Idiots Never Change Quotes

Marriage isn't a love affair. It isn't even a honeymoon. It's a job. A long hard job, at which both partners have to work, harder than they've worked at anything in their lives before. If it's a good marriage, it changes, it evolves, but it does on getting better. I've seen it with my own mother and father. But a bad marriage can dissolve in a welter of resentment and acrimony. I've seen that, too, in my own miserable and disastrous attempt at making another person happy. And it's never one person's fault. It's the sum total of a thousand little irritations, disagreements, idiotic details that in a sound alliance would simply be disregarded, or forgotten in the healing act of making love. Divorce isn't a cure, it's a surgical operation, even if there are no children to consider.

Sometimes the truth is so deep that it takes someone with the same depth to see it, while others can't see past the level they have never moved from.

And a woman by herself is missing a man, while a man by himself is his own master. Trousers. That's the secret. Trousers and a pair of socks. I never dreamed it was like this. Put on trousers and the world changes. We walk different. We act different. I see these girls and I think: Idiot's Get yourself some trousers!

The Navy is a master plan designed by geniuses for execution by idiots. If you are not an idiot, but find yourself in the Navy, you can only operate well by pretending to be one. All the shortcuts and economies and common-sense changes that your native intelligence suggests to you are mistakes. Learn to quash them. Constantly ask yourself, "How would I do this if I were a fool?" Throttle down your mind to a crawl. Then you will never go wrong.

I, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus This-that-and-the-other (for I shall not trouble you yet with all my titles) who was once, and not so long ago either, known to my friends and relatives and associates as "Claudius the Idiot", or "That Claudius", or "Claudius the Stammerer", or "Clau-Clau-Claudius" or at best as "Poor Uncle Claudius", am now about to write this strange history of my life; starting from my earliest childhood and continuing year by year until I reach the fateful point of change where, some eight years ago, at the age of fifty-one, I suddenly found myself caught in what I may call the "golden predicament" from which I have never since become disentangled.

A zebra like him would never change his stripes, and I’d been an idiot to fall for his gorgeous looks.

The world tried to crush you, and you refused to be shattered. You've recovered from every setback a stronger person, rising form the ashes only to astonish everyone around you. And you will continue to surprise and confuse those who underestimate you. It is an inevitability. A forgone conclusion. But you should know now that being a leader is a thankless occupation. Few will ever be grateful for what you do or for the changes you implement. Their memories will be short, convenient. Your every success will be scruntinized. Your accomplishments will be brushed aside, breeding only greater expectations from those around you. Your power will push you further away from your friends. You will be made to feel lonely. Lost. You will long for validation from those you once admired, agonizing between pleasing old friends and doing what is right. But you must never, ever let the idiots into your head. They will only lead you astray.

Then it happened. One night as the rain beat on the slanted kitchen roof a great spirit slipped forever into my life. I held his book in my hands and trembled as he spoke to me of man and the world, of love and wisdom, pain and guilt, and I knew I would never be the same. His name was Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky. He knew more of fathers and sons than any man in the world, and of brothers and sisters, priests and rogues, guilt and innocence. Dostoyevsky changed me. The Idiot, The Possessed, The Brothers Karamazov, The Gambler. He turned me inside out. I found I could breathe, could see invisible horizons. The hatred for my father melted. I loved my father, poor, suffering, haunted wretch. I loved my mother too, and all my family. It was time to become a man, to leave San Elmo and go out into the world. I wanted to think and feel like Dostoyevsky. I wanted to write. The week before I left town the draft board summoned me to Sacramento for my physical. I was glad to go. Someone other than myself could make my decisions. The army turned me down. I had asthma. Inflammation of the bronchial tubes. “That’s nothing. I’ve always had it.” “See your doctor.” I got the needed information from a medical book at the public library. Was asthma fatal? It could be. And so be it. Dostoyevsky had epilepsy, I had asthma. To write well a man must have a fatal ailment. It was the only way to deal with the presence of death.

I'm not a complete idiot, you know," I tell him. "I do think about alternatives if things were to change in Westfall." Bishop swings his legs off the sofa and sits forward, facing me. "I have never, not for a single second, thought you were an idiot, Ivy." "You listen to your father, too, don't you?" I ask him. Bishop looks down at his clasped hands, then back up at me. "Sometimes I just think that because of who we are... the president's son and the founder's daughter..." He rolls his eyes, making me smile. "It's doubly important that we think for ourselves. We're not our parents. We don't have to agree with everything they stand for.

Don’t be consistent with your past self. Only idiots never change their mind.

Where's my sister?" "She's setting up the island we found tonight." Galen shakes his head. "You slithering eel. You might have told me what you were up to." Toraf laughs. "Oh sure. 'Hey, Galen, I need to borrow Emma for a few minutes so I can kiss her, okay?' Didn't see that going over very well." "You think your surprise attack went over better?" Toraf shrugs. "I'm satisfied." "I could have killed you today." "Yeah." "Don't ever do that again." "Wasn't planning on it. Thought it was real sweet of you to defend your sister's honor. Very brotherly." Toraf snickers. "Shut up." "I'm just saying." Galen runs a hand through his hair. "I only saw Emma. I forgot all about Rayna." "I know, idiot. That's why I let you hit me fifty-eight times. That's what I would do if someone kissed Rayna." "Fifty-nine times." "Don't get carried away, minnow. By the way, was Emma boiling mad or just a little heated? Should I keep my distance for a while?" Galen snorts. "She laughed so hard I thought she'd pass out. I'm the one in trouble." "Shocker. What'd you do?" "The usual." Hiding his feelings. Blurting out the wrong thing. Acting like a territorial bull shark. Toraf shakes his head. "She won't put up with that forever. She already thinks you only want to change her so she can become another of your royal subjects." "She said that?" Galen scowls. "I don't know what's worse. Letting her think that, or telling her the truth about why I'm helping her to change." "In my opinion, there's nothing to tell her unless she can actually change. And so far, she can't." "You don't think she's one of us?" Toraf shrugs. "Her skin wrinkles. It's kind of gross. Maybe she's some sort of superhuman. You know, like Batman." Galen laughs. "How do you know about Batman?" "I saw him on that black square in your living room. He can do all sorts of things other humans can't do. Maybe Emma is like him." "Batman isn't real. He's just a human acting like that so other humans will watch him." "Looked real to me." "They're good at making it look real. Some humans spend their whole lives making something that isn't real look like something that is." "Humans are creepier than I thought. Why pretend to be something you're not?" Galen nods. To take over a kingdom, maybe? "Actually, that reminds me. Grom needs you." Toraf groans. "Can it wait? Rayna's getting all cozy on our island right about now." "Seriously. I don't want to know." Toraf grins. "Right. Sorry. But you can see my point, right? I mean, if Emma were waiting for you-" "Emma wouldn't be waiting for me. I wouldn't have left." "Rayna made me. You've never hit me that hard before. She wants us to get along. Plus, there's something I need to tell you, but I didn't exactly get a change to." "What?" "Yesterday when we were practicing in front of your house, I sensed someone. Someone I don't know. I made Emma get out of the water while I went to investigate." "And she listened to you?" Toraf nods. "Turns out, you're the only one she disobeys.

I stood as she straightened and snaked my arms around her, pulling her close to me, savoring the feel of every delicate curve. For three weeks, I spent my time convincing myself that our breakup was the right choice. But being this close to her, hearing her laugh, listening to her voice, I knew I had been telling myself lies. Her eyes widened when I lowered my head to hers. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can find a way to make us work.” She tilted her head and licked her lips, whispering through shallow breaths, “You’re not playing fair.” “No, I’m not.” Echo thought too much. I threaded my fingers into her hair and kissed her, leaving her no opportunity to think about what we were doing. I wanted her to feel what I felt. To revel in the pull, the attraction. Dammit, I wanted her to undeniably love me. Her pack hit the floor with a resounding thud and her magical fingers explored my back, neck and head. Echo’s tongue danced manically with mine, hungry and excited. Her muscles stiffened when her mind caught up. I held her tighter to me, refusing to let her leave so easily again. Echo pulled her lips away, but was unable to step back from my body. “We can’t, Noah.” “Why not?” I shook her without meaning to, but if it snapped something into place, I’d shake her again. “Because everything has changed. Because nothing has changed. You have a family to save. I …” She looked away, shaking her head. “I can’t live here anymore. When I leave town, I can sleep. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I did. I understood all too well, as much as I hated it. This was why we ignored each other. When she walked away the first time, my damn heart ruptured and I swore I’d never let it happen again. Like an idiot, here I was setting off explosives. Both of my hands wove into her hair again and clutched at the soft curls. No matter how I tightened my grip, the strands kept falling from my fingers, a shower of water from the sky. I rested my forehead against hers. “I want you to be happy.” “You, too,” she whispered. I let go of her and left the main office. When I first connected with Echo, I’d promised her I would help her find her answers. I was a man of my word and Echo would soon know that.

I wasn’t just fucking Ani. It never could have been that, and I was an idiot for assuming it could. Our lives were intertwined. I cared too much before we’d started sleeping together. There was no way I was going to be able to shut that off once I’d been inside her.

If the universe doesn't remember, why should you? Being the youngest of three siblings, you can bet I was the subject of some vile comments. Fat, stupid, you name it. However, just because my brother called me an idiot for 12 years doesn't make it my reality. Your past never equals your future unless you allow it. Think about a coin flip. No matter how many times it's flipped, the next flip is always random. Probability cannot be attached to a future flip based on the past. Your past is the same. Just because you failed at five relationships doesn't mean your next will fail, especially if you learn from them! Just because you flipped burgers three hours ago doesn't mean you can't be a millionaire next year. The universe forgets, just like the universe forgot I mopped floors and delivered pizza not long ago.

