Legends Of Speed Quotes

This is the legend of Cassius Clay, The most beautiful fighter in the world today. He talks a great deal, and brags indeed-y, of a muscular punch that's incredibly speed-y. The fistic world was dull and weary, But with a champ like Liston, things had to be dreary. Then someone with color and someone with dash, Brought fight fans are runnin' with Cash. This brash young boxer is something to see And the heavyweight championship is his des-tin-y. This kid fights great; he’s got speed and endurance, But if you sign to fight him, increase your insurance. This kid's got a left; this kid's got a right, If he hit you once, you're asleep for the night. And as you lie on the floor while the ref counts ten, You’ll pray that you won’t have to fight me again. For I am the man this poem’s about, The next champ of the world, there isn’t a doubt. This I predict and I know the score, I’ll be champ of the world in ’64. When I say three, they’ll go in the third, 10 months ago So don’t bet against me, I’m a man of my word. He is the greatest! Yes! I am the man this poem’s about, I’ll be champ of the world, there isn’t a doubt. Here I predict Mr. Liston’s dismemberment, I’ll hit him so hard; he’ll wonder where October and November went. When I say two, there’s never a third, Standin against me is completely absurd. When Cassius says a mouse can outrun a horse, Don’t ask how; put your money where your mouse is! I AM THE GREATEST!

Legend claimed Berserkers could move with such speed that they seemed invisible to the human eye until the moment they attacked. They possessed unnatural senses: the olfactory acuity of a wolf, the auditory sensitivity of a bat, the strength of twenty men, the penetrating eyesight of an eagle. The Berserkers had once been the most fearless and feared warriors ever to walk Scotland nearly seven hundred years ago. They had been Odin's elite Viking army. Legend claimed they could assume the shape of a wolf or a bear as easily as the shape of a man. And they were marked by a common feature-unholy blue eyes that glowed like banked coals.

A Thoroughbred racehorse is one of God's most impressive engines. Tipping the scales at up to 1,450 pounds, he can sustain speeds of forty miles per hour. Equipped with reflexes much faster than those of the most quick-wired man, he swoops over as much as twenty-eight feet of earth in a single stride, and corners on a dime. His body is a paradox of mass and lightness, crafted to slip through air with the ease of an arrow. His mind is impressed with a single command: run. He pursues speed with superlative courage, pushing beyond defeat, beyond exhaustion, sometimes beyond the structural limits of bone and sinew. In flight, he is nature's ultimate wedding of form and purpose.

In ancient Rome, when a victorious general paraded through the streets, legend has it that he was sometimes trailed by a servant whose job it was to repeat to him, " Memento Mori": Remember you will die. A reminder of mortality would help the hero keep things in perspective, instill some humility. Job's memento mori had been delivered by his doctors, but it did not instill humility. Instead he roared back after his recovery with even more passion. The illness reminded him that he had nothing to lose, so he should forge ahead full speed. " He came back on a mission," said Cook. " Even though he was now running a large company, he kept making bold moves that I don't think anybody else would have done.

We don't need guns, we got dogs!

It’s an Asterion horse,” Ansel breathed, her red-brown eyes growing huge. The horse was black as pitch, with dark eyes that bored into Celaena’s own. She’d heard of Asterion horses, of course. The most ancient breed of horse in Erilea. Legend claimed that the Fae had made them from the four winds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, and wisdom from the west, all rolled into the slender-snouted, high-tailed, lovely creature that stood before her.

Baali scoffed, ‘I don’t believe in God. No creature except man believes in God, Tara. The animals and birds believe in the power of their limbs, in the speed of their feet, in the strength of their wings. No God has punished any animal for not worshiping him or her. I’m Vanara, an animal and no God—if he exists—will punish me for being me, Tara.

