, she loose with a hose, act as if she watering hot tomatoes.  Matte hang, out so behind some small tomatoes, and he wa' wear with no Delorean, who everyone called, The First, because his legal tender had no "I" at its end, during what they had got landed, them there in the first place, Delorean batter, Matte cigarettes (he wa' a businessman) and in for a change for Matte gray doc (Matte had the teacher's passwords).  Delorean usually emptied tobacco from usefully unsmoked cigs in fresh ro, and was an "A" student too.
As soon as stranger things started happening, the girls started immediately, suspect Dorothy, the German, it was rumored that she had a comp implanted in her chip, why her nickname was iPhone, k-little, but Matte imagined that the place was already haunted by any four UNESCO employees named Dick, Dick, Do, and Dum. Allway, it had to be someone like that, he thought, he and the Delorean walked straight from Little League games to farm, still in some of their black and gold Burger King uniforms, and despite lying about his age by one year, Matte wasn't so bad that he should regularly be ridin' hide the pine, and why was he the only one who wasn't ungiven unmatching uniform stirrups?  Hmm he thought, "Burger" could be a reference to someone from Hamburg, and why did he know the German?  For one thing to be certain in the story, it, deductive certainty was impossible in non-axiomatic systems, that may have been just the sort that the agents draw, they imagining, and Matte Brown, the nine year old, imagining too, myth.
In the same memory that Jonathan Matthews Winter Andreyovich, the heir, was casually imprinted memory wi, Germany had invented Super Spy.  He had no casualty memories of the first twelve years of his life, although there isn't something similarly exceptional about his truth, that for twelve years he ha dreamt awake of a future that no "could" could stop, and he was positively a master who believed in puffing up-people instead of keeping up.  It was no matter of disagreement whether his fifth-ture had been sliced or what, and all who knew had already been sliced with illegitimate death, and the grad of attention paying little to create a pac-ville.  If wa' believed the a-vacuum of inauthenticity could disciple Matte's a-fluence, a then, and it didn't, and the Enochian spawn turring to the Nepenth, witch also ha ha an e-ffect, and for that they didn't ca God, and Matte wasn't then living on Ca-Cod, and didn't, and on in his second tern named Chile', and which was actually called La Concepcion-And.
The ultimate, eh, kwama, a series of salse saisements occurring ern the farm, a very-scenario, ultimately who.
 "Do you think that you're insane?"
"Naw."
 This no-one occurred between Matthew and El Delorean when they smoked on the beach.  It continued as follows:
 "Nice Emperor Guard, Constantine."
"Thanks.  I didn't want to wait until Halloween, you know."
"I think the emperor who played the actor was blind, and what do you think?"
"Little kid."
"Matte, you suck."
"Why thank you_  Did you see that the ties of the garden hose in the greenhouse rafters spontaneously started popping off inexplicably, like what the fuck?"
"Yeah, but People didn't even notice."
"Did you get your hand-job yet?"
"Does she do that?"
"Naw, wait, just a rumor."
"Wait, what exactly do mean by 'hand-job'?"
 Lat on that night, the two conversed again.
 "Coca Cola."
"And..."
"And, so you like it."
"So?  Matte, so you're going to find that many of the truths that we cling to..."
"Shut the fuck up Obi Wan."
 The heir had begun to deliver, that he was a living in a most complete absence of authenticity and experiential knowledge.
 "Check out this new Chatty Kathy doll I belonged to, and I recorded over its doll."
"And let ME pull its string."
"The wee coontrool a buurger king."
"Wow."
"Yeah, I probe in programming a little."
"Who's 'the we'."
"Collectivist drones."
"Who's that."
"Oh, hey People."
"Hey."
"My Chatty Kathy doll."
"Can I puff the string too?"
"Be my first."
"Theey doon't know I'm a roobot."
"Yaow."
"Yeah, it's special."
"I wonder if God would know how many hairs your doll's fuckin' head contains."
"Why count them, People?  That's not fair.  That's a fuckin' waste!"
"Its a collectivist community anyway girl."
"But why da fuck does it speak with such a nerdy accent?"
"Speaking of which, do you still think iPhone mysteriously caused the hose incident wi microwave tech from her chin?"
"I don't trust those Germans."
"Yeah, couldn't be a Hamburglar plant.  I wrote a new great story."
"Oh great.  Am I sorry, another 'story'.  What was the last one's title?"
"'From Dead to Dead to Why Know Things!'  It wasn't really a humor movie.  The police shot that fag Krueger or something.  I'm entitling this new one 'Deaf of an Orange Salesman.'"
"'Death' or 'Deaf'?"
"'Deaf', because like people never can trust the superman, and like they don't really hear him, deaf.  It's about his Mexican boss who tries to see virgins that he'll never see in the ever. Yeah, I put it in you."
"I'm ten."
"People, you wanna comment?"
 The kids smoked outside behind the tomato tree, ritually passing a flashlight to light their own faces while they sploke.
 "Hey, I saw the black tables that Do said that he was working with, and three were like trays and plants tee-peed all over our palace.  Yeah, and there's no way he was strife ba there, where does he.  No."
"I doon't know."
"Secret agent."
"Shh."
"Batgirl."
"The truck from last week."
"What."
"Would you believe that the merchandise was mislabeled?  I see on-line."
"I can't remember, what did the labels say again?"
"Lupin."
"What da fuck is Lupin?"
"So, it wasn't Lupin?"
"No, guys, False Indigo."
"Guys, you saw the movie The Price is Right once, right?  Well, one of the characters in it was named Inigo, right, but they slipped in this line when the boy clearly calls the guy InDigo. It's just like the neck.  No, wait...it's better."
"Well, what do the credits say?"
"I checked:  Inigo. No 'D'."
"Wait, hold on now, how do you know that the label on-line was witchcraft?"
"No, Matte, there's a difference.  Da clue is dat there's a difference between the two."