Intentional sin causes scars.

What kind of soldier are you that you’re going to just sit in a cell while the world is thrown into chaos? Do you not understand what could happen if those weapons fall into the wrong hands? How could you be so selfish? (Syd) I’m selfish? Look, Agent Westbrook, your daddy’s a Boston stockbroker. I’m a death broker. I’m sure you don’t lecture Daddy on finance, so don’t even try to lecture me on assassination politics. I know all about them. Some bureaucratic ass-wipe sitting in a pristine office that’s totally isolated from the rest of the world decides the son of King Oomp-Loomp is a threat. He then hands down orders to people like me to go off King Oomp-Loompa’s son. Like an idiot, I do what he says without question. I hunt my target down, using information that is mostly bullshit and unreliable, gathered by someone like you who assured me it was correct as the time. But hey, if it changes minute by minute, and God forbid we pass that along to you. So me and my spotter lie in the grass, sand, or snow for days on end, cramped and hungry, never able to move more than a millimeter an hour until I have that one perfect shot I’ve been waiting for days. I take it, and then we lie there like pieces of dirt until we can inch our way back to safety, where hopefully the helicopter team will remember that they were supposed to retrieve us. Have you any idea of the nerves it takes to do what I do? To lie there on the ground while other armed men search for you? Have them step on you and not be able to even breathe or wince because if you do, it’s not only your life, but the life of your spotter? Do you know what it’s like to have the brains of your best friend spayed into your face and not be able to render aid to him because you know he’s dead and if you do, you’ll be killed too? I have been into the bowels of hell and back, Miz Westbrook. I have stared down the devil and made him sweat. So don’t tell me I don’t take this seriously. (Steele)

I think that sitting there talking to Dan was a thing that had a great impression on my life. I know that being an idiot and all, I ain't supposed to have no philosophy of my own, but maybe it's just because nobody never too the time to talk to me about it. It was Dan's philosophy that everything that happen to us, or for that matter, to anything everywhere, is controlled by natural laws that govern the universe. His views were extremely complicated, but the gist of what he said begun to change my whole outlook on things.

Dear Forrest, I am sorry there was no time for us to speech other before I left. The doctors made their decision quickly, and before I knew it, I was being taken away, but I asked if I could stop long enough to write you this note, because you have been so kind to me whileI was here. I sense, Forrest, that you are on the verge of something very significant in your life, some change, or event that will move you in a different direction, and you must seize the moment, and not let it pass. When I think back on it now, there is something in your eyes, some tiny flash of fire that comes now and then, mostly when you smile, and , on those infrequent occasions, I believe what I saw was almost a Genesis of our ability as humans to think, to create, to be. This war is to for you, old pal - nor me - and I am well out of it as I'm sure you will be in time. The crucial question is, what will you do? I don't think you're an idiot at all. Perhaps by the measure of tests or the judgement of fools, you might fall into some category or other, but deep down, Forrest, I have seen that glowing sparkle of curiosity burning deep in your mind. Take the tide, my friend, and as you are carried along, make it work for you, fight the shallows and the snags and never give up. You are a good fellow, forrest, and you have a big heart. Your pal, Dan

What Fermín says is that wise men own up when they sometimes make mistakes, but idiots always make mistakes, even though they never admit it and always think they're right. He calls it his Archimedean Principle of Communicable Imbecilities.' 'Oh, does he?' 'Yes. According to him, an idiot is an animal who doesn't know how to, or is unable to, change his mind.

I will spend my life orbiting your,” Nico said, and the exhaustion in his voice, she knew it. She understood it. I consider it a privilege. Does that mean less if we never sleep together? IF we never have babies and hold hands, does that have to mean less? You’re in every world I exist in, your fate is my fate, either you follow me or I follow you, it doesn’t matter which and I don’t care. If that’s not love then maybe I don’t understand love, and that’s fine with me- it doesn’t make me angry to know I’m actually an idiot after all. And if it’s not enough for you, then okay, it’s not enough. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m willing to give it. What you’re willing to accept doesn’t change what I’m willing to give.

Ren moved just a smidgen closer to me. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and then…waited. When I opened my eyes, he was still staring at me. He really was waiting for permission. There was nothing, and I mean nothing I wanted more in the world at that moment than to be kissed by this gorgeous man. But, I ruined it. For some reason, I fixated on the word permission. I nervously rambled, “What…umm…what do you mean you want my permission?” He looked at me curiously, which made me feel even more panicky. To say I had no experience with kissing would be an understatement. Not only had I never kissed a boy before, I’d never even met a guy I wanted to kiss until Ren. So, instead of kissing him like I wanted to, I got flustered and started coming up with reasons to not do it. I babbled, “Girls need to be swept off their feet, and asking permission is just…just…old-fashioned. It’s not spontaneous enough. It doesn’t scream passion. It screams old fogy. If you have to ask, then the answer is…no.” What an idiot! I thought to myself. I just told this beautiful, kind, blue-eyed, hunk of a prince that he was an old fogy. Ren looked at me for a long moment, long enough for me to see the hurt in his eyes before he cleared his face of expression. He stood up quickly, formally bowed to me, and avowed softly, “I won’t ask you again, Kelsey. I apologize for being so forward.” Then he changed into a tiger and quickly ran off into the jungle, leaving me alone to berate myself for my foolishness. I shouted, “Ren, wait!” But it was too late. He was gone. I can’t believe I insulted him like that! He must hate me! How could I do that to him? I knew I only said those things because I was nervous, but that was no excuse. What did he mean he would never ask me again? I hope he asks me again. I replayed my words over and over again in my mind and thought of all the things I could have said that would have given me a better result. Things like, “I thought you’d never ask” or “I was just about to ask you the same question.” I could have just grabbed the man and kissed him first. Even just a simple “Yes” would have done the trick. I could have said dramatically, “As you wish,” “Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time,” or “You had me at hello.” He’d never seen the movies, so why not? But, no, I had to go on and on about “permission.” Ren left me alone the rest of the day, which gave my plenty of time to kick myself.

those who gave me the most pleasure. You know why? Because you’re an idiot, and even to fuck well it takes a little intelligence. For example you don’t know how to give a blow job, you’re hopeless, and it’s pointless to explain it to you, you can’t do it, it’s too obvious that it disgusts you. And he went on like that for a while, making speeches that became increasingly crude; with him vulgarity was normal. Then he wanted to explain clearly how things stood: he was marrying her because of the respect he felt for her father, a skilled pastry maker he was fond of; he was marrying her because one had to have a wife and even children and even an official house. But there should be no mistake: she was nothing to him, he hadn’t put her on a pedestal, she wasn’t the one he loved best, so she had better not be a pain in the ass, believing she had some rights. Brutal words. At a certain point Michele himself must have realized it, and he became gripped by a kind of melancholy. He had murmured that women for him were all games with a few holes for playing in. All. All except one. Lina was the only woman in the world he loved—love, yes, as in the films—and respected. He told me, Gigliola sobbed, that she would have known how to furnish this house. He told me that giving her money to spend, yes, that would be a pleasure. He told me that with her he could have become truly important, in Naples. He said to me: You remember what she did with the wedding photo, you remember how she fixed up the shop? And you, and Pinuccia, and all the others, what the fuck are you, what the fuck do you know how to do? He had said those things to her and not only those. He had told her that he thought about Lila night and day, but not with normal desire, his desire for her didn’t resemble what he knew. In reality he didn’t want her. That is, he didn’t want her the way he generally wanted women, to feel them under him, to turn them over, turn them again, open them up, break them, step on them, and crush them. He didn’t want her in order to have sex and then forget her. He wanted the subtlety of her mind with all its ideas. He wanted her imagination. And he wanted her without ruining her, to make her last. He wanted her not to screw her—that word applied to Lila disturbed him. He wanted to kiss her and caress her. He wanted to be caressed, helped, guided, commanded. He wanted to see how she changed with the passage of time, how she aged. He wanted to talk with her and be helped to talk. You understand? He spoke of her in way that to me, to me—when we are about to get married—he has never spoken.

You love Robert, not me. You don’t love Lord Stuffy, so I tried to be like Robert.” The sweet idiot! She felt like weeping again. She began to protest, but he cut her off. “I don’t drink and I don’t gamble and I don’t have a mistress. I’m dull. You told me so, the first time we met. So I tried to change.” He frowned. “Not the mistress. I’ll never do that.” “Good,” she whispered. “I’m trying to be like Robert, but I’m no good at it. I drank wine. And brandy, lots of it. I didn’t like it and it made me sick. I played hazard and I lost.” He looked momentarily cheerful and her heart sank. “But I didn’t like that either. If I was a real man like Mr. Fox, or Robert, I’d have lost thousands.” The sadder he looked, the more her heart ached, a happy ache. “I failed you, Caro. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll always be Lord Stuffy,” he said, and closed his tortured, bloodshot eyes.

