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rushingheadlong · 4 years ago

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I’ll Put A Spell On You - A John/Roger Smut Fic

Summary: John is tired of always getting teased for wearing “boring” costumes, so he decides to spice things up this year - and when Roger makes sure to show his appreciation for John’s costume choice, they both end up having a good time.

Words: ~5,900

Tags/Warnings: John/Roger, 18+, D/s (sub!John), spanking, rimming, crossdressing

Notes: Written for the DL Servers HalloQueen fic exchange! My prompt was: John buys a "sexy witch" costume to wear as a joke. It turns out to be more hot than funny to Roger. Smut ensues. I’ve never written Dealor before and I don’t usually write crossdressing, so I hope I did alright with this!

“I think that the next time anyone tries to tell me that Queen must attend their fancy dress party, I am going to take their invitation and shove it up their arse!” Roger yells from down the hall.

John laughs as he smoothes down the front of his skirt and adjusts the pointed hat on top of his head. “I think I’ll help you with that!” he calls back.

“I mean why even invite Queen to a party if everyone is supposed to wear stupid costumes anyway!” Roger continues ranting. He’s been complaining about this for weeks now and it’s a testament to how much John shares his annoyance that he hasn’t told Roger to shut up yet.

Although, as John takes a step back and studies his final outfit in the mirror, he finds that his costume somehow ended up looking surprisingly good on him. He had expected the “sexy witch” costume that he bought to be just flashy enough and ill-fitting enough to look silly on him, but even without the right parts to fill out the dress it certainly doesn’t look as bad as he was expecting it too. Far from it, in fact.

The skirt hits him at mid-thigh, just high enough that there’s a bit of skin showing between the top of his striped stockings and the hem of the skirt. In a fortuitous turn of events the cheap dress doesn’t have much structure in the bodice and it sits smoothly across John’s chest, leaving his collarbones and shoulders bare. John even has the passing thought that maybe he should have picked up some makeup to wear as well to really complete the look, nevermind that he usually hates how it feels on his face after a few hours.

“And god knows our manager is going to find some way to blame us for the bad publicity if any photos from tonight make it into the papers…”

“We could just stay home.” John would much prefer to spend a quiet evening in with his boyfriend instead of embarrassing himself at this party.

“Freddie will never forgive us if we don’t turn up,” Roger says. “And I’ve spent too much time getting into this fucking costume to back out now.”

“What are you wearing, anyway?” John asks. Somehow they never quite got around to discussing their plans and apart from catching a glimpse of the bundle of clothes in Roger’s arms as he ducked into the bathroom John knows nothing about his costume.

“Come over here and see for yourself!”

“You come over here, I’m still trying to find my damn shoes,” John suggests instead. He knows that he has a pair of boots around here somewhere that will work well enough with his stockings, and he leans down to dig through the mess at the bottom of the closet to look for them.

“Just throw on a pair of trainers or something. We aren’t supposed to look good tonight anyway.” There’s the sound of Roger slamming some drawer in the bathroom, and then John hears him as he starts to walk down the hall back towards the bedroom. “Honestly, John, I’m not doing this again next year. I don’t care what Reid says, I’m not- John?”

Roger’s voice is strangled, and when John glances over his shoulder he can see that Roger is staring at him, mouth agape, as he takes in the sight of John in his costume. John quickly straightens up and turns to Roger, his hands shaking a little as he smoothes down his skirt. He can feel his face starting to grow hot with embarrassment and he tries to stop himself from squirming under Roger’s intense gaze. It’s hard to tell exactly what Roger is thinking, and now John is second-guessing his costume. He didn’t think it looked bad, but maybe he was wrong? Or maybe he’s taken the joke a step too far?

After a moment of silence John clears his throat and Roger jumps a little, startled out of his thoughts by the noise. “I, uh, I like your costume,” John says, motioning vaguely in Roger’s direction. “Can’t go wrong as a scarecrow. It’s a classic.”

Roger laughs a little and says, “So’s a witch costume but I’ve never seen one as stunning as yours.”

That answers the question of what Roger thinks of John’s outfit, but if anything John’s blush only deepens at the note of appreciation in Roger’s voice. “You like it then?” he asks.

“Like it? John, I love it.” Roger gives John another pointed once-over and then, with a small smirk, he says, “Go on, give me a twirl. I want to see the whole outfit.”

John feels his heart speed up a tick at the cocky undertone to the order. He loves when Roger gets like this and Roger knows it. Roger’s smirk deepens and he motions with one finger for John to start spinning. So John does, slowly turning in a circle so Roger can take in his costume from every angle.

“You know, I’m not sure you really understood the costume requirements for this party,” Roger says as John finishes his spin. “We’re supposed to look silly, not sexy.”

“Don’t I look a little silly? Black and orange aren’t exactly my colors,” John jokes.

“No, they’re not,” Roger agrees. “But that doesn’t make you any less gorgeous, angel.”

And with that Roger finally moves forward, crowding John against the closet and kissing him deeply. John drapes his arms loosely around Roger’s neck and parts his lips so Roger can slip his tongue inside. Some of the straw sticking out of Roger’s shirt tickles John’s chest as Roger presses in even closer, but John’s laugh quickly turns into a low groan as Roger sneaks one hand between them to palm at John’s cock through his skirt.

“Fuck, Rog,” John groans as he instinctively bucks his hips into Roger’s touch. “Keep that up and we’re never going to make it to this party.”

“Maybe that’s the plan,” Roger says. He keeps teasing at John’s cock and even through the layers of fabric the dull pressure feels unbelievably good. “I can think of quite a few things we could do that would be way more fun than going to this party…”

John has a pretty good idea of what those things could be, and with how quickly it feels like he’s losing his mind under Roger’s deft touch he’s so tempted to just let Roger do whatever he wants with him… but he still has enough self-restraint left to point out, “Didn’t you just say that Freddie will never forgive us if we don’t show up?”

“I think if Fred saw what you’re wearing, he’d understand.”

John laughs but he still gently pushes Roger back. Roger pouts but he does let go of John, and John tries not to miss his touch too much. “We don’t need to stay long, but we can’t skip out on it altogether,” he says.

He finally spots the boots he had been looking for sticking out from underneath the bed. He gives Roger, who’s still sulking a little, a quick peck on the cheek as he brushes past him, and as John bends over to grab the shoes he hears Roger groan quietly behind him.

“You’re going to tease me all night, aren’t you?” Roger says.

John stays facing away from Roger as he puts his shoes on so his boyfriend can’t see the amused smile on his face. “Maybe just a little,” John says. “But you like it when I tease you.”

“Yeah, but I like it a lot more when we just stay in and I can fuck you until you can’t think straight anymore.” Roger’s hands settle on John’s hips again and John jumps a little at the unexpected touch; he hadn’t even heard Roger move at all. “I might have to punish you later, if you’re going to be a brat.”

John’s breath hitches a little and he hears Roger chuckle behind him. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, actually, I think that’s exactly what’s going to have to happen.” He grinds up against John, and John bites back a whimper when he feels just how hard Roger is right now. “You like the sound of that, don’t you, honey?”

John knows that all it would take is a simple no right now and Roger would immediately stop everything he was doing - but John’s pretty sure that he might actually die if Roger stopped this game now, so instead he says, “Yes, god, I love it Roger, please-”

Roger drops his head against John’s shoulder, groaning quietly as he grinds up against John a little harder this time. “Fuck, John, you’re gonna kill me tonight, I know it.” He turns his head and kisses the crook of John’s neck, and then he takes a step back and lets go of John altogether. “Finish getting ready and meet me at the car. The sooner we get to this party, the sooner we can get back home again - and I want to make sure we have plenty of time to finish this later.”

Part of John is grateful for the reprieve so that he has a chance to calm down a little and pull himself back together, but he still hurries to finish putting on his shoes and double-checking his costume and there’s a knowing smirk on Roger’s face when John slides into the passenger’s seat only a few short minutes later.

The party itself goes much the same way that they always do, passing with a strange mix of rock ‘n’ roll debauchery and music industry schmoozing that not even the addition of ridiculous costumes can really interfere with. John isn’t even the only one there in drag, although Roger certainly doesn’t have eyes for anyone else except him. It makes it almost too easy to tease him; all John has to do is play with the hem of his skirt a little or cock a hip out as he talks to someone, and that’s enough to get Roger staring at him intently from across the room.

This certainly hadn’t been how John thought this evening was going to go, but it’s a rush to know that Roger is this fixated on him in this dress. It’s even more of a rush to know that Roger is going to pay him back for every second of this teasing when they finally get home and the anticipation of what’s going to come later makes John grateful that he’s wearing a skirt, so no one can see how hard he is.

The two of them drift separately through the crowd, and despite the game they’re playing John does try to keep his focus on the people he meets and the conversations he’s having - so much so that he doesn’t realize that he’s ended up in the same area as Roger, until he turns to his right and sees the drummer leaning up against the wall nearby. Roger crooks one finger in a “come here” gesture and, after quickly checking to make sure that no one is paying them any attention, John hurries over.

“Having fun?” Roger asks. It’s an innocent enough question but the look he levels at John is anything but.

John shrugs. “It’s been fine,” he says mildly. “Though, if you wanted to head out…”

The rest of John’s sentence is cut off with a laugh from Roger. “You were so quick to make sure that we showed up to this party and now you just can’t wait to get home, can you?”

John bites his bottom lip and doesn’t answer, because Roger isn’t exactly wrong. Every hungry look from Roger makes John a little more desperate to get home, a little more desperate for the punishment that Roger promised him before they left, but he’s not quite so far gone that he’s willing to admit that aloud just yet. So he shrugs again and looks out across the party, feigning a nonchalance that he absolutely does not feel.

But Roger isn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Roger glances around to make sure that no one is looking at them, before slowly sliding a hand down to brush along the bare skin of John’s thighs just above his stockings and right below the hem of his skirt. John can’t hold back a shiver and Roger’s smile takes on a wicked glint as he says, “Yeah, just look at you. You can put up a good front but you’re dying to get out of here, aren’t you?”

John exhales shakily. “Roger…”

“If we weren’t in public, I’d make you beg for me right now,” Roger says in a low voice.