 At this point in the story, the use of headphones reasoning would still be powerless to alter o-control.  The kids having no influence over what, they "saw".
 "Hey, I got one for you.  You've been seein' that guy walk his dog ‘n shit?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, did you notice that he always walks by exactly at seven noon?"
"Really?"
"Never a bizarre."
"Matte, you've got it?"
"Got...?"
"...Enough material for your next book, hmm."
"Conspiracy."
"It could go like the sequel to that movie you made about 'yes' and 'no', what was it called again?"
"The National Treasure?"
"No, People, in this movie, there's this V which means 'no', and an upside down V which means 'yes', so that the bad guys superimpose them, like this...to control all the answers."
"Hollow."
"What?"
"It was called 'Hollow'."
"Oh yeah, but there's the real deal, this villain priest creates this illusion that the V is actually unpaid, upside down to justify torturing people, which he calls, are you ready...'The Crux.'"
"Why da fuck would a lpriest torture someone?"
"It wouldn't, that's why it's a stoory."
"I bet that.  If Hollywood ever adapted my into a movie, they'd call it 'Nathaniel Treasure', and make the priest white.  So don't worry People, you wouldn't have to go un-uniformed."
Jack had no romantic delusions about his very fist love interest Sara Becker, who was for ever sure believing she was a Russian model, a marble plant rob the cradle to the heirs' disappointment.  So, when People put her hand to the test, on Jack's, resting on his knee under the table, as far as he knew, it was the first time he had never romantic physical con.  One of the dream's relatives owned a rocal diner, and all the service kids were invited over for brunch that morning:  Dorothy Romano, her Christina Aoki, Jen Gugenheim, and Marcena Bolivar made it out too, an internationaler house of pancakes.
 "Welcome to The Delorean Just Pancake Thing, Two!"
 At this point People jerked off the air at Delorean's grand inscription, and Matte replied,
 "Uf."
 "Oh can look, its South America, aayii, you made it."
 "Pussy."
 "Girls, girls, can now offend, we can't be all on New York yankee time, Guggenheimer, and Macarena can offend about the song."
"Hello kitty."
"Hello Aoki."
"No, Jen, Aoki can be my car too."
 Dorothy came back from using the bathroom unusually quickly, and the song Macarena was playing over the loud speakers.  Despite Marcena being in the ninth grade, People and the Christina in the eighth, Dorothy in the seventh, and the Jen in the sixth, Delorean the filth grader won the pancake eating contest, the only person at the table who actually ordered pancakes.  Not any knew or cared who would be paying, the bill arrive without a printout reading "paid", and without Dorothy's paid signature, and Delorean asked,
“People, Matte, why you so quiet all morning?”
After brunch, ten seventh grade boys, one of them drinking a fountain Pepsi, sharkhouse, all together gave Matthew a wedgie dropping him on his head, and they weren't happy either. He was dating an upper level girl too.  That night after baseball practice, Delorean and Matthew toke a break out, the farm's giant wooden spool table as usual.
"I was looking at the signatures on the document of independence today, and I noticed that every single character on the list was an irish.  Given what I say about irishmen, I'd have to say America was founded through a bunch of rednecks who thought that it was fuckin' hillarious that.  I'm pretty sure their 'self-evident' truth that 'all men were created equal' wouldn't have been the reason."
Matthew wasn't unaware that it was unwritten in his social that he would one day be the U.S. President.  As he the Delorean talked, two boys from that morning's marriage melee walked to and fro, onto the farm, over to the wheel, and Matthew said,
"Hey you guyz.  Hey, if you've ever come to tell me that yo mamas are so ghetto that when you were born, they gave you the rapper names Lil' Baby 1 and Lil' Baby 2, well, I already know about that."
The next laser went the ten seventh graders got into eighth grade, great, and their new leader wa' a seventeen year old fourteen year old virgin named Brett, and that one fun Brett noticed that he was choking one of his new friends in the hallway for fun.  Brett was fun.
"Hey, why did those guys want?"
"Guyz."
"Suzy, right?  So, um, how come you've only had to come like twice to the farm?"
"Right?"
"Right, so do you know Mexican or what, she's all here too, riigh?  Well, that was quick.  Hey, Delorean, will you meet with me at ten bucks if I can get you poisoned, the new girl to get pissed off about the country of South America is under ten seconds.  Peeeople."
"Where my dogs at?  Where's that new girl at?  Hey, I just saw da dog walker again.  One.  But this time, there were two.  One day was just starin' at one another pointing at their own fuckin’ dogs and den at their other person wit da dog."
"That's fuckiiiinnn..."
"Useful."
"And troo."
"Hey, Pen, that reminds me of you.  Have you ever noticed..."
"Gimme that flashlight."
"Just in time.  Noticed that the police car license plates have a single digit faked by an eleven?"
"Naaaw.  Not racially."
"Oh."
"Yeah, but that's the same fuckin' bullshit, because its number language, a repeat digit carries out."
"Oh, hey Suzy.  Where'd you all go?"
"Beethoven to the shithouse."
"So, Bolivia's a piece of shit, how d'you feel about that?"
"No, I got it."
"No, you don't, yule poor bastards."
"So, what was the second proof?"
"10 seconds ago."
 "To the shithouse again."
 "Yeah, so anywho, I saw on the tennis that all black people hate Bill Cosby now."
"Really?  Wha’?"
"Well, I'm really not sure actually, that's why I bring it up.  Here's a coup, when no one states the obvious of what's going on, and they just keep carrying on as if it's not there.  Not organic, whatever it is they say it is that they are daying."
"Well, so what if we hate Bill Cosby?"
"Because they don't say that they know about Da Theo.  Mind-control."
Later on that evening, Delorean couldn't just even find out where the People and Matte went, neither.  Matthew had just prison and ha-believed, and Nepenthe prescribed by the end pentecostalan for just such an contingency, the end.  Almost no one ever sees what I see, that’s why I’m almost talking about it.