Let’s blow their little minds. A mind is not blown, in spite of whatever Hollywood seems to teach, merely by action sequences, things exploding, thrilling planetscapes, wild bursts of speed. Those are all good things; but a mind is blown when something that you always feared but knew to be impossible turns out to be true; when the world turns out to be far vaster, far more marvelous or malevolent than you ever dreamed; when you get proof that everything is connected to everything else, that everything you know is wrong, that you are both the center of the universe and a tiny speck sailing off its nethermost edge.

What its withered technology lacked, the Game Boy made up in user experience. It was cheap. It could fit in a large pocket. It was all but indestructible. If a drop cracked the screen—and it had to be a horrific drop—it kept on ticking. If it were left in a backpack that went in the washing machine, once it dried out it was ready to roll a few days later. Unlike its power-guzzling color competitors, it played for days (or weeks) on AA batteries. Old hardware was extremely familiar to developers inside and outside Nintendo, and with their creativity and speed unencumbered by learning new technology, they pumped out games as if they were early ancestors of iPhone app designers—Tetris, Super Mario Land, The Final Fantasy Legend, and a slew of sports games released in the first year were all smash hits. With simple technology, Yokoi’s team sidestepped the hardware arms race and drew the game programming community onto its team.

Favorite food? Blues (speed). Miscellaneous likes? Birds. Professional ambition? To smash one hundred drum kits. Personal ambition? To stay young forever. There you have it, the world of Keith Moon effectively encapsulated in a few choice words. Straightforward hedonistic pleasures, cheerfully destructive tendencies, and an unattainable goal, except in the words that Townshend had just written and which Moon alone would live up/down to: 'Hope I die before I get old.

Ulysses S. Grant became president of the United States in 1869, and he made a priority of expanding the White House stables. During his eight years in office, he sheltered more horses than any other U.S. president. Because he never liked being driven around by a chauffeur, Grant often saddled one of his horses for a solo ride through the streets of Washington, D.C. One day, as he galloped his way down M Street, a police officer pulled him over for speeding! When the officer discovered that the law-breaker was the leader of the country, he was embarrassed. But Grant wasn’t the least bit upset. “I was speeding; you caught me,” he said. So the police officer issued him a $5 ticket, and America’s eighteenth president walked back to the White House on foot.

The phrase “slow reading” goes back at least as far as the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, who in 1887 described himself as a “teacher of slow reading.” The way he phrased it, you know he thought he was bucking the tide. That makes sense, because the modern world, i.e., a world built upon the concept that fast is good and faster is better, was just getting up a full head of steam. In the century and a quarter since he wrote, we have seen the world fall in love with speed in all its guises, including reading—part of President John F. Kennedy’s legend was his ability to speed read through four or five newspapers every morning. And this was all long before computers became household gadgets and our BFFs. Now and then the Nietzsches of the world have fought back. Exponents of New Criticism captured the flag in the halls of academe around the middle of the last century and made “close reading” all the rage. Then came Slow Food, then Slow Travel, then Slow Money. And now there is Slow Reading. In all these initiatives, people have fought against the velocity of modern life by doing … less and doing it slower.

flew toward them with the goal hanging over it. He glanced in front and the bridge-opening suddenly engulfed them, Dancer barreling between the metal rails and its hooves hitting wood. VrrrrOOOOOMMMMM! The SUV’s front bumper slammed the narrow bridge’s metal railings, snapping the bolts and curling the steel on both sides of the horse. Greyson felt the engine’s heat on his back and grimaced, bracing for impact. But then it happened – the goal’s net snagged the edge of the bridge rail and pulled the metal frame down like a clamp around the hood; the front wheels dug into the bridge and stopped, but the back of the vehicle carried the momentum and swung over top, the rear wheels spinning loudly as they pointed toward the falling rain. The speed carried the huge metal beast over the net and flung it at the children from behind. Dancer leapt from the bridge just as the SUV struck it like a colossal pendulum, exploding in a cluster bomb of splinters and a tidal wave of water. The shockwave of wood and water washed over them from behind, hitting them with stinging shrapnel as Dancer galloped with the wave into open field. Sydney pulled on the reins and Dancer curled to a stop. Breathing heavy with adrenaline,