John is about ready to beg for him right now anyway because that sort of easy cockiness from Roger just does things to John, makes him go weak-kneed and desperate to please him. Roger knows that too, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to want to wait any longer himself because he jerks his thumb towards the exit and says, “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

The car park is empty around them. It’s too soon for most people to be leaving but late enough that there aren’t any last-minute stragglers still heading inside, and Roger takes advantage of the privacy to crowd John up against the side of the car and kiss him. He keeps John pinned in place with one hand on his hip and one cupping his face as he devours John’s mouth, licking his way inside and nipping at John’s bottom lip until he’s moaning and writhing underneath Roger’s touch.

“Christ, John, you drive me fucking crazy,” Roger pants against John’s mouth. “Next time we’re skipping the party and staying in. I don’t care if the others get pissed, I could barely keep my hands to myself in there.” He kisses along John’s jawline and adds, “The only good thing about coming here is now I get to punish you for being such a tease.”

John moans quietly and arches his neck to give Roger better access to kiss and bite along his throat. He knows that Roger isn’t stupid enough to leave marks where other people can see them, but the possibility that he could makes John feel like he’s burning up with arousal.

“What- ah- what are you going to do?” he barely manages to ask.

“To punish you?” John nods, a little too eagerly, and Roger laughs. “Why don’t we head home and I’ll just show you instead?”

The drive back home feels like it lasts a small eternity. Roger keeps one hand on John’s thigh the entire time, moving it only when he has to shift gears and then immediately returning it to John’s leg just underneath his skirt. He doesn’t touch John’s cock but it’s still so close that John can’t help but squirm - at least, until a sharp look from Roger has him trying his hardest to stay still instead.

The moment they get inside the house Roger is on him again, kissing him even before the door is fully closed behind him and pulling the witch’s hat off John’s head to toss behind him somewhere. “You remember your safewords, angel?” he asks as he tangles one hand in John’s hair and gives a gentle tug - not enough to really hurt but enough to make sure that John is paying attention and to make his cock throb underneath his skirt.

John nods and Roger tightens his grip slightly in warning. “Ah- yeah, yes, Rog. Green to keep going, and red to stop.”

“And yellow to slow down and check in,” Roger adds and John nods, as much as he’s able to anyway. “Good boy. Now, this is how this is going to go. You’re going to go into the bedroom and get on the bed, arse up and waiting for me. I’m going to spank you as your punishment and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re not allowed to come until after I do. Understand?”

John bites down on a moan and takes a deep breath, trying to stay focused on what Roger is saying. Checking in like this is important, even if John wants to bolt to the bedroom and get started with Roger’s plans as soon as possible.

“One question,” John says. Roger raises an eyebrow, and John asks, “Should I undress, or-?”

“I didn’t tell you to, did I?” Roger points out, though he lets go of John’s hair and scratches gently at his scalp instead, a silent praise for seeking clarification on Roger’s orders.

“Although…” Roger hums a little, considering, and finally says, “Pants and shoes off, but everything else stays on. Next time, we’ll get you some pretty heels and panties to wear while I fuck you.”

John does moan at that. The promise of a next time and the thought of wearing lacey panties under his dress are so hot that John feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin with need. He tries to arch against Roger, desperate to feel his body against his, desperate to get any scrap of friction against his cock, just desperate in a way that he never gets unless it’s with Roger, but Roger doesn’t give him anything, not yet. He lets go of John altogether and takes a step back, and John whines at the loss of contact.

“Bedroom,” Roger orders.

John nods, and somehow manages to stumble down the hall and into their bedroom. The damn boots that had taken him so long to find earlier in the evening are pulled off and tossed unceremoniously into the closet, and his pants are shoved in the laundry basket. They weren’t a special pair or anything because John hadn’t expected his costume to illicit quite this sort of response, but once he’s kneeling face-down on the bed he almost wishes that he still had them on. There’s no hiding how exposed he is in this position, with his skirt revealing his bare arse and his cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs.

He rests his head on his arms and takes a shaky breath and tries to pretend that his face isn’t as hot as he knows it is. It’s embarrassing, to be left here waiting like this, but it’s also thrilling and makes heat pool in John’s belly, and when he finally hears the door open he has to bite his hand to stop himself from whimpering in anticipation.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Roger says, “Christ, John. You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

John feels the bed dip as Roger climbs up next to him and then Roger’s hands are finally, finally touching him. Roger slides his hands up John’s thighs, along the curve of his arse, and finally up his lower back, pushing up his dress slightly as he goes.

“I can’t believe you ever thought you’d look silly in this costume,” he says as he drapes himself over John to press a kiss to the back of his neck. Roger must have gotten undressed before coming into the bedroom because John can feel Roger’s warm skin against his exposed rear, and when Roger rocks against him John can feel his cock catch along the top band of his stockings.

Roger pulls back and John grips the blankets tightly to stop himself from spreading his legs further, arching his back a little bit more, doing anything to entice Roger to hurry things along. And Roger does touch John again, but only one gentle hand that rests on his lower back as Roger says, “You’re shaking, angel. Color?”

“Green,” John says and, god, they’ve hardly begun and John can already hear how wrecked his voice sounds.

Roger must hear it too, because his hand slides back down to John’s arse and he squeezes it tightly for a moment. “Oh, so you’re just that desperate for me, are you? So fucking eager to get started that you can’t even hold still anymore, is that right?”

“Please,” John moans as he tries to rock back into Roger’s touch - but with one last squeeze, Roger lets go and settles into place behind him.

“Ten hits, John,” Roger says, and John whines low in the back of his throat. “I want you to count them out for me, okay?”

“Okay,” John says, and he barely has time to brace himself before the first hit lands. It’s a hard strike, but not uncomfortably so. Roger is just using his hand, not any of their toys, and without warming John’s skin up first it’s clear that he’s not putting his full strength into it. But this is still a punishment, even if it’s a fun one, and John gasps and is rocked a little forward at the first hit.

“One,” he counts, and Roger doesn’t hesitate with the second hit. “Two.”

The third and fourth hits come quickly, one to each cheek, but after the fifth Roger pauses for a moment. “You’re doing so good, taking this so well for me,” he praises as he grabs John’s arse again, digging his fingers into the tender flesh until John moans and tries to pull away from him.

The sixth hit takes John by surprise; Roger still has one hand on him and John hadn’t been prepared for the strike. He cries out and tries to muffle the noise in his hands, but Roger lets go of him to instead grab his hair and gently pull his head back up.

“None of that now. Let me hear you.”

John whines as he nods, and he expects Roger to let go of him after that. When he doesn’t, it takes John a moment to realize what he’s waiting for. “S-six.”

“Good boy,” Roger praises and he lets go of John’s hair. John’s head falls forward again but he doesn’t try to muffle his moan as Roger lands the seventh hit.

The next two land lower on John's arse, almost hitting the top of his thighs, in the exact spot that John knows from experience would make it agony to sit down later if Roger really wanted to make John's punishment last. But that's not quite the game they're playing right now, and even though Roger's final hit is the hardest one yet John knows, in the back of his mind, that there won't be any marks that linger past tonight. That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt but it's a good sort of pain, the kind that makes every one of John's nerve endings light up even as the harsh sting starts to fade into a dull, pleasurable ache.

“Ten,” John gasps and he doesn’t know whether to be disappointed that that’s the last one or relieved that Roger is finally going to fuck him. “Roger, please, I- I need-”

“Shh, I’ve got you, I know what you need,” Roger says as he runs his hands gently over John’s reddened arse. He scratches lightly over the spots he just spanked and John whimpers at the new sting of pain, even as he arches up into Roger’s touch. It’s almost more than he can stand but somehow he still can’t get enough of it.

Roger taps on the inside of John’s thighs and says, “Spread your legs a little wider for me, honey.”

So John does, even though it makes him feel even more lewdly on display that before, and Roger takes advantage of the slight change in position by reaching down to toy with the head of John’s cock. “You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you?” Roger says teasingly as he smears through the precome beading at the tip of John’s cock. “So fucking eager for me, christ, you’re amazing, John.”

“Ro-Roger.” John groans as Roger trails his fingers lightly down the length of John’s cock and tickles over his balls before he reaches up and spreads John’s cheeks to expose his hole.

And then Roger leans in and licks a stripe over John’s opening, and any coherent thoughts left in John’s mind immediately disappear. He shouts and squirms beneath Roger, but Roger holds him in place with a tight grip on his sore arse and John is helpless to do anything but surrender to the sensations of Roger eating him out.

Roger doesn’t hold back. He laps at John’s opening, circling it and dipping the tip of his tongue inside before pulling back. He presses open kisses to his hole and teases it with his breath, and by the time Roger finally wiggles his tongue past the tight ring of muscle John is so close to coming that he’s sure he’s going to fall over that edge just from Roger’s clever tongue working him open.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, Roger, I need to come, please let me come, please, please-”

Roger pulls back and nips at John’s arse. “I told you, not until I do,” he says in a rough voice.

John sobs and drags his face against the blankets and tries to rut back against Roger, desperate for any touch on his cock or arse. “I can’t. Roger, I can’t-”

“You can.” Roger slides his hands up the outside of John’s thighs and along his lower back in slow, gentle strokes, staying away from the areas he spanked before and giving John a chance to calm down. “Color, John?”

John takes a shaky breath and actually has to think about that for a moment. The last thing he wants is for Roger to stop, but he doesn’t share Roger’s confidence that he can stave off his orgasm. “Yellow,” he says at last. “Please don’t stop, but- Roger, god, I want to be good but I’m so close to coming already.”

“You are good. You’re so fucking good for me, angel, you’re absolutely perfect,” Roger assures him. “Do you still want me to fuck you?” John nods desperately and Roger says, “Okay. I’ve still gotta open you up, though. Can you handle that, or do you want to do it yourself?”

John whines quietly as he tries to weigh the options. He doesn’t want to work himself open but he knows that he will come the moment Roger gets his fingers inside him, so he finally says, a little reluctantly, “I can do it.”

“Okay, great,” Roger says. “I want you to ride me, so let’s just…”

It doesn’t take much for Roger to coax John to sit up so they can switch places. Roger lies down on his back on the bed, and John finally gets a proper look at him. John already knew that he was naked but he’s rock-hard as well and there’s a flush of arousal spread across his face and down his chest. Roger is absolutely gorgeous and seeing him as turned on as John feels helps John claw back some small semblance of control.

“Hey, c’mere,” Roger says as he reaches towards John.

And John goes willingly, straddling Roger and letting himself be pulled into a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle, given the tone of the evening so far. John can feel Roger smiling against his mouth and he runs his hands along John’s bare shoulders with a touch that’s soft but reassuring, rather than purely teasing.