Okay, okay . . . where do you hear it coming from?” “Around here somewhere.” “Always in this spot?” “No. Not always. You are going to think I am even more insane, but I swear it is following me around.” “Maybe it is my new powers. The power to drive you mad.” She wriggled her fingers at him theatrically as if she were casting a curse on him. “You already drive me mad,” he teased, dragging her up against him and nibbling her neck with a playful growling. “Ah hell,” he broke off. “I really am going mad. I cannot believe you cannot hear that. It is like a metronome set to some ridiculously fast speed.” He turned and walked into the living room, looking around at every shelf. “The last person to own this place probably had a thing for music and left it running. Listen. Can you hear that?” “No,” she said thoughtfully, “but I can hear you hearing it if I concentrate on your thoughts. What in the world . . . ?” Gideon turned, then turned again, concentrating on the rapid sound, following it until it led him right up to his wife. “It is you!” he said. “No wonder it is following me around. Are you wearing a watch?” He grabbed her wrist and she rolled her eyes. “A Demon wearing a watch? Now I have heard everything.” Suddenly Gideon went very, very still, the cold wash of chills that flooded through him so strong that she shivered with the overflow of sensation. He abruptly dropped to his knees and framed her hips with his hands. “Oh, Legna,” he whispered, “I am such an idiot. It is a baby. It is our baby. I am hearing it’s heartbeat!” “What?” she asked, her shock so powerful she could barely speak. “I am with child?” “Yes. Yes, sweet, you most certainly are. A little over a month. Legna, you conceived, probably the first time we made love. My beautiful, fertile, gorgeous wife.” Gideon kissed her belly through her dress, stood up, and caught her up against him until she squeaked with the force of his hug. Legna went past shock and entered unbelievable joy. She laughed, not caring how tight he held her, feeling his joy on a thousand different levels. “I never thought I would know this feeling,” he said hoarsely. “Even when we were getting married, I never thought . . . It did not even enter my mind!” Gideon set her down on her feet, putting her at arm’s length as he scanned her thoroughly from head to toe. “I cannot understand why I did not become aware of this sooner. The chemical changes, the hormone levels alone . . .” “Never mind. We know now,” she said, throwing herself back up against him and hugging him tightly. “Come, we have to tell Noah . . . and Hannah! Oh, and Bella! And Jacob, of course. And Elijah. And we should inform Siena—” She was still rattling off names as she teleported them to the King’s castle.

- The local prince had gotten a notion that the girl could spin straw into gold, the dwarf said. Brainless young idiot, but they’re all like that. If she could spin straw into gold, why was she living in a hovel? Anyway, Gramps said he’d do her spinning for her in return for part of the gold and her firstborn child. She agreed, but naturally when the baby was born she didn’t want to give him up. So Gramps agreed to a guessing game: if she could guess his name, she could keep the baby. Then he let her find out what his name was. She kept the baby and Gramps kept the gold, and everyone went home happy. - I think I’m beginning to get the idea, Cimorene said. It’s not just spinning straw into gold that’s a family tradition, is it? It’s the whole scheme. The dwarf nodded sadly. - Right the first time. Only I can never make it work properly. I can find plenty of girls who’re supposed to spin straw into gold, and most of them suggest the guessing game, but I’ve never had even one who managed to guess my name. - Oh, dear, said Cimorene. - I even changed my name legally, so it would be easier, the dwarf said sadly. Herman isn’t a difficult name to remember, is it? But no, the silly chits can’t do it. So I end up with the baby as well as the gold, and babies eat and cry and need clothes, and the gold runs out, and I have to find another girl to spin gold for, and it happens all over again, and I end up with another baby. It isn’t fair!

The way I feel about Susie, the way she’s loved me and changed me, it can’t be in my songs. It’s too big for songs. Maybe, occasionally, I can get a part of it to fit. Sometimes it gets deep in the track where I can feel it but it’s never put into words. If you’ve ever been in a relationship that you took for granted, even when it was the one thing holding you together, and you somehow didn’t lose it despite acting like an idiot, then you know how difficult it is to convey that amount of gratitude, much less set it to music. I wouldn’t know where to begin.

Leta walked to the door and opened it with a ready smile for Colby Lane. And found herself looking straight into the eye of a man she hadn’t seen face-to-face in thirty-six years. Matt Holden matched her face against his memories of a young, slight, beautiful woman whose eyes loved him every time they looked at him. His heart spun like a cartwheel in his chest. “Cecily said it was Colby,” Leta said unsteadily. “Strange. She phoned me and asked if I was free this evening.” His broad shoulders shrugged and he smiled faintly. “I’m free every evening.” “That doesn’t sound like the life of a playboy widower,” Leta said caustically. “My wife was a vampire,” he said. “She sucked me dry of life and hope. Her drinking wore me down. Her death was a relief for both of us. Do I get to come in?” he added, glancing down the hall. “I’m going to collect dust if I stand out here much longer, and I’m hungry. A sack of McDonald’s hamburgers and fries doesn’t do a lot for me.” “I hear it’s a presidential favorite,” Cecily mused, joining them. “Come in, Senator Holden.” “It was Matt before,” he pointed out. “Or are you trying to butter me up for a bigger donation to the museum?” She shrugged. “Pick a reason.” He looked at Leta, who was uncomfortable. “Well, at least you can’t hang up on me here. You’ll be glad to know that our son isn’t speaking to me. He isn’t speaking to you, either, or so he said,” he added. “I suppose he won’t talk to you?” he added to Cecily. “He said goodbye very finally, after telling me that I was an idiot to think he’d change his mind and want to marry me just because he turned out to have mixed blood,” she said, not relating the shocking intimacy that had prefaced his remarks. “I’ll punch him for that,” Matt said darkly. “Ex-special forces,” Leta spoke up with a faint attempt at humor, nodding toward Matt. “He was in uniform when we went on our first date.” “You wore a white cotton dress with a tiered skirt,” he recalled, “and let your hair down. Hair…” He turned back to Cecily and grimaced. “Good God, what did you do that for?” “Tate likes long hair, that’s what I did it for,” she said, venom in her whole look. “I can’t wait for him to see it, even if I have to settle for sending him a photo!” “I hope you never get mad at me,” Matt said. “Fat chance.

She brought the tea into the living room on a lacquered tray. The pot and cups were Japanese with unglazed rims. She poured. "Thanks," I said. "Well?" "Huh?" "Your family," she reminded. I sipped the tea. "This is really good. Really delicious." She raised her eyebrows. "That's what I thought. You're a good listener, Davy, and you can change the subject on a dime. You've hardly talked about yourself at all." "I talk... too much." "You talk about books, you talk about plays, you talk about movies, you talk about places, you talk about food, you talk about current events. You don't talk about yourself." I opened my mouth, then shut it again. I hadn't really thought about it. Sure, I didn't talk  about the jumping, but the rest? "Well, there's not much to say. Not like those stories of growing up with four brothers." She smiled. "It's not going to work. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But I'm not going to be distracted again, nor fooled into talking about those idiots again." She poured more tea into my cup. I frowned. "Do I really do that?" "What? Not talk about yourself? Yes." "No, try and distract you." She stared at me. "You are fucking amazing. I've never seen someone so good at changing the subject." "I don't do it on purpose." She laughed. 

Science is a time machine, and it goes both ways. We are able to predict our future with increasing certainty. Our ability to act in response to these predictions will ultimately determine our fate. Science and reason make the darkness visible. I worry that lack of investment in science and a retreat from reason may prevent us from seeing further, or delay our reaction to what we see, making a meaningful response impossible. There are no simple fixes. Our civilisation is complex, our global political system is inadequate, our internal differences of opinion are deep-seated. I’d bet you think you’re absolutely right about some things and virtually everyone else is an idiot. Climate Change? Europe? God? America? The Monarchy? Same-sex Marriage? Abortion? Big Business? Nationalism? The United Nations? The Bank Bailout? Tax Rates? Genetically Modified Crops? Eating Meat? Football? X Factor or Strictly? The way forward is to understand and accept that there are many opinions, but only one human civilisation, only one Nature, and only one science. The collective goal of ensuring that there is never less than one human civilisation must surely override our personal prejudices. At least we have come far enough in 40,800 years to be able to state the obvious, and this is a necessary first step.

Can I come look?” He sat back on his heels and gestured to his artwork. “By all means. I’m done.” I got up, happily noting that my ankle was now pain free. I carefully tiptoed around the two square feet of floor over which his drawing sprawled, and settled in next to him. “It’s beautiful,” I told him. “I’m flattered. I’ve never had anyone draw a picture of me before.” Sage cocked his head and studied what he’d etched. “You think it looks like you?” Again a hot crawl of embarrassment raced up my neck and flooded my face. I looked more closely at the etching. The image did look like me, but only if you really wanted to see the resemblance. The woman in it had the same hair, and slept in the same position I had, but on closer inspection her features were quite different. Her eyes were farther apart, her nose more pointed, her cheekbones less defined…differences that seemed insignificant when I’d assumed the picture was of me, but knowing it wasn’t… I was an egocentric idiot. My dreams about this man may have been vivid, but they were dreams. They had nothing to do with reality; not mine, and clearly not his. I stammered, groping for some kind of explanation. I had nothing. “She does look like you, a little,” Sage admitted. His eyes lingered on the contours of the drawing’s face. I was eager to change the subject, but I felt like I had to ask. “Who is she?” “Someone I loved a long time ago,” he murmured.

Marriage isn’t a love affair. It isn’t even a honeymoon. It’s a job. A long hard job, at which both partners have to work, harder than they’ve worked at anything in their lives before. If it’s a good marriage, it changes, it evolves, but it goes on getting better. I’ve seen it with my own mother and father. But a bad marriage can dissolve in a welter of resentment and acrimony. I’ve seen that, too, in my own miserable and disastrous attempt at making another person happy. And it’s never one person’s fault. It’s the sum total of a thousand little irritations, disagreements, idiotic details that in a sound alliance would simply be disregarded, or forgotten in the healing act of making love. Divorce isn’t a cure, it’s a surgical operation, even if there are no children to consider.