It would be a kindness, by the way, and a service to history, if you could please rid yourself of the legend that Christians believed a fairy tale about the origin of the world until forced to think otherwise by the triumph of secular science. Substantially everyone in the Judeo-Christian bits of the planet believed the Genesis account until the early nineteenth century, remember, there being till then no organised alternative. The work of reading the geological record, and thereby exploding the Genesis chronology, was for the most part done not by anti-Christian refuseniks but by scientists and philosophers thinking their way onward from starting-points within the religious culture of the time. Once it became clear that truth lay elsewhere than in Genesis, religious opinion on the whole moved with impressive swiftness to accommodate the discovery. In the same way, when the Origin of Species was published, most Christians in Britain at least moved with some speed to incorporate evolutionary biology into their catalogue of ordinary facts about the world. Bishop Samuel Wilberforce’s resistance to Darwinism was an outlier, untypical. In fact, there’s a good case to be made that the ready acceptance of evolution in Britain owed a lot to the great cultural transmission mechanism of the Church of England. If you’re glad that Darwin is on the £10 note, hug an Anglican.

had been happily minding my own business when David had to come over and ruin it. Okay, maybe that sounds a bit harsh. But trust me – I have known David long enough now to know that when he runs over at full speed to my house, it is only going to lead to trouble for me. Don’t believe me? Alright. After we saved the Over World from Lucas, the creeper king who wanted to drag everyone into the Nether so he could rule them, things settled down. Everyone was able to work with our village and David’s village. Slowly, people came to understand that even though we were creepers, we weren’t the typical creepers that they dealt with. We weren’t going to explode on sight or attack them. But David didn’t want to sit around and remain in the village. Even though his aunt, Margery, wanted nothing more than for him to focus at things at home, David had spent hours combing through old stories and legends. He said if Lucas was true, who knew what else was out there? He had run over here a few times, each time claiming he knew of where to find some sort of treasure. There was the time he dragged me to the beach to find some sort of cave where there would be wither skeletons made out of gold.

The first is the belief that the universe is essentially harmonious, and that the source of that concord lies in mathematical proportions which can be directly related to musical harmonies. Pythagoras, in an oft-repeated legend, was said to have meditated on the sound of smiths beating hammers upon anvils, and to have argued that a hammer half as heavy produced a note an octave above its full-sized fellow.3 More important were the experiments with a single string, or monochord, attributed to him by his successors. If a stretched string is divided exactly into two it produces a sound an octave higher than the fundamental pitch (the ratio 2:1), the intervals of the fourth and fifth can similarly be expressed as the ratios 4:3 and 3:2 respectively, and all other intervals can be described in mathematical terms.4 These numerical proportions were then extended to describe the relationships of the planetary spheres, both in their relative distance one from another, and in the speed of their movement. The ideas were given influential (if obscure) expression in Plato’s Timaeus, and endlessly elaborated in succeeding centuries up to the Renaissance. One of the final manifestations of this understanding is provided in the illustration of cosmic harmony from Robert Fludd’s Utriusque cosmi … historia 1

Circle of Flame: Conjures a circle of flame that expands outward from the caster. Damage is highest close to the user and drops off as the Skill travels longer distances. Costs 150 Mana. Size of flames determined by Control and Skill Level. Heat of Flames determined by Intelligence and Skill Level. Speed of spread determined by Wisdom and Skill Level. Duration of circle determined by Focus and Skill Level.

Extract: Separate the composite parts of a substance or mixture. Speed and thoroughness of extraction depend on Skill Level. Purity will increase as Skill Level rises.