“You really are gorgeous, you know,” Roger says softly as he plays with the lace on the neckline of John’s dress.

John smiles down at him and says, “So are you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m naked and have a pretty dick,” Roger jokes.

“I am not!” John protests with a laugh. He runs his hands along Roger’s bare chest and adds, “Although, now that you mention it…”

“You ready to keep going?”

John nods. “Do you have the-?” Roger hands him the bottle of lube before John can finish the question. “Thanks.”

John pours some out on his fingers and reaches behind himself, shivering in anticipation as he spreads the slick around his hole before finally pushing one finger inside. He gasps and braces himself with his other hand on Roger’s chest and slowly starts to thrust the finger in and out of his hole.

“That’s it, honey, work it in nice and slow,” Roger says. He slides his hands up John’s thighs, pushing the skirt up a little bit. The fabric slides against John’s dick and he whimpers at the feeling. It’s light enough that John doesn’t think it’ll be enough to make him come too soon, at least not now that he’s calmed down a bit, but it’s still a delicious tease.

John carefully works in a second finger, moaning loudly at the stretch. It doesn’t hurt but there is a burn as John scissors his fingers and tries to work them in a little deeper. He can’t quite reach his prostate at this angle but that’s okay; just being filled like this feels so good that John can hardly stand it.

“How many is that?” Roger asks. His thumbs are rubbing circles into the crease of John’s thighs, so close to John’s cock that he can barely think of anything except how badly he wants Roger - inside him and stroking his dick and making him fall to pieces in his lap.

“Two,” John gasps. He’s rolling his hips down onto his hand, properly fucking himself on his fingers now, and he’s pretty sure he might just die if he can’t get Roger inside him right this very second. “Rog, I’m good, I’m ready, can I-?”

“Yeah, angel, yeah, go ahead, go sit down on my cock,” Roger says and that’s all John needs to hear.

He pulls his fingers out and tries to ignore how empty he now feels as he slicks up Roger’s cock and starts to sink down onto it. Roger groans and his fingers dig a little harder into John’s thighs, but he doesn’t try to rush John even though John knows that he must be dying to move. He can feel how tight he still is around Roger’s cock and he has to work himself on it slowly. How Roger is maintaining any control John has no idea because he is rapidly losing any calm that he managed to regain while they were taking things slow.

“So good, John, you take my cock so well,” Roger praises as John finally seats himself fully on Roger’s dick.

John is panting heavily and he knows he’s not going to last long, but he’s determined to follow through with Roger’s orders and make him come first. So he doesn’t take more than a handful of seconds to adjust to the feeling of being stretched wide around Roger’s cock before he lifts himself up and starts to fuck himself on Roger.

“Fuck John, honey, you feel so fucking good,” Roger groans. “So fucking beautiful too, riding my cock in your pretty dress…” He pulls his hands out from under John’s skirt and settles them on his hips, coaxing him to move a little faster as he starts thrusting up to meet John’s movements.

John shifts a little and Roger’s cock finally hits his prostate. “Roger, god-” John cries out as pleasure skitters up his spine. He clenches down around Roger and Roger throws his head back and moans, and it takes every ounce of control that John has to stop himself from falling over the edge when Roger looks and sounds like that.

“Yeah, like that, just like that…” Roger is rocking up into him a little harder now, a little faster, and John knows that he has to be close. That only spurs him on more and even though his legs are shaking from the effort of riding Roger he keeps moving and he keeps clenching around Roger’s cock, trying to make him come as quickly as possible so John can finally come as well.

“John, John, god- god, John-” Roger groans and he holds John down on his cock as he comes hard, spilling into him, his hips stuttering up as he chases the last aftershocks of pleasure.

Roger finally sags back against the bed, breathing hard. He’s beautiful like this, blissed-out and boneless underneath him, but John is so close to coming, so desperate to tip over that edge as well, that John can hardly appreciate the sight.

“Roger,” he whines, trembling with the strain of trying to stay still instead of grinding down onto Roger’s slowly softening cock. “Rog, please, please, I need to come, please tell me I can come…”

“Yeah, angel, yeah, of course you can,” Roger breathes. He moves one hand to massage John’s dick through the skirt and John chokes on a moan. The feeling of the cheap fabric rubbing against his cock is just the right side of pained-pleasure and he grinds up into Roger’s hand. He’s so close, he just needs a little more...

“C’mon, John,” Roger says. “Come for me, honey, go ahead and spill all over the inside of your pretty skirt for me.”

And that’s it for John, that’s all it takes for him to do exactly what Roger wants and finally fall into his own orgasm. He cries out as a wave of pleasure overwhelms him, his cock spurting against the fabric of the skirt as Roger keeps stroking him until John moans weakly and bats his hand away.

He collapses down on top of Roger and Roger wraps his arms around him, stroking his back gently and pressing kisses to the top of his head and murmuring soft words of praise and adoration as John catches his breath and slowly regains his senses.

“Ready to get out of that dress?” Roger asks after a few minutes of quiet cuddling.

“I think you’re supposed to ask me that before you fuck me,” John mumbles. His face is still buried against Roger’s chest and he can feel Roger laughing underneath him.

“Nah, it was much more fun to fuck you with the dress still on,” Roger says.

“Hm. Can’t really argue with that.”

Roger starts to sit up and John grumbles unhappily as he’s forced to move as well. “Sorry, but you’ll be more comfortable with this off,” Roger tells him as he pulls down the zipper on the back of John’s dress and helps him shimmy it down his body. John grimaces as the sticky skirt is pulled away from his skin, but Roger ducks into the bathroom to grab a washcloth and quickly helps him wipe down and once John tugs off his stockings he finally settles back down with a contented sigh.

“Do you need anything?” Roger asks as he throws the washcloth and John’s costume in with the rest of their laundry, though John doubts there’s any use in trying to wash the dress. They’ll just have to buy another one, if they want to do this again.

And John does want to do this again.

“Just you,” John says as he reaches out to Roger.

Roger laughs softly but climbs back into bed next to John. “You have me,” he says as he wraps his arms around John, and John snuggles close to him. “You always have me.”

#my fic #dealor fanfic #joger fanfic #queen band fanfic #john #roger #(pls read my fic and validate me afsjdlkjaksl)

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the-irish-mayhem · 5 years ago

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Oooooooooooh, you have some sw fic outlines. Please, please tell me! I'd love to know.

Oh jeebus. I have a lot of them. While I was reading over these again/condensing for purposes of the ask, I realized the reason I probably haven’t finished any of them is because they’re all so plot-heavy and god knows when I start writing something with plot it’s gonna end up AT LEAST 20k.

I put this under a cut because it got long and apparently I am having lots of Star Wars feelings tonight and because I love you anon :D

A) There was the one Clone Wars-era fic where I literally created an entire race of aliens inhabiting a small planet not unlike Hoth and their entire culture was based off of ice carving. Like, they had massive ice cities and ice sculptures and stuff and there were whole celebrations and coming-of-age ceremonies related to ice carving, and even the prefixes of their names had to do with their specific family tradition of carving/where they were from because that influences their style of carving. for some godforsaken reason the separatists hone in and start terraforming the place to be warmer/melt the ice (I say ‘for some godforsaken reason’ but the actual reason is because in its liquid form, this ice isn’t water, it’s some sort of valuable starship fuel [this gives the ice unique properties, and figures into carving traditions, and makes it more hardy than normal ice]) and even though this is one of the good ol Neutral Systems, the Republic gets word of this and is like ‘well shit, we can’t let the Seps get all that fuel’ and Padmé Amidala is sent as a diplomatic emissary (partly because her coalition fought for it, but also because in the back of her mind she knows what it’s like to have your peaceful planet invaded by those who want to exploit it and so she packs like her whole arsenal of blasters because she may be a pacifist in theory, but she’s also fucking pissed.) Padmé also sees an opportunity when the Senate requests she accept Jedi protection on this mission, and she humbly suggests Jedi Knight Skywalker and Padawan Tano accompany her, because they have worked together in the past and will mesh more smoothly with her own security. Cue the shenanigans, with Anakin and Padmé poorly concealing their relationship from Ahsoka, political trickery and corruption, fighting Separatists, aggressive negotiations, and the Republic wins the day.

B) With his padawan gone and his legion falling apart in the waning months of the Clone Wars, Anakin Skywalker wonders what will come after. Or, the Chosen One ponders peacetime. Set post-Fives’ death. (A look at how Anakin feels about losing the people he trusts the most. He 100% has a conversation with Rex about it. Address the “nightmares” Fives mentioned. Talk about clones as “property” and what will come after. Bonding over it.) first line: Fives’ last words stick in Anakin’s head like an itch he can’t scratch. It’s a flutter, a prod in the Force that he can’t understand. (also like. yo. if this turned into a multichapter, imagine Anakin and Rex prodding at this issue and the plot starts to unravel and after like 8 chapters of misdirections Anakin realizes the Chancellor is behind this and yo. YOO.)

C) Fives shoots the probe droid off his back. Everything changes. I have a lot of feelings about this Clone Wars episode cLeArLy and also come on Fives isn’t a shiny he’d KNOW he was being followed. Anakin and Rex are drawn into Fives’ investigation. Anakin is leery, but in the end, much like the previous fic, they unravel the web and everybody lives! (or at least most of them do)

D) Anakin and Obi-wan crash land on a Separatist-occupied planet. Anakin is severely injured because no one can ever legally say I don’t love Anakin-whump, and Obi-wan mother-hens and is trying to keep this idiot alive and it’s part survival, part thriller (because they gotta avoid the Separatists and keep it way on the DL that they’re Jedi), and lots of whump. Ideally, this fic ends in a catharsis moment that, down the line, will lead to Anakin NOT falling to the Dark Side, but I DIGRESS.