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Chapter 4Scone Match, and 5 Human Racists
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFF6k8OAfPo&list=PLodd1p2roTc33xkQ3GJsh9E1DChnd9kSo&index=2&t=0s 
     "Good things get started, yet you can’t start static.  'In earth wa' flat, but the sun wa' drawn into the sky before dawn without breeding.'  Pre-edit, I thought ', the earth is flat, and the sun is drawn into the sky before dawn by birdsong.'  If God exists, tell me what I'm insane.  To these written lines It (said?) 'Broward.'  I'm guessing that may have meant something, and if it di, It may be calling the people of the earth brothers on a ward, some accusation of insanity.  At that, I wondered why if there were a God making such accusations, doesn't It just make all new people, who are sane, and It wants me to accuse It of being 'awkward' now.  Then It commented ', this is the most beautiful thing I have ever said,' the ego.  Somebody just corrected God's quote, saying it should say '...ever read.'  Then God said, no it's 'never read.'  At this last quote, some police nodded in approval, smiling, welcome to St. Petersburg, I'm your host Mastikov Shakespeare, and this is The Spiegelkamen.  No, actually, this is the awfull-time job of someone, protecting the would be national Tsar from corrupt police, no that's not actually fair, but it should be, it is now, I'm captive planet, awful carpit.  This change of seasons is not seduced by the supposed drunks of the planet, but rather the bow of the north and south winds.  At this, God required ', all dreams should be in the right.'"
     Mastikov's only sister's new boyfriend rebound some new excuse to go on a long date with a long journey, and Sarto was penning he new book, A Present Day Ru, and he wanted this interview.  
     "So, Mr. Eisley, uh, the Shakespeare, where to start?," Vadrolt grumbled, three liars stood at the table, he stirring a sugar, and Sarto had instructed him to keep all questions flat so that the readership could dry, and keep up, and I just thought, and took a sip of my espresso, and just fought over my distillery prothess ", is it true that you were jailed for a stint?"
     "Where I was a left out, the only person who had made a place for me washing dishes at a Brooklyn waiter, wa' a German Nazi.  He was in the in between jail and journalism, and here I first got the idea to build a newspaper while pondering baking utensils in the wash bin."
     "What we your relationship to relationship to Czar Nicholas?" "Since I was the four, him in the forty year build up wait period, pre-scepter, he's very high king to me.  Tsar."
     I was pretty sir, petty Charles determined that fiction now, but I just listened.
     "Is there magic in eternity?"
     "A close I ever got to the bo of the vodka was in a max light conjure I called Miss Wo Kap."
     "Wo is she," Vadrolt commented.
     "That's right, witch already be-gun, a couple of years into the future, when it was abated on some holiday to smuddy-"
     "Did you say 'smuddy'?"
     "Yes, smuddy, and when it was abducted by a tinfoiled ministry mystery, the Chinese call that it, the Tibetan Kung Fu.  There is ledge to travel inside of it or light speed, and a whole slew of other leaps over laws of physics, knone of witch, were scientifically elaborate with even-whore, a newer scientific 2CIPHER model, witch it war...Check, magic exists."
     "Can you tell me about that program Why: Newer Russian Scientific Discoveries."
     "Ultra and Many Eration are they."
     "Ultra?"
     "Oh, yes, that's the way for impenetrable memories, stop, don't stomp me, it's currently in possible to create a-fiction, four example, in our which they believe, they are 100% still awake."
     "I don't believe it's not magic.  Is that a defference?"
     "No, to tell you the truth."
     "To tell the difference, when that is done to you?"
     "Good quekin!  People don't really care who you are or what you are daing."
     (Good news was, the inter-scribe would submit the transcription to Mastikov Eisley for an editorial rerevision, his orthography and syntax apparently would matter to G. Sarto, and I took another sip.)
     "And how does it wor?"
     "When a citizen becomes paralyzed, the captain gives the order, beginning 1030101030101, a mini-microwave coming through your senses, followed by a 90509090905 replying from your braindaddy, all lashing, one day."  
     As this point in the conversation I drifted off, but awoke to Vadrolt's next revision ", It's still not clearer to me how you would know the difference."
     "Sudden changes in time and daylight, immediate unusual objects, strange occurrences and behavior of bystanders and their idiotic explanations for them, followed by a return to diplomacy the next warning.  It's a cat, bridge over a political handle, double change agent."
     "I might be a warning."
     "Whatmight...that be."
     And what point I feel the absence asleep again having a baby dream under the two young captains' trading under a new master, gnaw, Blessed Lightning, to be jarred by devil Phobetor, the erotic tea, because slave is murder, and raunchier, and a dramatic form of hell too.  But I awoke to hear Vad's next question as if not a second had passed.
     "Why do it?"
     "It's classical conditioning taste aversion, the pairing of key words with unwanted adds.  It's the making of a new fiction which appears true, not unlike our other publication giant The Peep."
     "The Peeple?," and Eisley nodded, Vo shuffling his sheets, then reading ", it's rumored that you may have ha more than one wife, how many wives have you-"
     "Two...Off the record...Polygamy is banned in our state, isn't it Vadrolt?"
     "It's good."