The day wore on.While yet Rycca slept, Dragon did all the things she had said he would do-paced back and forth, contemplated mayhem,and even honed his blade on the whetstone from the stable.All except being oblivious to her,for that he could never manage. But when she awoke,sitting up heavy-lidded, her mouth so full and soft it was all he could do not to crawl back into bed with her,he put aside such pursuits and controlled himself admirably well,so he thought. Yet in the midst of preparing a meal for them from the provisions in the pantry of the lodge,he was stopped by Rycca's hand settling upon his. "Dragon," she said softly, "if you add any more salt to that stew, we will need a barrel of water and more to drink with it." He looked down, saw that she was right, and cursed under his breath. Dumping out the spoiled stew, he started over. They ate late but they did eat.He was quite determined she would do so,and for once she seemed to have a decent appetite. "I'm glad to see your stomach is better," he said as she was finishing. She looked up,startled. "What makes you say that?" "You haven't seemed able to eat regularly of late." "Oh,well,you know...so many changes...travel...all that." He nodded,reached for his goblet, and damn near knocked it over as a sudden thought roared through him. "Rycca?" She rose quickly,gathering up the dishes. His hand lashed out, closing on her wrist. Gently but inexorably, he returned her to her seat. Without taking his eyes from her,he asked, "Is there something you should tell me?" "Something...?" "I ask myself what sort of changes may cause a woman to be afflicted with an uneasy stomach and it occurs to me I've been a damned idiot." "Not so! You could never be that." "Oh,really? How otherwise would I fail to notice that your courses have not come of late? Or is that also due to travel,wife?" "Some women are not all that regular." "Some women do not concern me.You do,Rycca. I swear,if you are with child and have not told me, I will-" She squared her shoulders,lifted her head,and met his eyes hard on. "Will what?" "What? Will what? Does that mean-" "I'm sorry,Dragon." Truly repentant, Rycca sighed deeply. "I was going to tell you.I was just waiting for a calmer time.I didn't want you to worry more." Still grappling with what she had just revealed,he stared at her in astonishment. "You mean worry that my wife and our child are bait for a murderous traitor?" "I know you're angry and you have a right to be.But if I had told you, we wouldn't be here now." "Damn right we wouldn't be!" He got up from the table so abruptly that his chair toppled over and crashed to the floor.Ignoring it,Dragon paced back and forth,glaring at her. Rycca waited,trusting the storm to pass. As she did,she counted silently, curious to see just how long it would take her husband to grasp fully what he had discovered. Nine...ten... "We're going to have a baby." Not long at all. She nodded happily. "Yes,we are, and you're going to be a wonderful father." He walked back to the table,picked her up out of her chair,held her high against his chest,and stared at her. "My God-" Rycca laughed. "You can't possibly be surprised.It's not as though we haven't been doing our best to make this happen." "True,but still it's absolutely incredible." Very gently,she touched his face. "Perhaps we think of miracles wrongly. They're supposed to be extraordinarily rare but in fact they're as commonplace as a bouquet of wildflowers plucked by a warrior...or a woman having a baby." Dragon sat down with her still in his arms and held her very close.He swallowed several times and said nothing. Both could have remained contentedly like that for a long while, but only a few minutes passed before they were interrupted. The raven lit on the sill of the open window just long enough to catch their attention,then she was gone into the bloodred glare of the dying day.

I’m not interested in one night. I want it all. If that’s too much for you, tell me right now. If it’s going to scare you off, I want to know.” “All?” “I want to go to bed with you, and wake up with you.” He kissed her. “Then I want to do that again.” He kissed her. “And again. And again.” “Okay,” she said breathlessly. “I’m an idiot, but I’m in love with you.” “How do you know?” “Because I’ve never felt this bad before.” “Isn’t it supposed to feel good?” “It does, when you’re in my arms. When you’re not, it’s just awful.” “Okay,” she said. “I understand.” “You’re going to give it a chance?” “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I realize that sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to. I’ve been down that road and so have you. But I’m not going to string you along. I’ll never lie to you. Do you believe me?” “I do. Do you believe me?” “You’re not going to run out on me again, without any explanation?” “I won’t do that again, no.” “You can do anything else, you know. You can tell me you were mistaken. Tell me you changed your mind and you don’t feel it anymore. Anything but disappearing without a word. If it’s over for you, you have to finish it. Do we have a deal?” “Deal,” she said against his lips. “Where do Vanni and Paul think you are?” he asked her in a hoarse whisper. “With you,” she said. “And are you?” “Yes. Yes, Joe. I’m with you.” He

No one ever changed the world by being beautiful," she said. "If you want to make a difference, you can't let something as trivial as appearance get in your way. A daisy doesn't need the roses' permission to bloom - and neither do you." "I may not need permission, but I do need support," the woman argued. "I can't fight an army on my own - I'll need others to join me. But I'm afraid they'll only see my looks and won't listen to my words. I'm afraid they'll only laugh at my hopes of rescuing my loved ones." The little girl placed her hands on her hips and stared at the woman with the confidence of someone twice her age. "Only idiots listen with their eyes," she said. "If people don't hear your words, then shout them. If people silence you, then write your message with fire. Demanding respect is never easy, but if something you love is at stake, then I'd say it's worth the price. Besides, if you can't get villagers to take you seriously, you'll never defeat an army! Sometimes we're meant to face the demons at home so we know how to fight the demons abroad." The little girl had waited years to give someone that advice, and it appeared to do the trick. As if a sudden electric charge had run through the woman's body, she stood taller and straighter, and her eyes beamed with determination. "You're right, child," she said. "With all the energy I've wasted moping in front of the mirror, I could have accomplished great things by now. Well, I'm going to stop moping at once and get to work.

July 12, 1911 Dear Bessie: You know that you turned me down so easy that I am almost happy anyway. I never was fool enough to think that a girl like you could ever care for a fellow like me but I couldn’t help telling you how I felt. I have always wanted you to have some fine, rich-looking man, but I know that if ever I got the chance I’d tell you how I felt even if I didn’t even get to say another word to you. What makes me feel good is that you were good enough to answer me seriously and not make fun of me anyway. You know when a fellow tells a girl all his heart and she makes a joke of it I suppose it would be the awfullest feeling in the world. You see I never had any desire to say such things to anyone else. All my girlfriends think I am a cheerful idiot and a confirmed old bach. They really don’t know the reason nor ever will. I have been so afraid you were not even going to let me be your good friend. To be even in that class is something. You may think I’ll get over it as all boys do. I guess I am something of a freak myself. I really never had any desire to make love to a girl just for the fun of it, and you have always been the reason. I have never met a girl in my life that you were not the first to be compared with her, to see wherein she was lacking and she always was. Please don’t think I am talking nonsense or bosh, for if ever I told the truth I am telling it now and I’ll never tell such things to anyone else or bother you with them again. I have always been more idealist than practical anyway, so I really never expected any reward for loving you. I shall always hope though. . . . Then, promising to put on no hangdog airs when next he saw her, he changed the subject. Did she know of any way to make it rain? •   •   •

the former NBA All-Star and current TV analyst Charles Barkley went off on a four-minute tirade about Morey during what was meant to be a halftime analysis of a game. “. . . I’m not worried about Daryl Morey. He’s one of those idiots who believe in analytics. . . . I’ve always believed analytics was crap. . . . Listen, I wouldn’t know Daryl Morey if he walked in this room right now. . . . The NBA is about talent. All these guys who run these organizations who talk about analytics, they have one thing in common: They’re a bunch of guys who ain’t never played the game, and they never got the girls in high school and they just want to get in the game.

Cage gestured to my running leg. “Testing a new leg?” I shook my head. “Underwear.” His brow wrinkled and the guys behind him inched a bit closer, ears perked. “What?” Cage asked. “My favorite underwear has been discontinued. I’m trying a new brand and the best way to test them out is to go for a jog. I want to know before I buy ten pairs if they’re going to ride up on me. I’m not a thong girl. I don’t like anything shoved up my ass.” His cheeks turned red while taking a hard swallow. The fishing crew tried and failed to hide their chuckling. One of the guys slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll meet you out front.” He cleared his throat. “Our condolences on the ass news.” That sparked a new round of laughter as the guys piled onto the elevator. When the doors shut, Cage pursed his lips and sighed. “Thanks for that.” I shrugged. “What?” “What …” It’s possible his intention was to be serious or maybe upset, but he couldn’t finish his thought without rubbing his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk. “You don’t like ‘anything shoved up your ass.’ Really, Lake?” Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he shook his head. “So you’re big into fishing, huh?” “Don’t change the subject.” He narrowed his eyes at me. Too bad he still couldn’t keep a straight face. It would have given his case a lot more merit. Those were favorite moments of mine, when he was ninety percent sure my actions were an embarrassing side effect of my Sahara Desert humor, yet still ten percent holy-shit-she’s-serious. I loved that ten percent. I worked my ass off for that ten percent. “I’m sorry, what was the subject? Oh yeah, things I don’t like in my crack. Sounds like a Jeopardy category or a Family Feud survey. ‘Name something Lake Jones does not like up her crack. Underwear. Survey says? Ding ding ding … ninety-four people surveyed said underwear, the other six said cock. And I do believe those six lascivious idiots are downstairs waiting for you.” Cage observed me; it was never just a stare or a lingering look. His eyes narrowed a fraction, but never lost their sparkle. The wetting of his lips was always followed by biting them together like he refused to speak until he’d figured me out. And just before he spoke, his dimples surrendered to his impending grin. “I’m going to text you an address. Meet me there in three hours.” “What if I haven’t sorted through this underwear situation by then?” My head tilted to the side as my poker face slipped a bit, revealing my own impending grin. “Hmm …” He pulled me to him, his hands easing into the back of my running shorts. “Don’t fret over it,” he whispered before sucking my earlobe into his mouth. My lips parted, and eyes closed, as I held onto his biceps to keep my knees from buckling. “Panties are optional.” Three words and my knees buckled. Thankfully—not really thankful at all—he fisted the back of my new panties and yanked up. My hero? No. The wedgie was underway a few seconds before my knees gave out. I gasped. He smirked. “I think you should consider getting used to the idea—the feeling—of something in that sexy ass of yours.” Not much left me speechless, but my first non-brother-male-induced wedgie left me with cow eyes and a numb tongue. He winked just before the elevator doors shut.