E) So, there comes a Breaking Point™ and Anakin leaves the Jedi Order, and Padmé leaves the Senate. Maybe the kids came early, and it just became ardently clear to both of them that Luke and Leia were their priority, and they both just dip outta Courascant and fuck off to Naboo to live happily ever after….kinda. They both love their kids, but they both feel guilty for leaving. (Oh, and Aunt Ahsoka comes to visit, because she left the Order and she and Anakin stayed in touch and it gave him another person who wasn’t Palpy to lean on outside the Order. Uncle Obi-wan also drops in from time to time, when he’s on leave.) So yeah, they both feel guilty, Padmé still teleconferences with Bail and Mon, consults on bills and proposals; Anakin still offers advice to Obi-wan, battle plans (and here Obi-wan would laugh because Anakin when do you ever stick to a plan.) and they both generally just keep up with what’s happening in the Republic because they’re SO DESPERATE to know that everything would be fine without them. And then it becomes very VERY evident that things are NOT all right when Palpatine moves forward with his plans, executes Order 66, and shit is just CHAOS. Idk if he like…. sends some people for Luke and Leia on Naboo, because in this outline I hadn’t decided how much he knows about their departures from their positions/their marriage/the twins, but anyway when he declares himself Emperor and the Jedi have been nearly wiped out, Anakin and Padmé know they can’t just sit idly by. So they both become Rebel leaders, building the Rebellion to what we know it as in A New Hope. Anakin, Obi-wan, and Ahsoka all try to suss out where the surviving Jedi are, all while evading Palpy’s Sith agents. It’s clear Palpatine still wants to turn Anakin. Padmé runs things politically along with Bail and Mon’s help, building a galactic support network. The twins are brought up on Rebel bases, learning the ways of the Jedi from all the survivors, not just a single master. (Though, if they were to get particular about it, Leia is Ahsoka’s padawan, and Luke is Obi-wan’s. The latter was accepted with some grumbling One Skywalker was enough for several lifetimes but changing his tune when Luke turns out a lot more like Padmé than Anakin.) They don’t ever plan on having more kids–life in the Rebellion is stressful and not to mention dangerous, but as these things go, there’s a whoops and there’s now a third Skywalker child when Luke and Leia are in their mid-teens. Boy or girl, I’m not sure. If it’s a boy, they name him Jinn Skywalker (because tbt to that fake vision Vader had in Lost Command) and if it’s a girl? I don’t know. I don’t think it would be Shmi. Padmé 1000000% suggests it, but Anakin says he doesn’t think so. Anyway. Lots of spying and battling and military-ing and propaganda-ing and politicking and lightsaber dueling and Rebels winning later, the Empire is defeated! (Probably after a hella intense battle between Anakin and Palpatine, or his Apprentice of the Week, and Luke and/or Leia have to be there to help him and ground him maybe? Don’t know for sure but it would be TENSE.) Luke and Leia are in their early twenties, Jinn/not-Shmi is ten-ish? Timelines. But they did it! They beat the Empire!

F) This one is sparse, but like…. what if Cleigg freed Shmi and Anakin before Padmé and company found them? Or they just don’t find them until Anakin is a moody teenager, but now with Better Emotional Control because he wasn’t raised a Jedi, and has a loving family? So basically he kind of teaches himself how to use the Force, because he literally has such an intense unconscious connection to it. Eventually Someone Comes™ but I don’t know who this would be or what their reason would be, but I mostly wanted a reason for Owen to be Salty™ that Anakin left the farm. Because in this fic they would be proper brothers, ok. Also, Anakin wins a shit ton of pod-races and becomes semi-famous on Tatooine for being the only human to win not only one race, but a fuckin BUNCH.

G) Your classic Anakin-Gets-Thrown-Forward-In-Time

H) Your classic Luke and Leia-Get-Thrown-Back-In-Time

G) Not sure if this counts, but there’s like…….a massive Star Wars/Avengers Fusion AU that I’ve got going on. I’ve written like… thousands of words for it. Steve is a Jedi, trained by Jedi Master Peggy Carter. His best friend, former Padawan Bucky Barnes fell to the Dark Side after being captured by an enemy (either Separatists or Empire, but I’m thinking Separatists), but Steve still believes that Bucky can be saved/doesn’t believe his falling was purposeful. Cue Jedi rhetoric about falling to the Dark Side, and Steve goes rogue and tracks down Natasha Romanoff, a former Jedi-turned-Sith assassin-turned-bounty hunter whose wise-cracking, flyboy partner goes by the name Hawkeye and is allegedly the best shot in the galaxy. Nick Fury is Mace Windu but with an eyepatch and more justice given to his story. Thor is the prince of some rich planet in the Core (or maybe Mandalore) who was found to be extremely Force-sensitive as an infant, but his powerful family covered it up in his medical records so he wouldn’t be noticed by the Jedi. Jane Foster is a Jedi healer who kind of finds him out.

These are just the ones I have google docs for; this isn’t even counting all the notebooks that definitely have plot-bunnies written in them.

#Anonymous #molly answers yo asks #sw

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hermannsthumb · 6 years ago

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i’m catsitting this weekend so i won’t be posting a bunch of drabbles like last week so pls enjoy the wildly unedited installment that falls directly after part two of my absurdly self-indulgent newt/hermann regional AU (which can be found on ao3 and tumblr)

Newt’s running late and it’s entirely his fault, but in his own defense, it’s just because he spent a lot of time getting ready for his date with Hermann. He wants to look nice, damn it. Hermann always looks nice and put-together and collected, whereas every single time he’s seen Newt, Newt’s been covered in literal fish shit and God know what else. So he takes his time, does his hair up with gel, realizes it looks terrible and then has to rinse it out, and then he gets distracted by his phone, and then--basically, he misses the bus that would’ve gotten him to the harbor in time to be there before Hermann finishes up at the center and has to take a later one and ends up half-sprinting over at 5:30.

Hermann isn’t impressed. While Newt hunches over, hands on his knees, and catches his breath, Hermann just watches him. “You’re late,” he says, when Newt finally straightens up and can breathe at a normal pace. He glances over Newt’s corduroys and t-shirt. “But. You’re clean, at least.”

“Stop flattering me,” Newt says. Hermann’s in his usual professor getup, with a sweater vest Newt’s never seen before. How many does the guy have, for real? “You’re clean, too,” he jokes, and flashes what he hopes is a flirty smile. Hermann narrows his eyes. Oh, boy, off to a good start. “I’m sorry I’m late. Buses and all. I would’ve texted, but--” But they never actually exchanged phone numbers. Maybe Hermann will get the hint, take the bait. Newt’s half reaching for his phone already.

He doesn’t. “Where are we going for dinner?” Hermann says. “You were--somewhat vague, when you asked me.”

“Oh,” Newt says sheepishly. He’d been so busy getting ready he hadn’t actually planned where they were going. “Do you, uh, have any suggestions?”

Hermann looks at him incredulously.

They end up at the harbor Noodles and Company with Hermann scowling at him over a bowl of pad thai, and Newt stirring his bowl of macaroni and cheese around nervously. “In my defense--” Newt blurts out. Hermann folds his arms across his chest. “I was nervous about making a good first impression.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “You realize that you already successfully made a first impression the first time you derailed one of my talks?” he says. “A poor one, I should add. A very poor one.”

“But we’re here now, aren’t we?” Newt says hopefully.

“Hm.” Hermann pokes around at his pad thai.

“Next time,” Newt says, “next time I’ll actually make, like, reservations somewhere, and somewhere nice--”

“Next time?” Hermann says.

Newt mentally kicks himself. God, damn, he’s terrible at this, he hasn’t been on a date in years. And Hermann’s so cute, with his little round glasses and cowlick, and it’s making Newt all flustered. He really wants this to go well so he can take Hermann somewhere that isn’t, actually, more or less in a shopping mall. Also, so he doesn’t get depressed every time he sees his Science Center membership card in his wallet. “Can we please just restart this whole thing?” he groans, dropping his fork to the table with a clatter and dragging his hand through his hair.

Hermann clears his throat. Newt looks up. “Good evening, Newton,” he says. “That shirt looks nice on you. I’m excited for our date.”

Newt grasps at the lifeline. “I’m excited too,” he says quickly. “I like your--sweater.” Then, because it’s the truth, he confesses, “I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages but didn’t know how.”

“Is that so?” Hermann says. He looks genuinely surprised. “I admit your methods were unconventional.”

“But they worked?” Newt says hopefully.

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches into a smile. “We’re here now, aren't we?” he echoes.

Dinner is surprisingly pleasant, once the rocky beginning smooths out, and they spend most of the time talking about themselves. Hermann, it turns out, is Oxford-educated and teaching astrophysics at Hopkins via an exchange program of indefinite length. He’s been here since last August. He got bored of England, apparently (though Newt can't tell for the life of him why he picked Maryland out of the entire country). Hermann’s surprised to find out that Newt was on the tenure track at MIT before he gave it up five years back to, also, move to Maryland, and then use his PhD in marine biology at the Aquarium. (“My uncle took me here once when I was a kid,” Newt explains, “and I loved it.”)

It’s cool out when they finish at the restaurant, so they go for a slow walk around the harbor as dusk settles. Newt’s hands are shoved in his pockets, but Hermann’s free hand is dangling a few inches away. He could easily take it. He really wants to take it. He doesn’t. “So you’re still pretty new around here, then,” Newt says.

“I suppose,” Hermann says. “I haven’t ventured much outside of the city. Or much inside the city either, truthfully.”

“I could show you around some more.” Play it cool, Newt thinks. Play it casual. “You know, if you want. There’s a bunch of weird shops, and bars, and movie theaters and shit in the area. Uh. If you like movies?” Hermann looks likes the type who goes to operas or sees depressing plays or shit.

Hermann rolls his eyes. “I like movies, Newton, I’m a human being.”

Just two more things they have in common, then. “Awesome,” Newt says.

Newt fully expects to take the bus back to his apartment, but Hermann surprises him by offering him a ride once they end their walk at the harbor entrance. “You sure?” he says. “I mean, I’m not super close--”

“It’s no trouble,” Hermann assures him. “As you demonstrated, the buses can be quite unreliable.”

Newt recites his address and fidgets in Hermann’s passenger seat the entire drive home. Did Hermann have a good time? Newt did. Enough for a second date, definitely. Hermann likes movies. Maybe he wants to see one with Newt this weekend or something. Is that too soon? That’s probably too soon. He might weird Hermann out. Play it cool. Next week. “Isn’t this you?” Hermann says. He’s staring expectantly at Newt--they’re outside Newt’s apartment. God, how long have they been sitting there?

“Yes.” He scrambles to unbuckle himself. “Yeah, sorry.” He slams the car door behind himself when he gets out, and panics when he realizes he forgot to say goodnight to Hermann. Hermann’s already rolling down the car window when Newt turns around. He looks mildly amused, at least. “I had a lot of fun!” Newt says quickly, leaning in. “Uh. Thanks for the ride. Sorry about, you know. Everything.”