Ghastly Slash: Slash out with such oppressive speed and strength that the very air wails as you cut through it. Effectiveness of the Skill increases with Skill Leve

Mana Bolt: Focusing your energy, you fire a bolt of pure Mana at your enemies. Costs 10 Mana. Damage based on Intelligence and Level of Skill. Damage, impact, range, projectile speed, and casting speed increase with Skill Level.

Heavy Blow: Concentrate your muscular force into one powerful attack. Will leave you slightly off balance. Costs 5 Stamina. Damage based on Str and Level of Skill. Damage, speed of attack, and accuracy increases with Skill Level. Recoil decreases with Skill Level.

Edge of Decay (Un): Passive ability. Wounds you inflict contain a hint of Rafflesia’s Rot, often leading to increased infection and necrosis of the wounds. Accumulation of Edge of Decay on flesh in a short time period will increase its effects immensely. Frequency of rot and speed of rot depend on Skill Level.

There are two methods of delivering a blow. First is a boxing-like movement, and the second is the traditional karate strike. While equal in force, the boxing-style strike has a greater range and is easier to execute. The boxing-style strike uses gravity and shift of weight to support the strike, while the traditional karate-style strike uses a sudden tightening of your body’s muscles to deliver a short blow. The longer range of the boxing blow facilitates greater acceleration to a higher speed and is more efficient in creating a knockout effect. The traditional karate-style strike is more suitable for breaking boards of wood, but the composition of wood fibers is quite different from the human body's protective tissues. The traditional straight karate strike takes longer to execute and requires slight preparation. Since even a split second is of the essence and the force used is more efficient with the boxing style, it has won popularity in the martial arts field. From the split second you decide to move your body and deliver the strike, all you need is to aim at the opponent’s chin. You then need to accelerate your arm to maximum speed, and maintain that speed as your fist lodges in your opponent’s face. The opponent’s skull will then shake the brain and nerves to a concussion. The ancient Olympics had fighting sports. Sparta is believed to have had boxing around 500 BC. Spartans used boxing to strengthen their fighters’ resilience. Boxing matches were not held since Spartans feared that it would lead to internal competitions, which could reduce the morale of the losers. Sparta did not want low morale on the battlefield. For many years the question of Bodhidharma’s existence has been a matter of controversy among historians. A legend prevails that the evolution of karate began around 5 BC when Bodhidharma arrived to the Shaolin temple in China from India, and taught Zen Buddhism. He introduced a set of exercises designed to strengthen the mind and body. This marked the roots of Shaolin-style temple boxing. This type of Chinese boxing, also called kung fu, concentrates on full-body energy blows and improving acrobatic level. Indian breathing techniques are incorporated, providing control of the muscles of the whole body while striking. This promotes self-resistance that helps achieve balance and force when striking and kicking. Krav Maga shows that it is not the most efficient approach. It is certainly forceful, but cannot be mastered quickly enough, and also does not promote a natural and fast reach to the opponent's pressure points, nor does it adhere to the principle of reaction time.

The second legend is about paradise. “They pulled it off. They did it. On the servers of one of the big studios in California they used ready-made scans to set up a whole world on the other side of the Uncanny Valley. Or at least a house, a garden, and some bodies. They created a foolproof filter, so that finally you could connect to the net – mind-to-mech and even mind-to-mind – without any risk of malware unstitching your memory or infecting your consciousness. So they log in, and there, on the other side, they have soft, warm, moist bodies again, miraculously fleshy to the touch. They can touch, smell, and taste again.” Dagenskyoll speeds up, and the hulking robots bunched around him in a spellbound circle press even closer, leaning in, sticking out microphone tongues and scanner tendrils. “They can drink and eat and drink.” He raises his glass of vodka and a long metallic grating sound rings out, krrrshaaahhrrr: the screeching interference of speakers and microphones, or maybe even the sighing of embarrassed machinery. “They drink, drink and sleep, even if they can’t dream, and they walk on the grass and bathe in the sunshine—” Krrrshaaahhrrr! “They have dogs, cats, birds, bugs. Mosquitoes bite them, dust and pollen get in their eyes, the sun blinds them, since the sun is always rising there, and they set up grills and burn their fingers—” Krrrshaaahhrrr! “—as they eat the steaming meat.” Now this is too much, and the robots press up against Dagenskyoll, almost crushing him. “Do you know the IP?” “Only the bosses of the alliances know it. They’re the ones who meet there. To discuss strategies for the future, exchange information, and resolve disputes.” A black medico mech roars from a distorted speaker straight into Dagenskyoll’s front display: “BUT WHERE! WHERE IS IT?!