There was never such a moment, after all. If you were supposed to be in the moment, then this was the one, all right. There was this one idea going out to all the people on all the planets that maybe you couldn't get people to stop being predators, but you could get them to stop being prey. That from now on there would be this great big peaceful future, and either it was going to be or not be, depending on what people did with this one moment, the whole future waiting on this one breathless moment, like an elephant on the head of a pin. Maybe things will change after this, and we can all stop living the same idiotic greedy mistakes over and over, lifetime after lifetime, and finally evolve into the kind of people who insist on living well....

Sometimes I think I’m too proud, too self-protective, but then I see other girls making idiots of themselves over boys and I change my mind. I’d rather be too proud than make a laughingstock of myself. I think of how my mum acted when my dad left her for the awful Sif: no matter how upset Mum was, she never threw scenes, never begged him to stay. Maybe she lavished too much attention on me after he went, kept me a little too close, but I really admired how she behaved through the separation and divorce. Dad admired her too, I know. I’ve never been prouder of her. And I want to be like her. I won’t chase after a man; I won’t seem desperate or needy. I’ll be as cool as my mum.

Uncle Damian crossed his arms and gave me a stern, unyielding, wholly unsympathetic look. For some odd reason, it made me feel immensely better. “Buck up, woman! You just took a hard left to the gut, but I trained you better than this.” “I’m pregnant,” I said, sniffling as I wiped up the last of my messy tears. “I’m allowed to be emotional.” “You’re not allowed to be an idiot, and that’s the path you’re heading down if you don’t stop right now. I trained you to be a smart, savvy woman who could handle herself in any situation. Now let’s see the last of this pitiful creature, and more of the Aisling I know you can be.” He was right. I straightened my shoulders, lifting my chin as I sniffled my last sniffle. Drake wasn’t excluding me because he wanted to—he’d always been proud of me as his mate, demanding I be at his side for everything. I was just giving in to my hormones, and that wasn’t going to help anyone. If I wanted things to change, I’d have to see to it myself. “You’re absolutely right. Dammit, I am a Guardian. I am a wyvern’s mate—we won’t go into whose right now because that’s all screwed up—but I am still a wyvern’s mate, and that’s important.” Righteous indignation filled me, but it was a cleansing, energizing emotion. “That’s better,” Uncle Damian nodded as I stormed over to the window and flung back the curtain. “And I am a demon lord, one of the seven princes of Abaddon!” I yelled, spinning around to face him, shaking my fist to the ceiling. “As god is my witness, I’ll never go hungry again!” “Eh…” Uncle Damian pursed his lips. “Sorry. Got carried away with the moment. Jim, Traci! I summon thee!” Both demons appeared before me just as Rene cracked open the door and peered in. “Is everything all right? We heard yelling.” “Come in and join the fun,” I said as he slowly came into the room, Nora on his heels. “Everything’s crap right now, but it’s about to get a whole lot better

You would have had to forgive people, if you’d gone on, I wrote. You would have had to believe that idiots grow up and change. You would have had to be big enough to accept that, or the bitterness might have eroded you. But you would have. You would have found a way to be generous to everyone who was never generous to you. You would have figured out that thing historians and politicians and all the world today is struggling with—the moral weight of the past, how to hold it.

Because I love you, you idiot!’ The sentence hangs in the air. It’s taken us both by surprise. We blink at each other, take a breath. I feel the flush climb my neck, check that I mean it. I do. Not just for who he’s been for the past two weeks, but for our friendship before that. Before we screwed everything up. ‘No you don’t,’ Rafa says. But the guilt and frustration are gone, replaced by something more fragile. ‘Don’t tell me what I do and don’t feel, Rafa.’ He watches me, unreadable. The seconds stretch out. ‘Then say it again.’ I look him the eye. They’re difficult words because they strip me bare. ‘I love you. You idiot.’ Rafa doesn’t speak and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. This quiet intensity is something new. I close the distance until I’m standing between his legs. I don’t touch him. ‘That’s not easy for me to say.’ ‘Because it’s me?’ ‘Because I’ve never said it before, and because I mean it. Rafa, the way I felt about you a few hours ago . . . that hasn’t changed. If I’d told you then, would you have believed it?’ His eyes soften at the memory. ‘Then believe it now.’ I press my hand to his chest, feel his heart thump against my palm through his t-shirt. ‘Do you want to add anything, or am I out on this limb alone?’ He guides me closer, his fingers light on my hips. ‘How I feel about you scares the hell out of me. I’ve got no counter-moves. No defence. And now you remember everything, I’ve lost the upper hand.’ ‘You had the upper hand?’ A short laugh. ‘Apparently not.

I don’t even know her.” “But you want to.” “She’s beautiful, but that’s the end of it.” “A lot of girls are beautiful, but Farah is beautiful in a different way,” he said, getting that dreamy look when talking about his girl. “She made me see her and not want to look at any other chick. Farah didn’t have to try either. That’s the thing about you and Lark. You two were breathing in rhythm at the reception dinner and never even said more than hello. Maybe you did at the wedding too, but I was sort of busy staring at my hot wife.” “Yeah, you were drooling all over the wedding reception. Hell, I saw a few people slip on the fucking dance floor. It was pretty disgusting.” “Nope. You’re not changing the subject. I’m sick of you hooking up with stupid bitches you don’t want because you’re afraid of getting played like you did by Kristen. Lark isn’t that bitch. She’ll treat you good and you need a chick to swoon over and write poetry for and paint and… Shit, you’re already painting her, aren’t you?” “Fuck off, Coop.” “Is she dressed in these paintings?” he asked, wiggling his brows. “How would I know what she looks like naked?” “Use your imagination. You know the parts on a chick.” “You’re an idiot.

If I ignored you at some stupid party it wasn't on purpose. I was a ____ing idiot when I was a teenager Saint. My priorities we locked firmly in my pants. If a girl was a sure thing back then you think any 18 year old guy was going to turn her down? But I heard that next week Nash, I saw you with my own eyes. It was a long time ago but my memory is clear. If it was just a case of boys being boys, it still really really hurt. I never even thought that about you Saint. So there is no way I would have said it. I thought you were shy and yeah maybe pretty awkward and a little to studious for my taste, but I always thought you were pretty. Why do you think I said hi to you everyday, try to engage you. I thought your smile was beautiful, and when you finally loosened to give it to me on a regular basis I was stoked. Your hair is awesome and wild I love that ____, and your eyes, your eyes could inspire men to go to war, to paint works of art, to rip their goddam heart out of their chests and to offer it you without a second thought. Then and now. None of that has changed over the years.

You really told them you wanted to marry me?” I asked. The smile had taken over his whole face now. “I told you before: I fell under your spell before you even knew you had magic, before you saved a kingdom, back when there was no chance you would be allowed to marry me. Nothing’s really changed since then, except that now any children we have might be wizards themselves, and I’ll be hopelessly outnumbered. “So, yes, I want to marry you. Someday. If you’ll have me,” he said modestly. “Of course I will, you idiot,” I said with a shriek, and threw myself into his arms. Some things, though, never change, regardless of how many countries you save. I tripped at the last moment, and we both went down in a laughing heap. It didn’t stop me from kissing him for so long that we both were gasping by the time it ended. “So what should I call you now?” he said when we had our breath back. “Savior of Thorvaldor? Soon-to-Be-Master Wizard? Chief Councillor of Wise Words? My own love?” “Sinda,” I said, without the slightest twinge of old memories, or something lost, or regret. “Just Sinda. Though I like that last one almost as much.” Kiernan reached out and tucked a strand of escaping hair behind my ear. “I think I like Sinda best myself,” he said. We hauled ourselves up and, still laughing, brushed grass and sticks from our clothes. Then, arms around each other, we began the walk back to Philantha’s house to tell her that her scribe had just gotten a new job and become engaged in the same afternoon. I looked back up the hill once, toward the palace, and then turned away. I would go there tomorrow, but right now, it didn’t matter. Today I only had to walk with Kiernan, to visit Philantha, to finally be just myself. For once, for the first time, it was enough.