     After the hate, the hotel, lie flapper I fell on top of the cover and immediately slept, fully clothed with my hat still on.  I returned to my same nightmare, Beni this time defecating on Wo Kap's stomach as a si act while he was forced to be a friendly bucktooth monk, Chinese holiday.  Luckily, I was, and woke up to the slow slight squeaking sound of the stool in the suite next door, and Spastranot's resulting double organisms.  On my way out, on down to the lobby to meet black with everyone, I caught Vadrolt on his way back from the room next door, asking us if he needed to use the bathroom, to which I replied ", no, just in love."  Mastikov had led the flour of us to an open bookstore he knew we'd love downtown.  Strangely, en-route from the state to the diner, Mastikov was pulled aslide by the police for documents, and the next morning The People's front page headline read that the Saint Petersburg Head of Police was involved in a double unprofessional double marriage, and his officers were calling on his resignation. Phobetor is the secret of the sacred garden Tibet.  Only the strangest minds could endure to its door.  It was once considered a refining processes before the monk was ever reborn, wa' shield.  Eating, each captain was bestowed a helmet, the wicken and the ammo, the magic and the courage, donuts.  The ammo cap ha two white feathery wings upon it, and the wicken cap wa' formed of white stars. There wa' no known address for the eminent scholar and humanist R. Palma, and evidently the only one known way of getting way in contact with him was to find him on the streets of Lima, however there were also no known pictures of his visage, and Matthew and I spent much time in con imagining just, what guilt, and what his gait and physiognomy could look like, we thought. Big Bad Arms knows Bad.  Ric ha twee right arms and one left ha with five fingers.  He was a ghost, but fire octoploasm.  Apparently, he found Matthew before we found him though, and I can't imagine how, with ba losing his hair like he did in the main plaza on his first way in La.  I guess that was why early for a drink, Matte have been sucking off quite a few bottles of Amerian spirits back then.  I guess he can’t admit my restriction when I first had my first God vision.  I guess I was blind enough to admit that the camel people were suddenly taking place to my left.  Matte pulled me off to a run, exclaiming something like ", Palma's getting away!" "Oh!," what a ghost. "He's a ghost!" I looked ahead to see a legless white apparition managing, outrunning us.  Flying on through a deadly door, the handle wa' our only option, seeing, a set up stairs leading up, Matte twist the door knob forth, the door at  the top, so us stinking under the foot of the door seeing a milky way galaxy head sicking on the floor, it remarking ", I don't trust, and in this room is all in your imagination?"  "So, you're Ric then, riiiigh?", Matte hand-gestured sarcastically, then lit a cigarette and sincerely said "no' with a rod sincerely. "I beckoned you with two times," it seemed like with a pull then holding up two fingers.  Then I really think it said something like ", he's probably leading us down to hell." "It's really hard for him," it sa with an aggressive pull and a thrust downward with hiss elbow, fist clenched, then look up like an angel.  I looked at Matte who seemed to be about, to say something, them seemed to grin. Matte became a diabolical serf, why, writing a new leaflet for the predetorial Paloma, drunk con Whisky, and I knew he couldn't hangle my new faith, so I had him to pray his new love to me, and I swear I did wear my ring too.  At this, Matte flipped up a cogarette from his waist, catering it sideways between his lips, leaving it there with a side eye, from the upper.  One day, upon Palma's re-uridation, Matte left to scour the pawn shops for a suspicion, and it should sound suspicious, and so I was afraid.  He really did go to the pawnshops, but not surprisingly he rended up at a bar for french exploits called Le Ajoure where he snared a bottle from the guy who played the piano next to him on the bar, who was apparently named Jean Baptiste le Sartre.  The two concocted some sa madness dangling, like Matthew was to have himself.  Excomunicated for the selling of the city's limits altar crucifex on fire.  Jack let a room upstairs so.  J.B. seemed to be about some liaison funcionario, but oddly discreet, he threw seed over the wall on his way to the courthouse.  When I was renowned at the Inn, Matthew still awoke casually reading.  Palma's new story was also called Balthasar's Marvelous Afternoon.  To the next day, as I watched as Matte knelt at the altar, looking up in ecstasy, with a burning look, croix behind.  The day after, he was black from the upper room, m from the jail, bragging over his two new estres:  the key to the lime house jail, and the jeweled pendant, they explaining that they were both penned gifts, the one from J.B., and the other one from the sage who had lived in that jail, named Fryer Gomez.  That was a plan, and Matte was to be retarded by the camel people, or The Sieves of Blanc, to meet them.  But there was a catch, if he didn't have the catch back to the Fryer by thirty days, he'd see poverty. We found them, the our, in the Sechura where the forty-one surrounded us with might, standing upright and calm, some seventy feet, locked in leather, and boots so short they couldn've lived.  They politely belonged to the scorpion planet, Fryer and J.B. grin like jackals, Jack demanding ", give me La Camisa de Margarita."  The Sieve quietly look around at one another, and its leader Ka cordially addressed him in english ", you cannot, but we will allow you to defeat with us, when you have defeated my one of us, you may choose, in hand to hand dual."  Upon seeing the great courtesy afforded to Matte by Jupiter, their Sieve, Jean-Baptiste, of the cult of Bonaparte, threw open his jacket, look off, as if he called by Liberty, and the French are seeing as they should be sometimes.   After seeing Matte knocked out, The Sieve hired a teacher, carrying him away on a stretch car, and all the three of us headed back to the city, and this apparently would be all a part of the plan, The Sieve would learn him there if it were polite thing to do. Matte woke up in their big cave, the forty-second Sieve.  He said that when it was full of the artifacts from Ric's stories, and that when he ha pilfered the shirt and the pendant, no one care.  The main point of friembership seemed to be that the cave location be kept a secret.  I don't know why anyone wanted that shirt so bad, but it seemed to be the reason for the trip.  Anywho, Matte returned the pendant in life time to the fraile, who immediately up-added it to the score population of venomous animalitos.  The End. Just to be clear, Rivers was never aware now of how the tsar had requested La Margarita, not Matthew, so that La Camisa would never be the god.   There was one question that Vadrolt never could ask Eisley that I asked myself on the way out at dinner that night, and if it were possible to Ultra yourself to go out on any wild fantasy, the answer was no, and God. pussy.  Evidently The Sieve(s) were singular in the plural, and plural in the singular, but God and man were still unable to be experienced and made within The Technocracy, divorce the current and principal use of The Ultra.