“You can always make it up to me,” Hermann says smoothly, “next time. Goodnight, Newton.”

“I can!” Newt beams at him and takes a step back. “Goodnight!”

“Don’t you get tired of talking about black holes every single day?” he says the follow Wednesday, trailing Hermann out of the planetarium. “I mean, you give the same lecture every single day.” Newt follows a routine and everything too, but at least he cycles between what creatures he’s feeding on any given day. Hermann’s whole spiel is practically word-for-word each time. Even down to the little pauses between topics.

“You seem to have no trouble finding new faults in it every single day,” Hermann says, doing his best to outwalk Newt. He’s a fast bastard, damn him, but it’s nice knowing that their dynamic hasn’t changed too much. “Feel free to stop attending if I’m boring you.”

“Oh, Hermann, I’ll never get tired of your pretty face.”

“Mm.” Hermann manages to make a hum sound sarcastic. “How long is your lunch break, exactly? I wouldn’t want to keep you from what I can only assume is very important work.”

“Long enough. Anyway, important question,” Newt does a half-jog until he’s standing in front of Hermann, and Hermann finally slows down, thank God, “dinner and movie this week? I’ll pay. And, here’s the real bonus, I might even be on time.”

“Tempting,” Hermann says, but smiles. “What movie?”

“I’d say the new Jurassic World, but Jeff Goldblum’s only in it for, like, a minute, so who gives a shit. But the Charles is doing a revival showing for Creature From the Black Lagoon,” Newt waggles his eyebrows, “in 3-D. Sounds pretty cool, huh?” Hermann makes a noncommittal noise. Newt claps his hands together. “Sweet! Friday at seven! I do actually have to get back to work, though, or I might get fired or something, the warning wasn’t super clear, I was distracted, so--”

Newt’s promise to be on time holds up, and he meets Hermann in the lobby of the theater a bit before seven, even, which is a great record for him. He waves at Hermann excitedly through the door, but when he gets to him, he’s not sure what to do. High-five? No, that’s weird, people don’t do that on dates. Handshake? Is it way too early for a kiss? He decides to go in for a hug, but he takes too long and Hermann turns at the last second to look at the concession stand and it turns into an awkward shoulder-pat. Just once, Newt would like to not look like a dumbass.

“There’s a cool place across the street we can go for dinner,” Newt says as they wait in line to buy tickets, “if you don’t mind eating late, anyway.”

They get good seats, but the 3D turns out to be a mistake almost immediately. “Shit,” Newt says, as he tries unsuccessfully to tuck his 3D glasses--the old, retro blue and red kind--behind his real glasses, and then just as unsuccessfully in front of them. “I kinda--forgot why I don’t see 3D movies.”

Hermann, somehow, has managed to balance the 3D pair perfectly with his little nerdy round librarian ones and is watching Newt struggle with a smug look on his face. “Would you like some help?” he says. “You’re making it out to be much more difficult than it should be.”

Newt scowls at him. “I got this, dude,” he says, but then the house lights dim and Newt doesn’t, actually, got this, and eventually just gives up and resigns himself to watching the movie with the weird red and blue lines going over the black and white. The plus side is that he can actually see the screen. And it’s not like he hasn’t seen it a million times before.

Besides: he has much more important things to think about, namely, how Hermann is shyly inching a hand across Newt’s armrest to tangle their fingers together, and how he doesn’t move it for the rest of the film.

He holds Newt’s hand on the way out of the theater, too, and when they cross the street to get to the cool little diner Newt’s recommended. He does, finally, drop it when Newt holds the door open for him, but Newt doesn’t lose his goofy smile, not even when they’re seated at a booth and given menus. “It’s certainly eclectic,” Hermann remarks as he takes the diner all in. His eyes linger over the massive pulp art posters on the wall, the neon lighting, the weird, gaudy sci-fi themed decor. “Very...colorful.”

“Wait,” Newt says, and quickly flips open his menu and shoves it at Hermann, “this is the real reason I wanted to take you here.”

Hermann glances over the page. “Are the hamburgers--”

“All named after planets!” Newt says, nearly bouncing in his seat. Hermann fixes him with an odd, soft look, that just serves to make Newt nervous. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” he says, closing the menu delicately. “Thank you, Newton.”

“Since, you know, you’ve got a boner for black holes and space and everything--”

“Thank you, Newton,” Hermann says, a bit louder.

Hermann drives him home again, and Newt deliberately lingers in the car this time when they get to his apartment. He really wants invite Hermann inside. Is two dates too early for that? Newt hasn’t been on more than one date with someone in his entire life in his very limited dating experience, and--during his undergrad days--a good deal of those ended in one-night stands. He’s probably not the best authority on it. On the other hand, he’s known Hermann for almost a month, so it’s not like that’s totally rushing things. Newt’s gonna ask him.

“May I kiss you?” Hermann says suddenly, and Newt’s suggestive invite dies on his tongue. It’s--bizarrely polite, and professional, like he’s asking if Newt would like coffee or something, but it startles Newt anyway. He nods, and Hermann leans over and kisses him once, chastely. “Thank you,” he says primly, while Newt’s goofy smile returns. Newt’s not sure if Hermann means the date or the kiss or both, but frankly, he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t end up inviting Hermann inside, but he spends the rest of the night deliriously happy anyway.

#maria's fanfiction tag #newmann #if ur wondering the diner does exist but it tragically shut down in december lmfao #also i ripped the movie date directly from a cherished childhood memory of seeing it at that theater #and then immediately after i wrote this i found out its playing near DC exactly one month from now #im not saying my shitty newmann fic has the ability to alter reality but

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baronessblixen · 7 years ago

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46 - first time prompt list (just cause I love your writing) .D

Thank you! Prompt was: First time they rented a movie together. This is probably notexactly what you wanted, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. Hope youenjoy anyway.

Set after season 11.

Tagging @today-in-fic

They look, Mulderrealizes with a sense of pride, like a normal, average family. They're nothingbut a set of parents and a sulking teenager a few steps behind them, staringinto a screen. Sure, if anyone were to look closely, they'd see the hint of ababy bump hiding under Scully's sweater. They might wonder about their ages;their hair speckled with grey, their eyes conveying all they've seen in thislong, exhausting life. But no one is paying them any attention. Right here,right now, they're nothing special, nothing much to look at – and Mulder lovesit.

These past few weeks, almost threemonths, have been nothing but normal and slow. The pregnancy is, against allodds, progressing smoothly and without complications. A few days after ithappened (they only refer to the night on the docks as 'it', an undefinedmoment in time, one they keep trying to forget), Jackson showed up at theirdoor. His hands deeply buried in his pockets, he was cold and shivering. Hiseyes red-rimmed from crying, he looked young and broken. They let him in andthen never let him go again. Weeks of good, healthy food and a haircut havetransformed the young man, who in many ways is still just a teenager. Mulderturns to him sometimes and he's no longer the lost boy he stumbled upon thatday; their son is found, is home.

"Can we go home now? I'mhungry." Jackson, looking up from his phone, says. Moments like these makehim look so much younger than his years. He brushes an invisible lock of hairoff his forehead, once again forgetting that his hair is much shorter now.Jackson looks at Mulder, then at Scully.

"I think we're done here.Mulder?" He's just about to answer and say that yes, they can go home nowwhen he gets an idea. Without a word of explanation he walks towards the redbox that's captured his attention.

"Why does he always do that?"Jackson's groan fades into the distance. Mulder stands in front of the DVDXpress Kioskand grins. A moment later Scully and their son join him.

"Mulder?"

"Scully, look." He is wellaware that he sounds excited as he points at the touch screen. His fingerpresses a button and small movie icons begin to dance over the display."You can rent DVDs".

"You can also use Netflix like anormal person." Jackson says while taking out his phone again. He stepsaway, pretends not to know them while still glancing over every once in a while.

"Remember when there wereBlockbuster stores everywhere? You could just walk into one and get the latestmovies."

"I didn't know you cared so muchvideos," she leans closer to him and lowers her voice, "except forall those you claimed weren't yours." They grin at each other, chucklesoftly. There are still some of these tapes around the house; Mulder isnotoriously bad at throwing things away, even vintage porn from the 90s.

"We never did this, Scully."He swipes along the titles, sees movies he's never even heard of. How are thesethings fresh and new? He squints his eyes, tries to recognize something orsomeone. He should have brought his glasses with him.

"Did what?"

"Rent a movietogether."

"I recall movie nights."Scully's eyes are soft, her expression warm. He recalls those nights, too. Onein particular. A quick glance over at their son, who is immersed in a digitalworld or maybe even making plans to have a movie night of his own. Netflix andchill, he'd call it. Mulder is thinking more along the lines of VHS and chill,back in the day.

"Think they have Caddyshack?"Mulder chuckles. They have the movie at home, too. The tape is worn, old. Whenit seemed like the band wouldn't hold much longer, Mulder caved and bought the DVD.It was a comfort many nights when Scully was living her own life away from him.He'd think of that night while watching by himself in the darkness. He'd thinkof that one precious night when they watched that movie. Or rather didn't watchit. "But that's not... we never rented one together. Like acouple."

"Mulder, we have DVDs athome."

"I know," he sighs; shedoesn't get it, "but this. We never did this. We never strolled into aBlockbusters holding hands and sneaking kisses in the romance section. We neverfought about which movie to get and I never got to give in and let you pick themovie. We never did that. We never really got to be that kind of couple.Normal, you know?" Tears pool in her eyes as she tries to smile, her lipsquivering. The hormones. He keeps forgetting that the smallest notions make heremotional these days. Gently, he cups her cheeks and wipes away the two straytears that do escape.

"There are no more Blockbusterstores, Mulder." Now is not the time to tell her she's wrong. He doubtsshe'd want to travel to Alaska with him just to make this particular dream, thismissed opportunity a reality anyway. So he just nods, lets her believe she'sright.

"No, but there'sthis." He points to the red kiosk. Scully's expression is her famous 'youcan't be serious, Mulder' look he can't help but love. He grins sheepishly ather, takes her hand into his. "I know it's not the same, but… please renta movie with me tonight, Scully?"

"Mulder, you'recrazy."

“So you've toldme a million times. What do you say? It's Friday night and I think ouroffspring has other plans." Jackson makes noise that's half groan and halfaffirmation. "Please say yes, Scully. Please."

"Allright." Mulder grins before he leans down and kisses her softly.