You always know what to do,” she said. “Not always,” he said, holding her close. “Right now, for example. I’m not sure what to do.” “Why?” she asked, her eyes still closed, her face buried in his chest. “When are you going to tell me?” She lifted her head. “Tell you?” “About the baby.” “But Jack, you know the baby and mother are—” “The baby inside of you,” he said, placing a large hand over her flat tummy. A startled look crossed her features. She pushed him away a little bit. “Did someone say something to you?” she asked. “No one had to say anything. Please tell me I’m not the last to know.” “I just saw John yesterday—and how in the world would you know?” “Mel,” he said, running the back of one knuckle along her cheek, “your body’s changing. You haven’t had a period. For a while, I thought maybe you’d had a hysterectomy or something because I haven’t noticed a period since the first time we made love, but there’s a blue box under the bathroom sink. You don’t drink your beer, and you get nauseous from time to time. Not to mention being more tired than usual.” “Lord,” she said. “You never think a man will notice. Not things like that.” “Well?” She sighed. “I went to see John yesterday to confirm what I already suspected. I’m pregnant. Three months.” “You’re a midwife. How could you not know at three weeks?” “Because I assumed I was sterile. Infertile. Mark and I did everything to try to get a baby—even in vitro fertilization. To no avail. This was the last thing I ever expected.” “Ah,” he said, finally clear on why she might keep it from him. “So, here we are,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jack. You must think I’m an idiot.” He kissed her. “Of course not. Mel, I’m in love with you.” She was frozen for a second. “Oh, God,” she finally said, plummeted into tears. “Oh, God, Jack!” She buried her face in his chest and wept. “Hey, no reason to cry, baby. You a little surprised? No more than me,” he laughed. “I never thought this could happen to me. It hit me so hard, I damn near fell down. But I love you.” She continued to softly cry. “It’s okay, honey. It’ll be okay.” He stroked her hair. “You want to have a baby, obviously.” She lifted her head. “I wanted a baby so badly, I ached. But do you?” she asked. “I mean, you’re forty.” “I want everything with you. Everything. Besides, I like babies. And I’m wild about pregnant women.” “When did you decide you knew for sure?” she asked him. “At least a month ago.” He put a hand over her breast. “Sore? Haven’t you noticed the changes? Your nipples have darkened.” “I was in denial,” she said, wiping at her tears.

But enough of this nonsense. What is a girl like you doing in London?” “A girl like me?” “Well, yes. I mean, Susie, I just never expected to see you here. You’re not exactly…” The glass ball began to crack. “I’m not exactly what?” “Well…” He gave her a look. “This party… this dress… you’re supposed to be riding your horse over the hills in the country, not dancing with idiots like Parkhurst.” He laughed then. “It’s a little bit ridiculous, come to think of it.” She felt her brow come down. Her body go cold. The cracked glass ball shattered, and the rest of reality slipped back in. “You’re angry,” she realized. Some part of her broke a little. After all this time, he’d been gone and she’d been so happy to see him and… He was angry. “No, I’m not,” he blustered. “Yes, you are. You are angry because I am somehow ridiculous for having changed. But what’s ridiculous about it?” she asked, unable to keep her voice calm and cool, as she knew her aunt would insist. “I dance quite well, as you see. I look lovely in this dress. And I enjoy Mr. Parkhurst’s company.” “No one could enjoy –” “What I find ridiculous is that you come back after three years away and expect me to be unchanged. To be the skinny, awkward girl who tried to kiss you once and ended up kissing a log instead.” He blinked twice at that, but she kept going. “Instead you are angry – yes, angry! I can tell! – at my having had the audacity to grow up. And you mock me for having done so.” “Susie, I never meant –” “It’s Susannah, Sebastian. Or Miss Westforth. And the only ridiculous thing here right now is you.” With

Tony: Listen... I need to... Um... Say... I mean... I know we only met earlier... And I know I nearly set you on fire... And we're both going out with other people. Obviously that's quite tricky. But... Well... You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on in my entire life. I saw you and my heart leapt. You make me want to change my life. To... participate. I know it's not possible and that you have a boyfriend and we're not compatible or whatever but... I just... I know it's stupid... But maybe just hear me out for a second and the. You can tell me I'm an idiot and we'll both go back in and pretend this never happened but... I want to travel the world with you. I want to bring the ice cold Amstel to your Greek shore. And sit in silence and sip with you. I want to go to Tesco's with you of a Sunday. Watch you sleep, scrub your back, suck your toes. I want to write crap poetry about you, lay my coat over puddles for you. I want to get drunk and bore my friends about you, I want them to phone up and moan about how little they see me because I'm spending so much time with you. I want to feel the tingle of our lips meeting, the lock of our eyes joining, the fizz of our fingertips touching. I want to touch your fat tummy and tell you you look gorgeous in maternity dresses, I want to stand next to you wide-eyed and hold my nose as we open that first used nappy, I want to watch you grow old and love you more and more each day. I want to fall in love with you. I think I could. And I think it would be good. And I want you to say yes. You might feel the same. Could you? Maybe?

Like I said, Meg, I’m an idiot, and one not prone to rapid change. Although it’s taken almost a year for you to blossom into a woman, for me it was in a blink of an eye, and I’m a man who needs time to adjust.” He tucked a finger under her chin. “In my mind’s eye, you left in pigtails and braces.” He swallowed hard, mesmerized by the silky sweep of dark lashes, the lush curve of lips that triggered far too dangerous a response. “Now you’re a woman who obviously turns heads and races a man’s pulse, and that takes some getting used to.” She peeked up with surprise in her eyes while a soft haze of color dusted her cheeks. “Is that what happened then? Tonight when you saw me? I . . .” Her blush deepened. “Raced your . . . pulse?” The heat in her cheeks had nothing on him—blood gorged his face. He shifted away, removing his arm from her waist to drape it over the settee, then cleared his throat. “I guarantee you, Meg, you raced everybody’s pulse in that room tonight from sheer shock over one of the most remarkable transformations any of us have ever seen.” A perfectly adorable grin skimmed her lips. “So I did race your pulse.” His palms began to sweat as he slipped her a smile, wishing he could just lie. “Blue blazes, Bug, I didn’t even know it was you at first, so yes, of course you raced my pulse—you’re a beautiful wo—” He swallowed hard, his prior awkwardness returning in force. “Young lady.” Never

I think I’m the only woman you’ve loved in forever. And you were going to pitch me out that fast, just because I make you nervous. I thought you didn’t trust me, but now I think you don’t trust yourself.” She shook her head. “I don’t want a man like that. I need a man with guts, who’s sure of himself. Confident enough to stand by me. I need a man who’s not afraid to take a risk or two for something important.” “I’ve taken a risk or two,” he said. “And you don’t scare me. Come up here on the porch.” “No. Not until you say that if we stay solid, there will be a real relationship and a family. I don’t want any of this ‘I don’t get involved’ shit. It’s all crap, Luke. You can have some time to be sure, I’m patient. But I’m not giving you up.” He smiled at her. “I don’t need time to be sure. I know how I feel.” “Still on that? Still that ‘never gonna happen’ bullshit?” “Okay, I guess it could happen,” he said. “If it did happen, it would happen with you. I just always thought you deserved more.” “More than everything I’ve ever wanted in the world? See what an idiot you turned out to be?” He had to laugh. She was something, this woman. “Shelby, come here. I don’t have to think about it—you’re the most solid thing I’ve ever had in my life. Now come here.” “I thought I wasn’t enough for you—but I was too much,” she said. “And you don’t get to decide what I deserve. What I deserve is a man who looks at me grow fat on his baby and feels pride. Love and pride.” “Okay then,” he said. “I love you. Come here.” “Not good enough. You have to say something to convince me this is worth the gamble. I came a long way and I came alone. I was betting on you, on us. I love you and you love me and I’m sick of screwing around. Say the right thing for once. Say something profound.” He stared at her and his smile slowly faded. He put his hands on his hips. He took a deep breath and felt tears gather in his eyes. “You’re all I need to be happy, Shelby,” he said. “You’re everything I need…” He actually surprised her. Her arms dropped from over her chest and she gaped at him for a second. “You’re everything,” he said. “It scares me to death, but I want it all with you. I want you for life. I want what you want, and I want it right now.” “Huh?” “Everything, Shelby. I want you to be the lead in my shoes that keeps me on the ground. The mother of my children. My best friend, my wife, my mistress. It’s a tall order.” He took a breath. “If you won’t quit, I won’t.” “You’re sure about that?” she asked him. “Sure it scares the hell out me you’ll change your mind? Or sure I want it all? Oh, yeah, honey. I’m sure.” “I won’t change my mind,” she said softly. “I can’t hear you!” he yelled. “I can’t hear you because you won’t come out of the frickin’ rain!” She ran up the porch steps and into his arms.

Then, with great relish, Lyndon Johnson spun a Texas tale. It was his pièce de résistance, the crescendo of an expansive, four-hour performance. “When I got [Kennedy] in the Oval Office,” Johnson began, “and told him it would be ‘inadvisable’ for him to be on the ticket as the Vice President-nominee, his face changed, and he started to swallow. He looked sick. His adam’s apple bounded up and down like a yo-yo.” For effect, the president gulped, audibly, at the reporters. He mimicked Bobby’s “funny voice” and proceeded to tell, in lavish detail and with evident delight, his version of the meeting. Finally, LBJ ran down a list of possible running mates and explained the ways each would hurt his chances. “In other words,” recalled Folliard, “he would do better in the November election if he had no running mate. This left Wicker, Kiker and me baffled—and that is just what the man evidently wanted us to be.” Within days Johnson’s story was the talk of Washington. His portrait of RFK as a “stunned semi-idiot” left columnist Joseph Alsop and other Washington insiders feeling rather stunned themselves. It was not long before the gossip found its way to Bobby Kennedy, who stormed back to the White House and accused the president of mistruths and a violation of trust. I knew the meeting was taped, he said, but I never expected this. Wasn’t our talk a matter of confidence? Aren’t we honorable men? LBJ was unrepentant: I’ve revealed nothing, he assured Kennedy, gesturing wanly at an empty page in his appointment book. He promised to check his notes for any conversations that might have slipped his mind. Bobby stalked out, seething, and caught a plane to Hyannis Port. “He tells so many lies,” Kennedy said of Johnson the next week, echoing the words of George Reedy, “that he convinces himself after a while he’s telling the truth. He just doesn’t recognize truth or falsehood.