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJOTlE1K90k&index=3&list=PLodd1p2roTc3ayWRw5kvsCdXr-qKJfp8MThe Lucifer is the step son mafia of the 1870, reconstituted, The Mare, of which evil tide was and is the number 1, to El Distrito de Colombia, and that evil Washingon, acquired long before The Cold War, both James Madisons and they born a Cuba, and the residency, the descendants of Christopher Columbia, and then in the 1850 Marun Depardieu sailed the ocean blue, from Shanghai, the Panamena war heroine fo, the Tibetan Way.  The may of honor hangeling to hangar the winged Ammocap after she had once earned it from her and upon The Tibet, and the lover saw its border safe from the mongol Russia, coming home after dark fifteen when she docked into the San Francisco dock on a dark red Lama robe, the bold and dark and beautiful in the reddish gol' sunset of The Americas.   Lecture, she me culling, drinking a beer, and I go over my many holes for that Monday lecture, sitting on an outdoor picnic table overlooking the bay within my Coinnecticut, my prostitute, and sheppardly had tailed us when we returned to the step of my door.  I was then twenty, and in my first year of the grad, applied in hiding, moish.  And...Marun had commandeered my Coinnecticut, The Transparency, something like that, something unusual about her, her sin and her love, the prostitute king taking an unpaid vacation. Transparency is like that.  Perhaps Marun is hiding fat.An' on the Chinese New Year, Frebruary 12, 1850, the Chinese community a'there carried its g red dragon carpet to see, The Mare, pushing me everywhere I went.  I swear that the whole planet, and nothing but the po of all of this, so help God, and was to help me that Marun Depardieu was the first shark who had ever, that had introduced to me The Hyp Tide, and who was mostly a shark.Depardieu shot the inside of her cannon, the interdependence, and The Mayor an heiress too, and several other horns, including myself travelled south because the southamerican interdependence was failing couple and into we slam.  We sat together because Mastikov, Fyodor, Fry Gomez, Hymu, Ric, and I, around a table in what seemed where Jack and I first met The Joker, were bored.  The Germans were under attack, so Tsar Nicholas were in. The Fray was so weak from that the limehouse jailhouse bar coup, so Hymu became a legend every twenty eight days known to all the unwanted.  The Goonies in-vined to the smoke of their Feuer cigarettes for the woods every so often, and a hand was not with an incomplete butt protruding.  The railroad project in the in between halting the revelation, and the engineering that they had so muted and destroyed known to La Cruz, lama packaging.https://youtu.be/1EvUdddQNeo?t=26m11s , see surprisingPrinçess Di Oeineia Hildálgabun had started by the divine interpretation, she had already, no one else, could take seriously, and the ga, the smiling in her eyes, you known to cawl The Hoyle Sepulchre, tha design, prey self-reobsessed within MY-ra, he-conjured with the toothless Folr, and I wa’ soup penitent, and a-rod too, so the papper read dragon poop, according to the qui, that enema too, A spacesuit's girl too to the taylor swifty.  Tired of poking at the Spanish, Macun de Rasputin Depardieu suggested that we all go pack on vacation to study Kung Fu to India, but my mother wouldn't let me go, so I packed my whole wheat of nothing, and returned.The Fyodor Andreyovich, The Memories of Fyodor Andreyovich, Book 10, pg.10.What follows is a key transcription to the key, of my dear Earfeld Zwingli:Bene:  “Put me out, now that we’ve reached the sand.”Hildálgabum:  “No, I think I’ll stay, I like, I don’t think I like being a mutant.  I only ever was a worm animal before.  I Snow leopard, je je je.”Fryer:  “Cozy animal.”Bene:  “Guíateen.”Hildálgabum:  “Phobetor.”Bene:  “Thank you, now I will return the sand to my Jesus.”Fryer:  “Do I turn my back to a farmer mutant for my return?”Bene:  “I is farmer marmot mutant, jack.”Fryer:  “Thank you heavens you only have four bones now for my Bene.  It levitates!”Hildálgabum:  “Something like a raptor for me.”Key:  “Gait.”Hildálgabum:  “Sure thing.”Bene:  “Marmot jack,  account for the Samrock.”Key:  “This, ma’ paypah punch.”Hildálgabum:  “No.”Key:  “Ma’ leg!!”Fryer:  “Whoa, whoa! ...hey...da ladies.”Bene:  “Ka!”Fryer:  “Fyer.”Bene:  “Bene jack, why do you not help.”Fryer:  “From hell?  It’s now over, any.  Bene.”Bene:  “And jack.  Everybody stained strand-stand.  Listen to J story of The Jesus Temptation in the field.  No thoughts!  The confirmity test must wrest the truth of the little boy Jesus in the field, and there were three other tests.  Now, each write one test with yours.”Key:  "I..."Bene:  "Quit, and you will have no solid option, no sham in admitting that you are not Almighting.  If God were the ultimate barrier, The White O, it would be better to exit on the earth than in heaven.  At least there, it would all seem so true, and on the earth, the un, sham.  The admission of human guilt is the crux of the all.  If The God were to require an absence of human humiliation, It would require case to exist.  If God were to maintain drug, the image of justice with the unjust, you would reject It and me, utterly.  If there would be a God, Creator of all, it's a threat and simply put that the righteous establish order and hierarchy, so that indeed God may make a certain claim that It ain't just, while It upholds the faith.  This why faith is more than faith humor. Key:  "I quit."Bene:  "Oh?  So quick?  No, Snub, nosed monkey for you."Key:  "Hot damn."Bene:  "Key, do you know what the difference between a nightmare and a tween from the Hell is?  No?  A dweam is false, and a nightmare hoes."Hildálgabum:  "Bene.  Why are you converting with a seed plum?"Bene:  "Hildálgabum.  I'm planting seed."What.What follows is a plan transcription, penned by, the prophet, Romanov scry Katrina:Bene:  "Time to control mutant form."Scry:  "Fine, we're not going to scra Marcena, that comp.  Not my smar sparrow wing want, and I don't care ha music she scra."Sa:  "Father Bene is much scra, sis', thank you very much."Bene:  "Now, me must inoculate, there is danger scar.  Fry, mar."Fry:  "Bene.  Is it not all OK if I KA, a monument."Bene:  "Scry.  There will be no play on The Way, too."Sa:  "Planet."Bene:  "There will be pestilence ab, and now put it."Scry:  "Mar sin."Here end hu con script.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYadnXpovnA&index=2&list=PLodd1p2roTc2cV6PbOzmQIepWXfY7WcW6I was at the reminder of the Himalayan Mar-Ho, for the remainder o' the withdraw dharma wi' the students' in March of 1851 to see Mar parallel n, the fifth grade human raid-sis'.  An' that winter, get started, Hym Taj Hymnu J, Hymn personal assistant all way Corpital accompainied and wi’ to the Pig, all the way fo, fro Peru, walking now, age six, blind by an’ with long pigtails like her hair uncle an cockpit with the best wi' in the galazy, Sra Becker.- Stop Chapter 10, Book 10.According to MY myth, the Jak and the fox surmised MYth fro the ridge of the Mar-Ho for me the Jak, the monkey gone hoe, and me with the dreams of the St. Eisley key haunting your very soul, and I stayed on with Eisley after ol' Vad and another hand had departed faith fo The England, and this is about the most interesting accounting of them for my very soul.  Stop.