"Can you guyslike not do that in public?" Jackson says looking around nervously."At least not when I'm around. You're not seriously going to rent a movie,are you?" When their son says it, the plan does sound crazy. As if thatcould stop Mulder, though.

"We are. Pickone, Scully."

"I thought it wasabout us renting one together." With a loud sigh, Jackson starts lookingthrough the selection. It goes too fast for Mulder to see anything. It's a blurof pictures and colors.

"Get thisone."

"The GreatestShowman?" Scully reads.

"You're going tolike it." Mulder shrugs, wonders briefly how his son would know that. Buthe doesn't question it. "It's like romantic and… stuff."

"Scully?"She nods and Mulder swipes his credit card. The kiosk beeps and rumbles beforeit spits out a DVD at them. "Nice." He says and picks it up, checksit out as if it were a piece of evidence.

"Can we go homenow, please?"

"Yes."Scully answers and takes Mulder's hand to drag him away from the kiosk. Just incase he decides to get another movie. One is enough. Scully will most likelyfall asleep halfway through it. He might, too, if he's being honest. So one isdefinitely enough.

"Look, our firstrented movie." He says with pride in his voice, holding the DVD case upfor the whole world to see.

"You guys are soweird." Mulder watches as his son, now in front of them, types a quick textmessage to his girlfriend. He can't read it at all, but he catches 'parents','strange' and 'home'. That's who they are: strange parents with a peculiar son,a family with a home. The thought makes him happy. He's still grinning as theymake their way to the car. Scully's hand is in his, everything is fine. It'snormal, average. It's all he ever wanted.

#it sounded better in my head #oh well #happy reading #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic #beaboleyn

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darkstarswitch · 4 years ago

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Let Me Explain

Here are the players: Two friends of mine, male and female. I will refer to the male as “A” and the female as “D”.

D is a young woman who has been through hell in her short existence on this plane and as we worked together, she kinda adopted me as a strong presents in her life (I still don’t get that. My shit is NOT together.) Well, D figured out real quick that I am sub and she had been giving off a Little vibe to me but I never asked cause I figured if she wanted to talk LS, she’d ask.

Enter player two, A. A is younger than me but way older than D. A is a dominant, he just doesn’t know it and he immediately became protective of D every time the three of us were scheduled to work together.

Now, me being what I am, I knew that A and D had something going on between them waaaaayyyy before they knew it and I had hoped that it would run smoothly into a D/s relationship for them. This goes on for about three months (that’s being generous because in all honesty, I wasn’t paying attention, it could have been longer. It could have been shorter.) D and I would chat when we could about the LS, about what she experienced inside and outside the LS, which was all bad. What I have experienced inside and outside the LS. Basically, the who, what, where, when, why and how. After what she has gone through, D wasn’t sure what she wanted, LS or otherwise. My job was to just listen, give advice and help her rebuild herself. A mentor. I found myself being a Mentor. (I am the LAST person I would want as a mentor. I have no fucking idea what I am doing.)

Fast forward a bit. A gets fired for doing his job. D is in panic mode because she thinks she is next on the chopping block (A getting fired had nothing to do with the pseudo thing that was going on between himself and D. A made the mangers look bad by doing their jobs and his own all day, everyday.) On the day that A got released, he comes up to me and gives me the bad news. Well, sonofabitch...that doesn’t work for me because I wanted to sit down and talk with A about the LS in order to, hopefully, give him some advice on what D needs/wants from him if they chose to move forward together. A week later, D quit because she got scared that managers were out to fire her anyway. At this point, I really have no idea just how deep the relationship between A and D was. So now everyone is going their own ways. Dammit, how am I going to pull this need-to-talk-with-A-soon-before-something-bad-happens-between-him-and-D. This is where the little voice in my head says “Maybe this means that you read way too much into it. Let it go.” This is where the louder voice tells the little voice to mind yo business and that I am not wrong about what I know. I am also too old to be meddling around in someone else’s relationship and I am painfully aware of this.

The funny part is that A and D thought they were being slick with me. They thought I had no clue about the two of them. So, one day D and I are talking on the phone and she tells me that she has a confession to make. She tells me that she has a huge crush on someone. I said that I knew. D asks me if I knew who her crush was. I said yes and that I had told him to be very careful, that I knew a relation between them (A and D) was real, but that he had to tread lightly because D would fall in love fast and hard. D asked me how I knew this. Darlin Babygirl, I am a witch. I know these things. I had to laugh because for two weeks after that conversation, A and D went back and forth on weather or not I actually knew what I knew. Now, mind you, this whole time I am discussing my role in D’s life as a mentor with my Sir. I do not see myself as a qualified to be a mentor to anyone and I have asked several different people for their opinions as to who makes a good mentor to who (can a sub be a good mentor for a potential dom?) Some people say yes, others say no. I’m not going to get into that. I’ll swing around later to discuss that.

D tells me that she still does not know what she wants. She fully admits that she is old enough to know better and too young to feel that she can make a solid decision about weather or not she can live as LS, especially because A sees the LS as bullying and degrading to a submissive. She feels that by bringing up the subject of Domination/submission to A, she is changing him. I told her it’s not changing him but bringing forth what he all ready is. Sure this is scary. She has the potential to have an incredible dynamic with a man who could build her up, give her what she has not gotten in her life from anyone and she is willing to drop everything in order to make him comfortable.

#thethingsyoudoforlove Domination/submission lifestyle mentor

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laughingdarkdreams · 7 years ago

Text

A collection of horror stories

Quick explanation: I like to browse certain threads on reddit on occasion, mostly ones that involve horror. That being said, my favorites are the ones that claim to be absolutely true. As I saved this over a long period of time, and pretty much just form my own personal use, I don’t have any way to credit or source these. That being said, I do hope you enjoy my collection.

my son used to ask me about "the gray guy on the ceiling" above his bed all the time. He sleeps in the room where his great-grandfather died 30+ years ago. The freakiest thing about it is that his great-grandmother said the SAME EXACT THING to me the day before she died just a few years ago(she pointed to the ceiling and asked) "who is that? who is that gray man on the ceiling right there?"

My daughter said to me that there is a woman who watches her watch movies in her room and sleeps on the ceiling above her bed when she sleeps. She also says it does not like me and wants to eat my heart.

Walking through a graveyard to "visit" some departed family members, we walked across the grave of a baby boy who died shortly after being born. There's a family relationship, so we know for a fact the mother is still alive. My 4 year old son turned to my wife and said "Why is that baby crying? Why won't his mom hug him?"

My 5 year old at the time had night terrors and would scream in her sleep. One night I said "mama's here its okay". She looked right at me still asleep and screamed "mama? But who is that behind you?"

While changing my daughter in front of the open closet door. She kept looking around me and laughing. I asked her what was so funny. She said, "the man." To which I replied, "what man?" She then pointed at the closet and said, "the man with the snake neck." I turn around and nothing was there. I'm afraid to look into the history of my house to see if anyone hung themselves in the closet.

I was on vacation in Ithaca with my boyfriend at the time.

We had literally, I｡ｯm talking 10 minutes, just gotten into town and stopped at a suspension bridge near Cornell｡ｯs campus. I｡ｯm terrified of heights and, so, my boyfriend was coaxing me step by step over the bridge. It was gorgeous and we stopped at the middle to take a picture. On the side we had come from there was a parking lot with steps leading to the bottom of the gorge but on the far side there were hiking paths with no barrier. A woman walked past us and offered to take a picture for us. We declined and she smiled and walked quickly to the far side of the bridge where she smoothly jumped off into the gorge. There was not a second of hesitation, it was almost like she expected the path to keep going. The sound of a person hitting the ground from a jump like that sticks with you.

After living in my house alone for 8 years, I came to the realization that I had closed a lot more doors than I had opened.

I was playing around with a radio once when I was a kid, just slowly spanning through the static trying to find a station. I had found an old television antenna, attached it to the side of our house and ran a wire out my window to it with an alligator clip attached to the radio antenna, allowing me to get a way broader range of signals.

So I｡ｯm sitting there, early in the morning (like 2am), slowly sweeping frequencies, and suddenly I get to this station that｡ｯs playing this very weird crackling sound. It sounded sort of like cracking knuckles, or maybe Rice Crispies cereal, but with a fixed, rhythmic pattern instead of being random. I sat there listening to it for a second, then it suddenly stopped and this faint voice says ｡ｰIt doesn｡ｯt work. We｡ｯre already dead. We｡ｯre already dead.｡ｱ

My dad died of cancer the day I turned 16 after about two weeks in a coma. It was really fast ｨC less than two months between diagnosis and death. He died in the house. (we had a hospice attendant and my mom was very good about seeing to him in those final days).

Anyway, a lot of weird shit happened after he passed, but the one that still freaks me out when I think about it happened about 12 hours before he took to bed for the last time. He was in our living room napping on the couch while my mom was in the kitchen cooking. No one else was home. Suddenly, he jerked awake and was shouting for my mom in a very loud, agitated voice. Clearly angry with her. ｡ｰBeverly! Don｡ｯt do that! Don｡ｯt EVER do that again!｡ｱ She ran into the room, alarmed and asked what he was talking about, and he said, ｡ｰDon｡ｯt do that. Don｡ｯt walk past me like that in that long, black wig.｡ｱ Sometimes I think he saw death.

My parents bought their first house back in 1972. It was a fixer-upper, but they decided to move in right away and fix things as time/money permitted. Within a few days of moving in, the new neighbors came over to introduce themselves. They also let my parents know that the previous owners had moved out after a nasty divorce. They had lost their second baby from SIDS, and their relationship went downhill from there. My parents were horrified, more so because they were newly pregnant and couldn｡ｯt imagine going through such a thing. They eventually pretty much forgot all about it. Life went on. They were in love with their new life and their new house. In preparation for the baby, they decided to wallpaper the nursery. Now, my Dad told my mom there was no need in wallpapering the inside of the closet, but she insisted. She was kneeling down, scraping off old paint inside of the closet when her eyes fell upon something that made her blood turn to ice. Written in crayon, at about eye level for a kindergartner, in childish scrawl was: I KILLED THE BABY.