What follow are the most common types of negative self-talk with the keys to taking control of them and turning them around: 1.  Turn I always or I never into just this time or sometimes. Your actions are unique to the situation in front of you, no matter how often you think you mess up. Make certain your thoughts follow suit. When you start treating each situation as its own animal and stop beating yourself up over every mistake, you’ll stop making your problems bigger than they really are. 2.  Replace judgmental statements like I’m an idiot with factual ones like I made a mistake. Thoughts that attach a permanent label to you leave no room for improvement. Factual statements are objective, situational, and help you to focus on what you can change. 3.  Accept responsibility for your actions and no one else’s. The blame game and negative self-talk go hand in hand. If you are someone who often thinks either it’s all my fault or it’s all their fault you are wrong most the time. It is commendable to accept responsibility for your actions, but not when you carry someone else’s burden. Likewise, if you’re always blaming others, it’s time to take responsibility for your part.

Oh! Trash!” he cried. “Words, it’s the mechanics again! It’s tiring at first to speak—and then it’s caught by the Others, the savage Others! The poor Me—and Magne is a Me whereas you are a pig, a miscreant Other— the poor Me—there’re maybe 500 of us total on this foul earthly globe!— why can’t they communicate together without straining their larynx!” Nigeot agreed with Kmôhoûn. “And then everything’s…mechanics, effort, on this dung pile of a planet! You have to get dressed and undressed. You can never stay in a state, you always have to change states! Idiots, pigs that we are! You’re comfortable in bed, aren’t you? Oh well, crack! You have to get up! You’re okay when you’re up? Oh well! Bang, bing, bang! You have to go to bed! Get dressed, get undressed! Trash! Mechanics! We lost our fur, our hair, rubbing against it and scraping it with these damn costumes! Look at the monkeys! A lot prettier than us; they look better and have no mechanics to wear. Mechanics, you know, is everything that is against thinking and good old lassitude: movement, stupid moving of arms, arduous stupidity of being a well raised human, no revolt against the stupidities tolerated by the cowardly mob, who’s happy to tyrannize itself when it’s already pestered by the padishahs. Yes, look at the monkeys, the pretty monkeys! No mechanics to wear, lucky devils, good old monkeys! Nothing to do but chuck water on themselves whenever they feel like it!... And when they’re ready! Oh! Real world! Pile of crap where you have to work, even just to button up your shirt! Oh! When will we be in a higher world where they won’t have these appalling paws? Nothing but little things to fly in the warm blue—warm! You know? Little… mechanics… oh! bing! bang! No mechanics—infamy! —little feathery things like the little… things that chuck turds on our heads from up in the trees and after cry out tweet! tweet! in the air, the… what do you call them, the… birds, totally, yes!” And this Mongol who spouted his Polynesian or Gabonese opinions was originally from Saint Etienne, a city that was so busy it was like industrial epilepsy! But, in fact, it was very simple! He was “tired from birth,” as one of my friends used to say who felt the same way, but had nothing to do with Saint Etienne.

Ah, yes, immortal, but you have not begun to understand it,” he said. “It’s no more than a word. Study the fate of your maker. Why did Magnus go into the flames? It’s an age-old truth among us, and you haven’t even guessed it. Live among men, and the passing years will drive you to madness. To see others grow old and die, to see kingdoms rise and fall, to lose all you understand and cherish—who can endure it? It will drive you to idiot raving and despair. Your own immortal kind is your protection, your salvation. The ancient ways, don’t you see, which never changed!

Kevin awoke, not with the slow realization that came from regaining consciousness, nor with the startled gasp of a man having a nightmare, nor even the groan that was stereotypical of anime characters when they wake up—no, when Kevin woke up, it was to the feeling of a hand being shoved down his throat. His eyes snapped wide open. However, he still couldn’t see anything. His eyes perceived nothing beyond the amalgam of blurred colors, mixing and matching and morphing and changing, a sickening compendium that his mind couldn’t comprehend. Images flashed past his vision. A walk on the beach. Red hair. A swell. A raging torrent, an infinite tide of water rising into the sky, cresting against the heavens. He tried to cough, to hack, to something, but it was no use. The hand remained shoved firmly down his throat. And then it was gone. Kevin gagged, and then coughed out what must have been several gallons of water. Each cough wracked his body with pain. Each breath caused his ribs to creak. Even the slightest movement hurt. Something appeared in front of him. It was a blurry green object. What… the… heck? “I’m glad to see that you’re awake,” the shape said. Kevin blinked. “Tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?” “Fingers…” Was what he meant to say. “Fssshrrsss…” Was what he said. “Hmm, it seems your eyesight is a bit unfocused. Here, let me fix that for you.” Kevin would have asked what this object—person? — meant, but he never got the chance—because something smacked him in the head. Hard. “Ouch!” Kevin covered his face with his hands. Gods that hurt! What the hell was he just hit with? A mallet? “What the heck was that for, you crazy coot?!” “Ho? Can you see me now? How many fingers am I holding up?” Kevin was about to answer, but words fled when he realized who—no, what stood before him. Scaly green skin covered a small, squat body, clothed in a plain brown robe. This… thing stood with a stoop. It had a hunch of some kind, and Kevin was certain that the robe was covering something big attached to its back. A really long neck protruded from the robes, which was attached to a reptilian and very bald head. It was holding up three fingers. Mainly because it only had three fingers. “Holy crap, it’s a Ninja Turtle!” The “Ninja Turtle” twitched. “I am not a Ninja Turtle!” It shouted. “Don’t confuse those sea turtle rejects with me!” “Holy crap, it talks!” More twitching. “Of course I talk, you idiot!

Maybe a slow dance wouldn’t heart? So, I walked over and asked him to dance. It was nice, he wasn’t creepy at all, and it was kind of sweet. He’s leaning against the wall and I am pressed upon him and out of nowhere I just kiss him like I never kissed another. Where half dancing and I am half grinding against him, he’s so in love with me I can just tell and make out. I never- ever thought that would happen. Ray is off with his little slut for the night anyways. It’s time for me to have some fun too. Two can play the cheating game! Isn’t spitefulness fun! Jenny cries when she sees us and stumbles off when she is on Kenneth’s lap. Jenny never cries! What is up with that? But, is she crying over me being with Marcel or him? They walk up after slow dances are over, Jenny and Ken throwing an arm around each of us like it’s been years since we were together, and we all are old buddies. She snatches the vodka from me and takes a sip while her arm is still wrapped around my shoulders, Jenny’s face is so close to mine, I can feel her eyelashes brush against my cheek. I forgot- I was still holding it when I had my arms wrapped around Marcel's neck. I guess I was lost in the moment. ‘Where did you go tonight Kar?’ She yells. Her voice is raspy but loud, even over the music and the wide-ranging sounds of everybody talking and laughing like idiots. ‘I was looking everywhere for you.’ ‘I was sitting here all night,’ I said, ‘total bull-crap,’ Ken, and Jenny says, ‘we saw you coming out of his room. All sneaking out of his room like you just had sex. And you obtusely changed, what did he do jizz all over your dress?’ ‘Nothing happened- I was just looking around.’ Ken- ‘Yeah we got it, you were looking up and kneeling on the ground, in his room. Am I right? And then you end up naked together in his bed slapping hips?