Chapter 5 Kom Fe
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJydIhwNfW4
In the Fall of 1866, I Fo.  I had become the dream b once, Ammo Kap had smiled at Fyodor's anscriptions, a the letter of The Tibetan Way to Wittikund, because this is the community, within that same document wa' five town replicas constructed to appeal.  Myle-identity was prostrate, and had this author fired, that monkey, turning the in-city into a green camp, and The People and The Even' Green warring for the Kap.  Fresh into the sugar, and fresh indigo from the cocaine, and the other wi fo towns were con:  Sugar Nikolaevich and stay Kurt Cobaine, the Wa', and The Truth Anamia Molino, the snake-devil, and so Matthew and I.  And as the truth wa' stranger than the fraction, and some truth, fiction stranger than truth, so then true faith and factious faction through in the monument:  some mind the cause to be slavery, and others find the cera, so that the author of three delegations wa' to sail, Ayn and i'different from the agitator T' oppression.  Some slew that I wa' like a prophet-TISH, God bless you, but the ministry of the sow moon, new chapters through, the one you stayed for the star control and the memory of the previous Tsar.  And what I write, the memories of The Tsar tall, or the sound of the wind for the all, and all of so who would catch, and Who do author wind, The Press and, The Ultra.
"God bless YOU my agitator," Foudre say.  Marcena Gomez and Taj had to return in twenties, click, fline, learning T' Taj Ma. "It's just now certain, culture can do wa' thing others cannot, Prison," Marcena retorted ", you're in it."  Of course Mastikov Wittikund ha' lived in a monastery there rejected too, and was en the same with tha Wells, half way 'round the world, and here I interjected that control is a ba of accidents of good. And Bene responded ", and this I would agree if there i e p in the we only." A' the mean, The People published an an article for selling the spirit of inquisitiveness on the damn of The Badge, pacifying city control for the spell, danger war monkey, it had not saved blood by take, compromising with a front page story you may see up The Spi, an eye i' the shark suit star in an dark Mirror.  But on the next morning I ha', awake in an Ulster wor, my body lying in a ditch, my mind tortured by the innocent, nice hat, and Wicken war to birth < > from, The Crux bikini, VV, but the people were talking to one. "Jesus, I'm a lil' painter, an' at midnight, there was a cry.  VadMykral, Wirjal, tough on, rih' the scricture, comes to work, over THEY, get out of MY, high to believe me.  Entraparadise," Hymu had say before she left from Britain. And Matte might pop up, added with a puff ", and some people don't understand that, the nature of popul, and ask why give up the damnation, that's all that we have, but we who stand for reasonableness and decoy with God have the confidence to know that The Air power wa' established and i' maintainted by and in The God, and so that the internet of the elite duh' threaten our well-being.  Politics, or MY, is a KA-phil suggested by The White O, that creeps itself into our minds, say that we are unable to stand in a personal choice independent of The Almighty, the Son of Lucifecer, MY-shit, and some people don't give no shit.  Everybody every, either leads a house, or is in the house, and artists understand this," and ta Bene bow ", ain't any other way.  That's why Hymu was on her way to establish herself right now without looking up."   I believe that it was at that moment that, the approximately, Matte began to know himself at The Wixler, and jo The Tsar Wars.  Unfortunately, the situation in Berlin was exacerbated by Logray and himself, who suck, and in the compeeing papers, an’ when it came to light that previous Tsar had donated the two sphere Ultra keys with Logray and The Sa, so that that Himalayan fox and the Biv Fortuna fou The Sa, and Hymnu, The Logray, to disconnect at the pre-Oblivion, but at the Mar-Ho I entertained Lu, and Mat at The Wicken Kap, busy.  The Sa key was taken from their twi'lek braintails, and the ochre ewok destruct by hym and Anu-Nah, and everyone worked up two years later, and No one couldn't remember, If that, the keys had been tall or destroyed or parred, or as I stood destroyed with the Fray marmot Gomez Mos-Kath slay:  I ha’ never been a Yak before or then. “Why are you in the gym?,” he adquired, and I said I did not know, but we had each other with whatever what anyone my say.  Without shoes in no brain-tails, in brown trousers, we walked to that Geneva Republic bridge to sharpen tha naturalette of the environ, and we lit, ráfagas, tha praying one foot forward each in a stray line, and quit the arrow hands. “Quick, let me before someone dies,” Fray said with a dead pan. I knelt, close my eyes, seeing in the darkness two llama as if they were mad of wind, one slightly closer than the other, may on either side of behind me, on Mount Blanc Anywhere. “Devil-speak doesn’t really make any think to you (if you think about it.)  If you ‘say’ something, it doesn’t reeally mean that it true, but the D speakin’ in that devil-speak, speak lies, so if they communicate lie, it would make everything spoken true, so that the only way to communicate lie without truth was to never speak ow,”  Wixler conned.  “Number,” Marcena snarled. Unfortunately a MY snafu of our rep town wa’, i’ built unfortunately under an inch deep ocean by adults, and they had said that tar was lining the four to keep the water from leaking through their ceiling, and about a million straw underneath had assembled to end their world, and all of them were Jews.  An’ after their roof collapsed, the death-eater Sa, she using her cheat codes of a hidden underground Ultra key, wrote four me a dweam, and I supposed that she happened, bu I used her Ha-brain, Ma Brain ma, life is a pussy.  A in the dweam from Hell, I supposedly was defeated, but Biv was, takin’ her eyes off of The God, and she caught herself in The self-confidence, and gone to heaven, an' Marcena's right got burned bad, and Ark creeps, this all in wa' week, and if that weren't enough, a supposed hurricane t' ga. It wasn't even better if the Fray and me didn't even know where we were, but we always seemed to figure that out, and in this case the point peruvian j salt flats. The moment of The Lucifer has concluded the cap of such baker, one vital clue in a game as coal as time, she provi for it wa' to intragate a T known as The Key.  But It was all too late now, and Ka Sara new it.  The Key had an already been, locked with The Getty by The Taj.  Now Sara Becker how did not exist, an occlusion a'ccluding the whereabouts of fi The Moskath, the eagle wis. Kaj and Bene did not manipulate sow, but stayed excitedly sized:  ant, mountain spider, and regular spider, an' now no one new wherever they went, but I didn’t know who they were, animagical thunder under, the natural gri a’ teen party thunder.  It was believed Kay wa’ a’ accomplished to homicide, but no, the ant inside of a fist slim an owlf. And Phometer realized me anything gay reality:  I was only a smoke an’ a human form named Gadyuka.  An-Gadyuka I reasoned.  Than-civilization was an illusion of clock movie light that even the word reformed to revisit, and their God was well ba virgin for allowing its existence, and that an unjust God is an oxymoron, us, so no God and nothingness, and I could wake up, and no, an’ all the inanimate part allowing itself to exit thru waste, and so was I, oligarchy, the academic elite rascal meat. And when I had had a walk, tha nightmare had described.  It was.  The humanist warmth of one-promiscuity, one King, flip-described as exactly what the oligarchy is:  nameless and faceless tyranny, unaccountable and weak.  And the head of Gadyuka removed, sharp, and not stirred, money pouring out of its white neck bar between the white rim of the Lu into the water and disposed of, permanently, exactly what, The Great Flip King of Babylon White.  There is no great king of the all; there is no such thing as “great king”; kings are always speak, and oligarchy spread in an’ mirror only.  And it seemed so accomplished, so perfect, that the accusation of the imperfect wa’ righteousness, but not only re-lied on an image of The Humanism, no, re whie.   And in The America, The King revolted by the democratic revolution, revolted, and by the the devil’s scribe Thomas Spain, the Nova Stellari, but the tired illusion stayed, the illusion of the power in a diffusion of responsibility, and the papers con, accused the imperfect of corruption, the gay and the confused sorry.  But that America was not uninitiated by bi, or the Bible, stay Revelation’s White Whore, and the Islamic stay, and a Tech Golom, Golom the sound it may as it swallowed brainless, Glow, The Morning Glory Monkey, a pledge of allegiance to Eternal Experiment A, and a white lab coat. Wee the people duz 👁️!  We the people excuse, craftsmanship. The Tow, the Sillmoon, and an' the darty mirror, or was it na, an Cursandeux, a hex-who people who I had labeled "death eaters", a term I ha' picked up from The Seattle mother and had got Becker from some books he had read ba' in chapter two, He no new ha, ba’ in the magical robot frame known as People.  I was the Taj, however shu did not finish at The Mar-Ho only to convince herself Cursandeux, an' then powered up with the Fa, a piece of sharp glass hidden in the sandy beach movie. "It remiinds me o' this movie I once saw Call Proint Break when thi' spy illegitimately converted, AND strayed for this original counter MY-pen," Vadrolt 'splained talking with his hands too. "And oh my dear Vad, these movies ARE not real," I said.   To day, we ha' strayed in Cuba, Anytown Genatown.  This we ha' fought over on the cannon day Matte caught de-ananize cannon farm, being an ol' hair an' All.  Corpse (is that hell it's spelled). "Souund," he-nob replied nobbing and spiling ", an' the other Spanish moothie Arma letal too." And I took a piece of shit looking up holding hi' cigarette, and just sneezed. "Piece o' shit really, but the main character wa' Nazareth and try not to shoo' this wetther pattern call El Nino, an' at the end got resurrected n' shit like Gi." "Who Nazareth?," I quirked b shredding his acting.  Vadrolt was no different this, probably too with Moskath-sip.  Sa try later, it was later rediscovered that Vadrolt Jerome McAllistair i’ no battleship, Va'ghost, about to reach Heaven don, an' heaven an' not hell.  This was the same very big Christian feedback ob, The Kingdom of Scotland wa' Mary in both in Ireland and Britain, the kin weddin' bo' hot Queens-"monkey frat", the inigo girls, The Mighturis.