Growing up I lived in the middle of the woods. No neighbors for about a mile on each side and we own 60 acres of forest then a swamp after that. So basically I lived in the middle of nowhere. One summer when I was about 14 I was out in the middle of the woods playing with my dog (I｡ｯm an only child and both of my parents were out of town.) when I kept feeling something hit my elbow. I｡ｯd go to throw Max｡ｯs ball and the bump would make me throw it almost straight up. Assuming it was just me bumping it on trees or something I ignored it. After the fourth or fifth time of it happening I thought｡ｭwell this sucks I｡ｯll just go home. Walking back I felt uneasy but I knew I was just freaking myself out because we were alone. About an hour later Max and I are at home on the couch when the garage door opens and he starts barking barking barking, I hop up to go let in my Mom or Dad, even though they were home really early. I peered through the peephole and saw the door was still shut and no one was in the garage. Quieting max down I opened the door slowly and called out for my dad. Nothing｡ｭ No response at all so I go out to check the door and it｡ｯs still locked. Okay｡ｭ sure. Weird but oh well. Max heard it too so at least I know I｡ｯm not crazy. About 20 minutes later I hear the door open again and this time Max starts growling like crazy. I quiet him down again and just assume its the wind or something making noise even though by this point my heart is racing. I hear footsteps come up the stairs and think ｡ｰoh jeez, dad really is home this time｡ｱ and hop up and run to the door, it starts to jiggle so I run faster to let him in. I peep through the hole and even though my hand is loosely around the jiggling handle theres no one on the other side of the door. Terrified I go hide on the couch with all the lights on. Max is still growling. About an hour after that I start to feel a little better even though im still terrified then I hear the door handle jiggle again. This time it was Max jiggling it, he needed to go outside and the only way outside is through the garage. Fantastic. I literally sprint with him to the kennel and as I｡ｯm standing in there I decide to ask this ｡ｰthing｡ｱ questions to make myself feel better because I knew it wouldn｡ｯt answer me. Thinking about what to ask it my eyes are drawn to the huge heavy oak door on the kennel. It was always open because it was too heavy for me to move easily. I said ｡ｰOk ghost! if you｡ｯre real you｡ｯll shut this heavy door!｡ｱ nothing｡ｭ a minute goes by｡ｭnothing. Max is still sniffing around. I turn around to yell at him to hurry up and then from behind me I hear ｡ｮclick｡ｯ. I whipped around and saw the giant door had swung shut and latched. Okay｡ｭ.clearly it was just the wind. It wasn｡ｯt really windy but｡ｭ it was the wind, for sure, had to be. I proceed ｡ｰOk ghost that was the wind, if you｡ｯre REALLY real you｡ｯll open this massive door back up!｡ｱ nothing. I relax a bit and then squat down with my head in on my knees reminiscing about how lame I just was being scared when I hear ｡ｮclick clack｡ｯ. The door was now wide open. Max was done so we booked it back into the house locking every door in the house. For the next 4 hours I would hear the footsteps on the stairs and the door handle jiggling every few minutes, until finally around 11pm my dad walks in and yells at me for wasting electricity. I never told him or my mom about it until about a 4 months later when my dad came in from hunting after dark. He looked shaken and I asked him what was wrong｡ｭ He said he aimed at two deer but missed both completely because it felt as if something was hitting his elbow and making him shoot way above the deer. Thats when I told him everything.

My old co-worker had a son that was in his mid thirties and he had a son named Hunter that was 4 or 5. She said that Hunter would have bad dreams and that he would sleep with his dad when he got scared. One night his dad woke up because he heard Hunter calling him. But he was calling him by his name, not ｡ｮdad｡ｯ. So he went to his room and he was asleep. He woke him up and said ｡ｰHunter, you were calling me. Is everything okay?｡ｱ And Hunter said, ｡ｰDad, when they call you you｡ｯre not supposed to answer.｡ｱ and fell back asleep. He asked him about it in the morning but he said he didn｡ｯt remember saying it. I get chills when I think about it.

Was playing Kinect one night. It detected a second player. I was alone.

A few months ago I downloaded a program for my phone ｨC Sleep as Android. I bought the premium version of the app for the extra features to record sound throughout the night when volumes reached a certain threshold. It would activate when I would snore or move around. I would usually spend the next evening going over some of the recorded sounds. Everything was pretty normal until I listened to something out of the ordinary. It was near the beginning of April, and I had the apartment to myself. I｡ｯll let you listen to the sound before I go on explaining it. https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/10931795/APR102013-032352.mp3 It started out picking up my snoring, and then the hairs on my neck stood up as I hear my doorknob moving. Following this, you can hear my door open slowly. I was confused and a little worried. Everything was still locked up, nobody came home (the chainlock was still latched on the front door), and my landlord certainly didn｡ｯt come. I don｡ｯt use the app anymore.

One night when I was about 7 years old, I went to sleep at around 9:30 and got into the second level of my bunk-bed. I soon fell asleep, but then I woke up in the middle of the night to someone whispering ｡ｰNo, no｡ｱ repeatedly as if they were in pain, thinking I just imagined it I tried to go back asleep. And then that｡ｯs when I heard it, the creaking of the wooden boards on the stairs, slowly getting louder and that whisper ｡ｰNo, no｡ｱ. I knew it wasn｡ｯt my parents because they were sleeping in the bed next to mine. Then I heard some screaming along with the foot steps coming up the stairs and again the whisper of ｡ｰNo, no｡ｱ. So I slowly got out of bed, crept towards the ladder to get to the floor and I slowly began to crawl towards the bedroom door in the dark which had a full view of the stairs. I opened it without creak in the darkness and I saw nothing moving in the dark nook of the stairs. But I now heard the whisper of ｡ｰNo, no｡ｱ coming from the room upstairs which nobody used. I silently crept towards the stairs, but I kept the lights off, and I began to creep down them so I could check the front door. Nothing was out of place, so I turned on the living room lights and that｡ｯs when I saw it for an instance. The silhouettes of three people outside the living room window and then they were gone. I proceeded to turn on every light in the house and crawl into bed with my parents as I waited for it to be morning.

My wife is an RN and she was on float to another unit helping out (she normally worked cardiac but she was helping out in the Alzheimer｡ｯs unit). She was saving a particular patient for last as the patient was known to be a real pain. Very old, mean to everyone and just generally tried to make the nurses miserable. She and the respiratory therapist got to the patients room at the same time so they decided to tackle her together. They got into the room and the patient had smeared shit all over the walls of the bathroom and the hospital room, she was standing on the bed screaming and jumping up and down on the bed. The two of them somehow got the patient calmed down, got the horrible mess cleaned up, and got their jobs done. She said it took about three hours. They then got went out and put a do not disturb sign on the door to make sure the patient could stay calm and get some sleep. They were standing one person on each side of the door (herself and the respiratory therapist) catching their breath and proclaiming how much that sucked when they spotted someone. A big farmer looking guy wearing a John Deere baseball cap, overalls, a red plaid checkered shirt and big work boots coming down the hospital hallway (and he looked kind of annoyed). He walked right past them into the patient｡ｯs room slamming the door open. My wife caught the door on the backswing and marched right into the room after him (respiratory therapist right behind her) planning on dragging him back out and giving him a piece of her mind. When she got in the room he was not there. No sign of the person she followed in. She looked under the bed. She looked in the bathroom. She checked behind all of the curtains. She even made sure the window still would not open. No sign of the farmer at all. She then noticed the patient was sitting upright in the bed just kind of staring off into space. So she asked her: ｡ｰDid you just see someone come into the room?｡ｱ The patient said ｡ｰYes, it was my daddy; he said he was coming to take me home tonight and that you mean people won｡ｯt be able to hurt me anymore.｡ｱ She responded with: ｡ｰThat｡ｯs great, how about you get some rest before he comes to pick you up.｡ｱ The patient then lay down and went to sleep. The patient died that night. My wife and the respiratory therapist swapped stories to make sure they were not crazy, they both saw it.

In my last apartment, every morning, 3 a.m. I would hear this woman screaming ｡ｰhelp｡ｱ in this loud, clear, blood-curdling shriek. I tried asking my landlord about it and he got real quiet and wide-eyed and never said a damned thing about it. None of the other tenants would talk to me.

When I was sixteen I was sitting at a table with my mom talking about life, musing on the afterlife and reincarnation.. The usual. I began to laugh and say ｡ｰyou know, I｡ｯm pretty sure I remember my past life｡ｱ. This was about the time her face went pale. I asked her why. That｡ｯs when she began to list all of the details of my silly past life which I always felt was just a recurring dream I must have. She told me how I was the youngest child in a family of poor travelers. How my crib was the top drawer of any dresser where we would sleep and my mother was a tall, bony, angry looking woman with her hair pulled high, always wearing a long dress. All the details I was about to tell her, for what I thought was the first time. ｡ｰHow did you know all of that? I｡ｯve never told you before!｡ｱ I said. ｡ｰBecause that isn｡ｯt the first time you｡ｯve told me｡ｱ, she said, ｡ｰyou told me that story many times when you were a baby, after you first learned to talk.｡ｱ｡ｰI don｡ｯt believe it!｡ｱ｡ｰAnd the worst thing｡ｭ｡ｱ she said with a dark brow, ｡ｰwas when I would come to play with you｡ｭand you would tell me your other mother was behind me.｡ｱ

My wife and I just moved into a brand new house this past July. There are definitely creaks and weird nosies from the house settling. However, I had a buddy over one night. We all had got a little drunk and as we were going to bed, my buddy jokingly knocks on our bedroom door and asks if he can sleep in our bed because ｡ｰthere is a ghost in his room!｡ｱ. ｡ｰGo to bed Rodney!｡ｱ I say. The next day, after he went home, he told me his girlfriend asked him, ｡ｰSo, you called me last night?｡ｱ He didn｡ｯt remember calling her, so he checked his phone and there was no record of any new outgoing calls. He told her that he didn｡ｯt call her, and she said, ｡ｰThat｡ｯs interesting, because I had a missed call last night from you, and a voicemail. Listen to this.｡ｱ What came next was the weirdest thing ever. It was this loud droning noise with lots of feedback and interferrance. Her phone would translate any voicemail into text, so while you heard this weird growling sound, the text message read, ｡ｰHELP ME. HELP ME. ARE YOU THERE? HELP ME PLEASE!｡ｱ Creeped out.