In short, from its earliest point of development on, under the myth of divine kingship, the demoralizing accompaniments of unlimited power were revealed in both legend and recorded history. But these defects were for long overlaid by the exorbitant hopes the 'invisible machine' awakened. Though a multitude of single inventions for long lay beyond the scope of the collective machine, which could provide only partial and clumsy substitutes, the fundamental animus behind these inventions-the effort to conquer space and time, to speed transportation and communication, to expand human energy through the use of cosmic forces, to vastly increase industrial productivity, to over-stimulate consumption, and to establish a system of absolute centralized control over both nature and man-all had been planted and richly nurtured in the soil of fantasy during the first end of the megamachine. Some of the seeds shot up at once in riotous growth: others required five thousand years before they were ready to sprout. When that happened, the divine king would appear again in a new form. And the same infantile ambitions would accompany him, inflated beyond any previous dimension different only because they were at last realizable.

While on his multi-year, orgiastic bender of speed and steroids, JFK ran the country with appropriate amounts of paranoia, unpredictability, and raging aggression. It’s not a surprise that Kennedy’s two years as president were so stuffed full of crises and scandals. That roided-up speed freak was in a rush, baby! Kennedy invaded Cuba, played nuclear chicken with Khrushchev during the Cuban Missile Crisis, maniacally tried to cripple the power of the CIA and the FBI, cooked up a top-secret operation to kill Castro, belly flopped into Vietnam, tried to topple Hoffa and the Teamsters, and went on a rampage against the same gangsters that stole the presidency for him — all at the same time.

A fiery horse, with a speed of light—a cloud of dust, a hearty laugh, The Lone Ranger is perhaps the most attractive figure ever to come out of the West.

Ronaldinho was a trickster, an artist with the ball. Leo represents the essence of the game: speed plus skill.

Ashes to Ashes (A): Your body has now been baptized by Ash. As such, in dangerous situations, you can return to ash, avoiding most attacks and reforming soon after. High Mana cost. Range and speed of reforming increases with Skill Level. Mana cost decreases very slightly with Skill Level.

Living Blood (Un): Your blood has an increased affinity to you, and carries a large amount of your Vitality. You have developed a small amount of control over your blood. Upon being wounded, should you have great concentration and remain undisturbed for an amount of time, you can control the spilled blood to flow back into your body, rapidly increasing the regeneration speed of the wound. Control over the blood increases with Level. Amount of percentage of lost Health that regenerates increases with Skill Level.

The flow of time is always cruel... its speed seems different for each person, but no one can change it... A thing that does not change with time is a memory of younger days...

But the pain and his memories of what had brought him to this state helped speed his efforts, and mustering what strength of body and will he could, he dragged himself back into consciousness.