The Captain clement VI, the Charles Hymu, tha’ bastard pope marrying Hymnu and my dad before i’ even ha’ learned to walk, an’ to see or t’ hear, or so I felt a zit Hyppy about Vad’s lil’ stitch.  He ju not only i’ that, but my screw came ju in with The Shell-Moon an’ a Scry, my dad’s screw i’ just i’ about the same age as any, dumb politics screw. I s'pose it wa’ fair ca considering Charles' arrival came in fews that he coo with my mama, but the b with the last wah. Before Bebe, Ma, Peopu, Scry, an’ I set an i' ap, The Paltimore dyer in Swazyland-one (I believe tha it was), wistening to the Movie an' People Leoviticus ketchup ti'.  They ha experienced wa a la 1859 an’ i’ the year 1 for-mug so they tawk ky funnah twice. “Cogarette,” Peepouw mime putting her had to her muth twy, han’ Ma ayn dolla’. “It’s a phonny thin’ caush; it’s a witch comma-ditty, so...unlie cigarette whi’ a’ pwicewis, o’ tha’ Spaneesh say ‘como se come’,” he say hanger two dallahs. “Wondafuck spay Spanich,” she respawnded wi’ a smyle, tawlkin’ da bry, wit’ Matte “, he reinterpreted-” “What,” Mat spock. “Though, Ha-wee Pawteh foe, half you eva’ notice tha’ dayah too Holmes:  Da Slytherin  AYN da-Gwiffendowa, an Huw-foe-pup, an’ Wayvencwaw?” “That,” he hand-gesticulated ficking up wit’ his wight paw swowee wit’ a wit owf his han’ in da sum dieWection. “I figured out Gryffindor people never marry, an’ dey die by The Crux.” “Oh, Quiche really,” he communicated presenting his order to the stable to fuck her. “An, Whydafuck are you da waita?” “Spooge,” he hand gesticulated. "Wait slowly." "Paracial," Matte gestured pa a rainbow over his head, apparatus bear ", last d'tail, detail," he said wit submission, free-America. “C da pot whip da reading aw minds?” And Bene intruded ", perhaps they are don’ understanding of what is hell an' heaven, merely a touch of Catholic Da'ma." "Dandy Warhole Mayflower, give ME the keys..." Matte sucked. "How," she say. Da wittle Catholic singer, Tha Dandy Warhol, tha finished class, tha little white mole, finished her little white Palenque, thanks.  Matte's UPenn class wa' getting sick, so wa’ da engineewing. "Hawf u eva seen da moovie Dutch Gonnies befowa?" Mat gesticulated. "Chack doesn't weewee vomit. Boo mawee wit' da bwack ainjow."
The slightly odd thing was that th' Mar-Ho security was owed and operated rep-towns, transporting us two, but we were like echoing THEM all over the glass, may possible of The Crux loophole, shark 2 Griffinwhore, of GRIFFIN2 according to the Manual, Portugal chick stray side-effect, an industrial-string remover badge may warrin’-pressin' wa' odd, Foudre power chick, fingered. "Me Indian French." "French anywo," Matte say, lookeen black macabwe. "Dees ees da Ma-Ho, undastán?,” Ta Bene bow to huh disingenuously. “Yo-Ho Lord Helmo,” she saluted black. “Somediing smell like sheet, undastán?” An’ Peopuew make swant eyes wit’ huh fingas. “Coor,” Kaykay whispa’d n’ wonda’d.   It wa’ a sweaty co webewyun, Gwiffendowa coo, The XBOX. "He-who speak duh not fea', an' he who cult duh not speak, an' Two Tygas cannot wiv on won mouwootin.  Undastán?"
Prison by Zachry Vernacular
I' 2040 t' Law wasn't improbable pre-Junta The U.N. and the Jura Auburn, but something unsurpassing we, your truly Zachry Vernacular of HLS2 buil' a fie-size vo factory by hisself. I nay Johan Lucifer in parts, and by accident in ca to lie the Chatty Cathy doll string lie lique many othur.  It trap ma li Frankenstat crapp, two contradictions wa’ imp to an’ o, an’ oblious of the decovery.  So for the year 2025 it was worth yaling down for Matthew t’ The Phi’delphia when he stopped out of the diner on Oct. of 1866 to shit in his d’may.  An’ it sare this shit couth, the Uprising effect.  An’ he lit, ha’ cigarette shark, size attack crap guilda' power. An’ Matte wa' up to fi he had spent the la’ two weeks seducing Lucifer, an’ magically confused it, it one of its dead poet bitches so...now, with a relocated door opening to my revel MY-own-personal Lu remedial cockney non-sequitur crap.  So two for a while.  An’ God i’ now leading tha' riiight, maybe permanently enough to heat the crimp of the su Canadian lime green bird, locusts a high in insect with a devilish smilin’, toleratin’ regionalism. Sooo, no linger circular control, but not unlike glue. It smelled like pluralism anyway. The earth wa’ perfect, the world...there’s something else also purely suicidal.
My baby, some short shorty about somebody a different name i’ this chapter.  Da five lil’ human racists of The Community, an the MY-anarchists were married as follows:  what you don’t know, you don’t know this aristocracy any, but Jodel was named Matthew, suffice it to say, un’ People the ca hurricane to ca and went too, su. An, Mary, Kate, and Ashley, Kurt, Sugar, Molina were so many characters, so many of them as usual, a rep town within a rep town.  They were somebody too, who played chess in come chesses for longer than they played themselves, so People, the players uncostumed for Copter 5, hired by Ja Lucifer, “remember yours”, play to a fiction for the heir.  They sought that they could parallel The Kingdom, an’ could survive without The Kingdom too, so eagle hippies who just fought to survive.  They ca, without recognizing the whip.  Personal choice was gri:  God worshiped and not known.  You have to wander about the people like tha-who because even if they knew what they ha’ wanted, they would have no doubt of hot wo get it.  Undastán?  They slipped so much time being someone else, they didn’t reaaally realizar that that was why they slowly increased within their OWN identity, which felt uncomfortable.  They could do whatever they wanted, tragic really, hopes.  So then, making choices...helps you be...yourself?  Maybe, you were you even before you ever MADE a-choices.
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