first published on tumblr 27 Aug 2020 Biden and Harris are AMERICANS for AMERICANS and world peace. white power slave hole American rot blood lust sadistic arousal yet continues even with the survivor Mr Blake chained to a bed. Police racist garbage please stop getting your sadistic arousal at the expense of humanity your racist sadistic aroused pull to continue salivating over the capture cage slave hole of mr blake is very nauseating. you enjoy humiliating and debasing humanity because you want to control our lives our movement our vote. racist sadistic police forcing us to comply with sadistic misogyny because you cant have us and you do not control us You racist cops want to destroy humanity because mr.jacob blake reveals the emergency door. The emergency that the world is over your stupid racist bitches violence who want to use us for your sadistic fuck and its not wanted by humanity. dont want it. NO THANK YOU. YOU HAVE RACIST IDIOTS DEDICATED TO HUMILIATING AND DEBASING HUMANITY BECAUSE THEY CANT GET A LIFE OR THEY FEEL IT IS THEIR FUCKING DUTY IN LIFE TO PUT HUMANITY IN ITS PLACE WHAT PLACE IS THAT RACIST ZUNT BITCHES?????????? YOU RACIST ZUNTS COULDNT HAVE A FUCKING DAY IF YOU DIDNT FUCK ABOUT HUMANITY IN SOME FUCK. YOU ARE DISGUSTING IN YOUR USE OF HUMANITY FOR YOUR OWN PROFIT. YOU MAKE A NICE PROFIT OF OFF THE ABUSE HUMILIATION DEBASING DEHUMANIZATION YOU INFLICT ON US. STUPID FUCKING RACIST BITCHES FROM GOVERNMENT TO THE POLICE TO ANY FUCKING SOCIAL CONSTRUCT. AND HUMANITY IS OVER YOUR EVIL BITCH. GET A LIFE FIND IT GO SOMEWHERE OR NOT DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT WITH YOUR LIFE AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM FOLK WHO JUST WANT TO HAVE A DAY. sadistic murder aroused racists want to keep humanity in the slave hole because racist dont want humanity to advance any exchange out of the slave hole is based on the racists sadistic aroused need its always the stupid fucking racists or racist sadistic cops taking advantage of humanity theres never freedom never any conditions for freedom or power to choose or change. Well this is over. humanity has power stupid fucking sadistic cops and taxpayers are over this evil bitch of yours. GO get some processing racist cops on how you abuse of power with so much of your murder blood lust because you cant handle your own sex and sexuality and feelings you fight because you want humanity who does not want you and NEVER WILL!!!! go get processing racist cops. Find out why you cant handle your own explorations of your own sexuality and how you want to murder hurt humiliate humanity who reject you and your racism. how you are racists murdering cops who exist for those exchanges. Even the set up is a sadistic master turn on the whole fucking thing is nauseating and then the after clean the blood up after the scene routine the put the slave back in the slave hole is beyond silence it makes want to vomit and never stop vomiting. leave humanity alone. fuck off racist cop unions no you dont look powerful or witty or anything smart to the world AMERICA is a mockery to the world because of your stupid bitch moves. Americans are powerful and voting for real leaders that will eradicate this evil racism by finding real cops who just do their work to serve and to protect humanity and thats it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! gwencalvo 8 27 20

first published on tumblr 27 Aug 2020 Biden and Harris are AMERICANS for AMERICANS and world peace. white power slave hole American rot blood lust sadistic arousal yet continues even with the survivor Mr Blake chained to a bed. Police racist garbage please stop getting your sadistic arousal at the expense of humanity your racist sadistic aroused pull to continue salivating over the capture cage slave hole of mr blake is very nauseating. you enjoy humiliating and debasing humanity because you want to control our lives our movement our vote. racist sadistic police forcing us to comply with sadistic misogyny because you cant have us and you do not control us You racist cops want to destroy humanity because mr.jacob blake reveals the emergency door. The emergency that the world is over your stupid racist bitches violence who want to use us for your sadistic fuck and its not wanted by humanity. dont want it. NO THANK YOU. YOU HAVE RACIST IDIOTS DEDICATED TO HUMILIATING AND DEBASING HUMANITY BECAUSE THEY CANT GET A LIFE OR THEY FEEL IT IS THEIR FUCKING DUTY IN LIFE TO PUT HUMANITY IN ITS PLACE WHAT PLACE IS THAT RACIST ZUNT BITCHES?????????? YOU RACIST ZUNTS COULDNT HAVE A FUCKING DAY IF YOU DIDNT FUCK ABOUT HUMANITY IN SOME FUCK. YOU ARE DISGUSTING IN YOUR USE OF HUMANITY FOR YOUR OWN PROFIT. YOU MAKE A NICE PROFIT OF OFF THE ABUSE HUMILIATION DEBASING DEHUMANIZATION YOU INFLICT ON US. STUPID FUCKING RACIST BITCHES FROM GOVERNMENT TO THE POLICE TO ANY FUCKING SOCIAL CONSTRUCT. AND HUMANITY IS OVER YOUR EVIL BITCH. GET A LIFE FIND IT GO SOMEWHERE OR NOT DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT WITH YOUR LIFE AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM FOLK WHO JUST WANT TO HAVE A DAY. sadistic murder aroused racists want to keep humanity in the slave hole because racist dont want humanity to advance any exchange out of the slave hole is based on the racists sadistic aroused need its always the stupid fucking racists or racist sadistic cops taking advantage of humanity theres never freedom never any conditions for freedom or power to choose or change. Well this is over. humanity has power stupid fucking sadistic cops and taxpayers are over this evil bitch of yours. GO get some processing racist cops on how you abuse of power with so much of your murder blood lust because you cant handle your own sex and sexuality and feelings you fight because you want humanity who does not want you and NEVER WILL!!!! go get processing racist cops. Find out why you cant handle your own explorations of your own sexuality and how you want to murder hurt humiliate humanity who reject you and your racism. how you are racists murdering cops who exist for those exchanges. Even the set up is a sadistic master turn on the whole fucking thing is nauseating and then the after clean the blood up after the scene routine the put the slave back in the slave hole is beyond silence it makes want to vomit and never stop vomiting. leave humanity alone. fuck off racist cop unions no you dont look powerful or witty or anything smart to the world AMERICA is a mockery to the world because of your stupid bitch moves. Americans are powerful and voting for real leaders that will eradicate this evil racism by finding real cops who just do their work to serve and to protect humanity and thats it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! gwencalvo 8 27 20

He doesn’t put his arm around me. He doesn’t touch me. He just looks at me like he wants to. “Out of curiosity,” he says, “that money I transferred to your account. Have you spent any of it?” I haven’t wanted to touch any of it. I want to let it build up, a huge sum to ward off any possible danger. Still, I slowly nod my head. “On anything extravagant? Anything silly?” I swallow. “I bought mangoes.” He smiles a touch sarcastically, and I reach out and give him a little shove. That’s a mistake. It puts my hand in contact with his shoulder. His bare skin is cool to the touch, and I don’t pull away. “Hey,” I say. “Mangoes are expensive.” He doesn’t laugh at me, even though I know that to someone like him—to someone who spends fifteen thousand dollars a month, something I can’t even contemplate, mangoes are nothing. Even though I haven’t moved my hand from the point where it rests on his shoulder, and my thumb itches to caress him. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “I’ll pay your parents’ utility bill this month.” I have some idea how little money he must have. I know exactly how much that would cost him. “But—” “Hey,” he says. “No arguments. We’re trading lives. I’m taking that on. If you’re terrified, I should be, too. But you have to do something for me in return.” I still haven’t moved away, and I know I should. Sitting here this close to him, touching him—I’m giving him ideas. I’m giving myself ideas. Fuck, I don’t know what to do with these ideas. I have a sudden urge to slide my hand down his chest, feeling the ridge of every muscle, the whisper of short, light hairs against my fingers. I could undo his jeans. Find out precisely how much of that bulge there is fabric, and how much is him. “What?” My throat is hoarse. “I don’t care,” he says. “Something you wouldn’t normally do. Something risky. Something silly. Go skydiving. Buy a name-brand purse. Do something that terrifies you, something you can’t get out of your mind, that you’ve been holding back on.” I look at my hand on his shoulder. I’ve never wanted to go skydiving. I’ve never lusted after purses. I’m just getting used to the luxury of the occasional mango. There’s really only one thing I want right now that terrifies me. “I’m thinking of something.” My throat feels dry. “Something blindingly stupid. Risky. Idiotic.” “Do you want to do it?” My mouth goes dry. “Yes.” “Then go for it,” he says. For a second, I’m frozen in indecision. It will change everything. It will start a snowball rolling down a mountain, and I’m not sure I’ll escape the avalanche. Still, I turn to him. I look into his eyes. My hands tremble. “Okay,” I say, and my voice trembles, too. “Here goes.” And before I can think better of it, I do the stupidest thing possible: I kiss him.

great minds save before they spend, but idiots spend as soon as the income arrives, they never plan because they never save

My clothes aren’t going to get dried until you wash them. Which involves putting them in the washer, and that involves picking them off the floor.” Marshell wiggled his eyebrows at me, then turned and stepped into the shower. I did drool when I got a look at his ass. “Oh my….” Did I mention I was an ass man? “Remi?” “Uh-huh?” My vocabulary had taken a hike, it appeared. “I can smell your desire. If you’re still here by the count of five, I’m getting out and coming after you. One of us is going to get fucked in this awesome shower of yours, so….” Marshell said from the shower. “One.” The sound I made was a cross between a squeak and a growl, thanks to acres and acres of wet, glistening skin. I wanted to run my tongue over every square— “Two…. “Three….” I grabbed his jeans and ran. The softly whispered word “chicken” followed me out of there. I was halfway to the laundry room before I could take a deep breath. Then it hit me what I’d done. I ran out on him. Honestly calling me a chicken was too kind. I was a coward. The only reason I ran was because I was afraid to bottom. I was a top. I always topped. I threw his clothes in the washer, tossed in one of those little pods, and turned it on. Then banged my head against it. What was I doing? Why was I standing here and not in the shower with him? Yes, I topped because I was afraid to do anything else. My one and only experience with bottoming was an unmitigated disaster. A painful, excruciating, unbearable disaster, and I hadn’t repeated the experience since. “I’m an idiot.” What happened was a long time ago. A really, really long time ago, and I let it shape me. Not only shape me, but run my life. I knew that, but it didn’t really seem to matter. The males I hooked up with were bottoms. They wanted me to top, so it was never an issue. Now things had changed. Marshell was my mate. I knew perfectly well he’d take care not to hurt me. How did I know? Because when I got a chance at that ass of his—and I certainly planned to—I’d take care not to hurt him either. All I had to do was… trust him. Trust him. But I really didn’t know him. Then again, I nearly lost him too. My goddess wouldn’t match me with someone I couldn’t love. Maybe I needed to trust her. Maybe… maybe I needed to trust myself. Something deep inside me said Marshell was a good man. I hurried out of the laundry and back to the bathroom.