Shadow initially seemed unaffected when I placed the thing around his neck. He has worn collars before, both the ordinary and faerie-made variety. But as we walked, his lumbering gait grew more graceful, and he paused frequently to sniff at things. "What does it do?" Rose enquired. "It's hobgoblin-made," I said. "They sometimes keep grims as guard dogs. The legend associated with it suggests that it will enhance Shadow's speed and senses.

sombrero and carried a long breech-loading Springfield musket, and as Custer wrote in My Life on the Plains, he always rode a mule "in whose speed and

It was in 1997 that Deep Blue defeated chess legend Garry Kasparov. The world’s fastest computer at that time was the ASCI Red, developed by the American military and offering a peak performance speed of one teraflop. It was the size of a tennis court and cost $55 million. Sixteen years later, in 2013, a new supercomputer came on the market that easily clocked two teraflops and at just a fraction of the price: the PlayStation 4.

fill pauses in the fight, thus keeping the initiative in your hands. An experienced boxer can disorganize the tactics of the most reasonable opponent, teasing him with numerous, accurate, repeated, still straight blows. A long straight blow to the head is relatively safe for the one dealing with him, because the boxer's body stays at a sufficient distance from the opponent and is not directly exposed to his short counter-attacks. Twisting the right torso protects the boxer, to some extent, from the opponents' right-hand counter-strikes. The blow is dealt directly from the boxing position from a distance. The weight of the body before the blow evenly spreads to both legs, or slightly moves to the right leg. With the right leg, the boxer sends the body forward towards the opponent. The left leg performs a sliding step forward. In this way, the body moves forward, the reflection with the right leg gives the movement even more dynamism. The left hand, directed before the blow to the enemy, quickly moves forward, fist into the target. The speed increases further thanks to the torsion of the trunk from the left to the right, harmonized with the simultaneous general movement forward. At the last moment of dealing a blow, his sharpness increases by the ending, rapid movement of the hand dealing the blow. The fist, when it touches the target, should be turned in half-turn revolving downwards, with the forearm in the intermediate system between pronation and supination.

In the fight for half-distance, the boxer works faster than in a distance fight; great speed of short blows and fast change - situations greatly hinder the boxer's orientation: in a half-distance fight he should specifically guess the intended actions of the opponent, immediately anticipating them, finding convenient starting positions, both for short blows and for defense. Therefore, the boxer should learn and learn exactly the defense and counteracting, used in the fight for half-life. All counters are divided into "direct" defense. The "blows" are called those blows that anticipate the opponent's attack (Figure 26). These blows anticipate the opponent's attack and due to the fact that they are unexpected for the opponent, they are considered the most effective. "Direct" blows can be combined with almost all types of defense. The ability to use them gives the boxer the option of permanently keeping the initiative in combat in his hands. In actions against the attacking boxer, the basic ones are "direct" counterits; you can stop them and paralyze aggressive actions of the opponent

The scheme of elements of the boxers moving around the ring clearly illustrates the boxer's desire to maintain an indispensable space between the feet after each step, in order to maintain stability. In this way, the boxer can freely take the next step in any direction. By practicing moving around the ring during a free fight, the boxer achieves a high degree of technical perfection of leg movements. When moving around the ring during a fight, the muscles of the body of the boxer should not be excessively stretched. The increased speed of the boxing step, combined with the attacker's blow or defense action, is achieved by quickly moving the body towards the step being taken. Each step is performed without first transferring body weight to the leg, which the boxer bounces at the given movement, directly from the boxing position. The weight of the body is directly relevant to the progressive movement

At the final stage of the blow (as well as with all other blows) it is essential to keep the balance. The left (retaining) leg, turned heel outwards (to the left) should stop further movement of the body forward in the event of a miss. The right leg is pulled up when you strike the left to the right to keep the body in balance, which must be kept with every movement of the boxer. If the boxer does not observe anything, then the blow will take him and the balance will be lost. as a "counterweight" right leg, which will inhibit "speed gain and keep the body in balance.

The diagnosis should be especially careful in the first round. Fighting lightly and carefully, try to explore your opponent's combat capabilities, reaction speed and other properties as closely as possible. Through deceptively masked actions, you can get an idea of ​​the opponent's way of fighting, his favorite blows and types of defense, his ability to lead a half-distance fight. During the reconnaissance, be careful and avoid unexpected blows of the opponent. Diagnosis should be made imperceptibly, so that the opponent does not recognize the boxer's distinctive tactics and by misleading actions did not evoke from his side an incorrect idea of ​​his intentions and manner of conducting the fight.

BLOW FROM THE BOTTOM LEFT INTO THE TORSO Unlike other blows from the bottom, this blow can be fully used in an attack, because it easily reaches the target. The right hand of the opponent, usually covering the torso, is not difficult to bring from the defensive position a marked left blow to the head. At that moment, the left hand, changing direction, quickly strikes the bottom The blow from the bottom left in the torso differs from the same blow in the head only by the direction of the striking hand (the inclined line to the target). All other body movements are the same as with the previous stroke. The blow from the bottom left in the torso, in the close-up fight, is dealt with at the moment when the opponent's torso tilts forward. The speed of the blow increases as you approach the target. The blow ends with a sharp jerk, resulting from the work of the abdominal, back, leg and hand muscles that strikes. When striking a blow, the whole body of the attacker should be free from unnecessary stress.

In combination with defense, the movement of each major blow changes, under the influence of the character of the defense. As a counter-battle in the fight on the half distance, only short straight, bottom and sickle blows are used. In the fight for half-distance, the boxer works faster than in a distance fight; great speed of short blows and fast change - situations greatly hinder the boxer's orientation: in a half-distance fight he should specifically guess the intended actions of the opponent, immediately anticipating them, finding convenient starting positions, both for short blows and for defense. Therefore, the boxer should learn and learn exactly the defense and counteracting, used in the fight for half-life. All counters are divided into "direct" and "defense".

Most defectors’ knowledge of history consisted of little more than shining legends from the lives of the Great Leader and the Dear Leader. This was when they were told that it was an unprovoked attack from the North, not from the South, that began the Korean War on 25 June 1950. Many rejected this loudly, and outright. They could not accept that our country’s main article of faith – believed by most North Koreans – was a deliberate lie. Even those who knew that North Korea was rotten to the core found the truth about the war very hard to accept. It meant that everything else they had learned was a lie. It meant that the tears they’d cried every 25 June, their decade of military service, all the ‘high-speed battles’ for production they had fought, had no meaning. They had been made part of the lie. It was the undoing of their lives.

Perhaps Pre's driving was affected enough that he simply misjudged the curve and his approach speed. Perhaps, as one policeman speculated, he was reaching for a cassette tape and took his eyes off the road. Perhaps he failed to make the turn for an altogether different reason. The result is the same.

Several strands of my long hair were cut. I watched the strands as they fluttered to the ground before being blown away by a breeze. Turning while still keeping low to the ground, I found a pair of legs directly in front of my face. I looked up to see another cloaked individual. “Hup!” Using the strength of my legs to push off the ground, I leapt up at a speed that was too fast for this person to keep up with. His foot missed as I moved backward. I came back in and swung my fist upward. A satisfying cracking noise echoed around the empty street as my fist slammed into the underside of this person’s chin. A garbled cry of pain emerged from the cloaked figure’s mouth as my attack sent the guy into the air. Blood and a tooth shot out of the cloaked person’s hood. My opponent flew backward in a parabolic arc, struck the ground hard, bounced several times, and rolled to a stop several meters away. “ALF!” a cry came from the first cloaked individual who attacked me. “You bastard!!” “It’s rich calling someone a bastard for fighting back after you attack him,” I muttered, though it seemed my attacker wasn’t paying any attention to what I said.

On speed, my mouth is a machine and my body is a limitless supply of social energy that shoots out around me, drawing people in like moons sucked in by the gravitational pull of a planet. Once I was on that dance floor in Legends it didn’t matter what was playing, I was moving, shouting, screaming... I acted, thought, felt, and experienced everything with an electric edge. I talked to all and sundry, jabbering incoherent nonsense, reeling off a tsunami of words thrown together from the intoxicated bubbling flood of my brain.

She’d heard of Asterion horses, of course. The most ancient breed of horse in Erilea. Legend claimed that the Fae had made them from the four winds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, and wisdom from the west, all rolled into the slender-snouted, high-tailed, lovely creature that stood before her.

Billy and Thunder's Wild West Adventure Once upon a time in the Wild West, there was a little cowboy named Billy. Billy was no ordinary cowboy; he was the tiniest, most determined cowboy in all of Leeton, Missouri. One sunny afternoon, Billy decided it was time to round up his trusty steed, a plush toy horse named Thunder. Billy put on his best cowboy hat, tied his bandana, and slipped into his fringed coat. He climbed onto Thunder, ready to conquer the wild fields. As he rode, he imagined himself chasing down outlaws and saving the day. But Thunder had other plans. Being a plush toy, Thunder wasn't exactly built for speed. Instead, he bounced and wobbled, making Billy giggle uncontrollably. Suddenly, Billy spotted a group of real horses in the distance. "Yeehaw! Let's show them how it's done, Thunder!" he shouted. The real horses, curious about the tiny cowboy, trotted over to see what all the fuss was about. They watched in amusement as Billy and Thunder performed their best rodeo tricks. Billy decided it was time for the grand finale. He stood up on Thunder's back, arms outstretched, and shouted, "Look at me, I'm the greatest cowboy in the West!" Just then, Thunder wobbled a bit too much, and Billy tumbled off, landing softly in the grass. The real horses neighed in what sounded like laughter. Billy sat up, dusted himself off, and laughed along with them. "Well, Thunder, we might not be the fastest or the best, but we sure know how to have fun!" And with that, Billy and Thunder continued their adventure, bringing smiles and laughter to everyone they met in the Wild West. And so, the legend of Billy the Tiny Cowboy and his trusty steed Thunder spread far and wide, reminding everyone that sometimes, the best adventures are the ones filled with laughter and a little bit of wobble.

He slid a finger down her folds. Her panting increased in volume. Her hip movements increased in pace as she chased his finger. He found her clit and circled it with his thumb, as he pushed inside her with his middle finger. Her inner walls clasped tightly on to the digit. He groaned at the heavenly sensation. He dragged his finger in and out, savoring the feeling. Her hips moved in tandem with the movement of his finger. Her hold on his shirt tightened when he rubbed against a spot high inside her. Her hips bucked forward. A tiny moan slipped from between her lips before she pressed her mouth shut. Not on his watch. He wanted it all. "Don't hold back. Tell me," he demanded. "Feels so good," she whimpered, the fucking sexiest sound he'd ever heard. "I can make it better." He wedged another finger inside her. And pressed gently against her clit. He swallowed her scream with his mouth. The kiss was wild, greedy. Lips, tongue, teeth sliding, clinging, giving, demanding pleasure. She tasted like heaven, offering all the sustenance he would ever need. Her hips picked up speed. She was so fucking tight wrapped around his fingers. How good would his dick feel inside her? Incredibly, he got even harder. As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, her hands landed on the front of his jeans. She squeezed once, twice. He almost detonated. "Sloane. Sweetness. Please." She didn't need his plea. Instead, she pulled his zipper down and slipped her fingers inside. He didn't have the willpower to stop her. Her hand wrapped around his dick was so fucking good. She pulled up and down, exerting the perfect amount of pressure to have him gasping as pleasure sang through his veins.

It’s an Asterion horse,” Ansel breathed, her red-brown eyes growing huge. The horse was black as pitch, with dark eyes that bored into Celaena’s own. She’d heard of Asterion horses, of course. The most ancient breed of horse in Erilea. Legend claimed that the Fae had made them from the four winds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, and wisdom from the west, all rolled into the slender-snouted, high-tailed, lovely creature that stood before her.

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Jack said, “I hope you’re feeling better.” His grin was a nervous one, and he lifted his hands in a gesture of prayer. “Because god-fucking-speed.

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