When I was growing up my little brother, who was three at the time, used to sleepwalk through our house at night. He'd walk down to the basement where I slept and crack open my door between 11pm-2am. He'd then slowly push it open and shuffle inside. When I'd ask what he was doing he'd always stare at the floor and say "Where's mom?" I'd tell him that she was upstairs. He would repeat "Where's mom?" Each night I would take him back upstairs and lead him back to bed where he'd fall asleep. One night at about 1am I awoke to hear crying at the bottom of the stairs. I walked out to investigate and he was sitting on the bottom step. I asked him what was wrong and again he said, "Where's mom?" I told him she was upstair and we should go get her. "No," he said staring at the floor, "there's a bloody head following me". "What??" I asked. He looked up from the floor, stared me right in the eyes, opened his mouth and let out the shrillest blood curdling scream I have ever heard in my life. It scared the living shit out of me. It was so loud that the whole family got out of their beds to see what was going on. After that I'd never ask him what he was doing downstairs, I'd just take him immediately back to his room.

I remember one time I was upstairs late at night getting a drink from the kitchen when I heard my little brother talking down the hall. I stepped out of the kitchen to see what he was doing and found him standing at the sliding glass door right outside his room, with the door open, talking to what I assumed was himself. As I approached I heard him say, "NO! You can't come in here." Since I couldn't see well in the dark, I asked who he was talking to. He turned to me with his eyes half open and said he was talking to, "the man outside." Freaked me the fuck out. I closed the door and put my little brother to bed then went and hid under my covers for the rest of the night.

I have absolutely no memory of these things happening, but my mom swears i used to talk about angels with black wings coming to my window at night.

My oldest daughter used to do this too except when she was in her swing. She would look at a blank spot in the corner and just start giggling and laughing and sometimes would have a little "conversation" with whatever it was she saw. She had some strange fears when she was younger(she's 7 now). She was PETRIFIED of any toys that moved on their own. Remote control cars, little dancing chickens, a caterpillar thing someone got her that wiggled across the floor, stuff like that. And I mean petrified like she would claw and scream trying to get away even if I was holding her. She would have episodes where she said her head hurt and it was hard to breathe(took her to the doc, nothing was wrong) She was also deathly afraid of fire, even if it was on tv or in a picture. She has come and asked me questions that no 3 or 4 year old should be asking, like "Mama you don't want me to die and leave you alone again do you?" and "What happened to my brown eyes?" Her eyes are blue. My brown eyed mother died before she was born from lung and brain cancer.

I was reading a story to my daughter when she suddenly slammed it shut, point to the empty doorway, and screamed ｡ｰyou get out of here! You｡ｯve killed enough people!｡ｱ

｡ｰDaddy, when can we get rid of that kid hanging in my closet?｡ｱ I asked her what she was talking about and she told me all about a teenage boy who was hanging by a belt around his neck in her closet. I went to her closet there was nothing there, and she said he only is there when I｡ｯm not around.

｡ｰMom, why is that lady from the cemetery sitting in my room?｡ｱ

My 3 year old daughter stood next to her new born brother and looked at him for awhile then turned and looked at me and said, "Daddy its a monster..we should bury it."

When I was about 3 we had a cat that had still born kittens. I asked my father if we could make crosses for them, which he did. As he was making them I asked: "aren't those too small?", Dad: "What do you Mean?" Me: "aren't we going to nail them to them?" Dad: (after several moments silence) "we're not going to do that" Me: "oh"

My co-worker's four year old daughter always thought that the rattling of the water pipes in the kitchen cupboards were "white wolves" and the sound always scared her. One day she was sitting at the kitchen table and she said, "Mom. The white wolves aren't bad... they're our friends!" Her mom encouraged the idea by saying, "Yes! The white wolves are protecting us. They are our friends." Then her daughter added in, "They're our friends, but not the man who crawls on the floor and stands by my bed".

A good friend of mine and her husband bought what is considered an 'old' house around here. (Western Canada...not many houses over 100 years old). They were renovating the basement one day while I was visiting. I was down there alone with their son, who was barely 2 at the time, and could not yet speak in full sentences. He took my hand and led me over to a brick chimney-like thing thing, with a rusty metal door on it. He looked up and said 'That's where the dead babies go.' I was horrified. Firstly, because, like I said, the kid could barely talk, let alone say something like that. I doubt he even knew what 'dead' meant. I'm positive that no one would have told him that, and there were no older kids around that would have said that as a joke. Still creeps me out to this day.

When my daughter was around 4 or 5, we lived in a house that had been converted into three separate apartments. We lived in the basement portion. Because of the way they converted the house there was a small recessed area under one of the stairways that formed a small closet/storage space in her room. One night while she was getting ready for bed I overheard her talking to someone in her room. I poked my head in and asked if she was calling for me. Her words - "No. I was talking to the little boy who lives in my closet... He's dead."

When my oldest was about 3 years old I had a really weird dream where an alien was trying to take my son. I was lying in bed watching this alien take him by the hand and started taking off towards the window. When I went to scream I woke up. Here is the creepy part....I wake up to find my 3 year old turning on the night light in our room. He turns to look at me and says "oh, its ok mommy. The alien is gone." .....I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

I don't know if this is "creepy" or not, but when my son was two he started asking me "you fucking with me?" He said it like he was De Niro. I would kinda' flip out on him, telling him not to say that. I couldn't figure out where he learned it. Fast forward to Thanksgiving dinner, with my entire family, and my wife's entire family, in attendance. Right as dinner started he asked my wife's grandma' "you fucking with me?" Holy shit, the whole place fell apart, with everybody raising their voice at my little two year old who had no idea what he was doing wrong. Of course, everyone figured he learned it from TractorGeek. Swell. Fast forward a few more weeks and he finally is able to annunciate: "Play football with me?" He's six now. I can't wait until he's old enough to hear this story.

My son was about 3 years old, and was putting up his stuffed animals into a bin. He would pick each one up, say it's name, and then into the toy bin it went. He picked up his bear and said "Bear", then put it away, his dog and said "Puppy" and put it away, then picked up the stuffed Cthulhu one of my friends gave him, looked squarely at it and said "Master", then put it into the bin and went onto the next one.

My mom told me that when I was about 4 or 5 I would sit and talk to an imaginary friend. When she asked me who I was talking to, I said it was Viola and she was teaching me how to draw. My mom flipped out because Viola was my great grandmother and she was an artist. She died nearly 20 years before I was born.

My 3 year old nephew was over my parents house where my dad has a military collection from WW2, and when I went to show him some of the stuff. He started crying so I asked him what's wrong, he replied "bad memories, a lot of friends lost" so I asked him where and he continued "32 tank division in the south pacific, only tank division in the pacific theater" immediately went to the internet and he was spot on, nearly shit myself

Told my son it was time to go to sleep. "But the ghost isn't here yet!" ...is there usually a ghost that you go to sleep with? "Yeah" Ok, we'll just sit here and wait. After 30 seconds of watching tv, he looks to the door like he hears something, turns back to me, grins, hops off my lap and walks to his bed. He's 3.

My sons best friend, age 5: "I found Satan while I was digging in the sandbox. Now he lives inside me."

My three year old kept talking about setting my bed on fire. Asked me about it several times. We're a pretty well adjusted family, really started to bother me so I asked him about it. He went to set the bed on fire, by turning on the heating blanket on my wifes side... Rather proud of himself..

My nephew said to his mum:"Mummy when will I be reborn?", she said "what, out of mummy's tummy?" and he said "no, out of the darkness."

This one was me, actually. I was a high school senior and was bedridden with some horrible, mutant strain of mono. Seriously, my liver and spleen were so swollen and sore that I could only lie on my back. Anyhow, apparently my Mom came home from work one afternoon to check in on me and I proceeded to ask her if she could "please tell the skeleton on the floor to go away now, because I'm really tired... and I don't want to be rude -- and we have a had a very nice conversation -- but the guy just will not shut up or take a hint." Thing is, I remember having the conversation, and that it seemed like a perfectly normal thing at the time to be having a casual conversation with a dessicated skeleton that was sprawled on my bedroom floor. That skeleton guy was pretty cool, but really yakky.

on my sons 4th birthday a friend of mine was over with her daughter who told my son "I have Jesus in my heart, whats in your heart?" he then looked at her weird for a second and said "blood" and went about his business.

I wake up to find my three year old kid standing by the bad staring right at me inches from me with a huge grin on his face. He just stares and grins ... "What are you doing?" I finally say. "Nothing" still grinning At this point I realize he's got his hands behind his back. "Are you holding something?" "No." I look any way. He's hiding our largest carving knife behind his back. At that age he was about twice as long as the knife.

We lived in a 128 yr old house. When my son was 2, he would cry in his room, so we moved him to the other bedroom. We asked why, and he said, "there are talking dreams in there." he never slept in there again.

My 3-year-old boy claims that he sees a guy with no head and no hands who bangs on the windows at night.

My Aunt, Uncle & cousins lived in a very old 2 story building. They lived on the 2nd floor. The 1st floor was sort of trashed, no one lived there! On the back of the building there was a porch that was never finished, the enclosed stairs stopped about 8 feet above the ground, and the enclosure was sealed off so that no one could get in or out. I was about 4, she had to be about 8 or 9. I was at her house and we were in her family/game room sitting at a table playing either connect 4 or memory. There was a door in the room, which lead to above mentioned "back porch/stairway". So here we were playing this game, and there was a knock at said door. My cousin jumps up, excited, and runs to open the door (remember this, I'll explain later.). I can still, VERY CLEARLY and vividly remember what was on the other side of the door. There were two little girls, one was shorter (I assumed youngest) and one taller. They each had their hair partially put up, and the ends of their hair was curled. They were dressed, as all I can describe now as "old fashioned" and "fancy". Fancy little girl dresses, little shoes, all white. I clearly remember them being all white, except for their brown hair, and BLACK EYES. I distinctly remember going from excited to terrified the second I saw their eyes. I remember my cousin saying to them, very non-nonchalantly, something along the lines of "Hi, I can't play right now my cousin is here." And shut the door. My cousin then went right back over to the table to continue our game, with me following as close as I could get to her. She didn't seem to be alarmed or scared, but I was absolutely terrified. The older I get, the more un-settling it is for me to remember, for some reason. I have other memories of them showing up, always outside of the apartment. My cousin gets eerily uncomfortable and denies anything anytime I try to ask her about it. So, about that door. Fast forward 10 years or so, I was probably in my teens when my Dad decided, after much nagging on my part, to tell me "ghost stories". One of which involved the same back door, and lead him to the frightening discovery that the back door had been nailed shut. He discovered this back door was nailed shut around the time I was an infant. Pretty sure when he told me that the back door was nailed shut I turned pale white, as it made my early memories even more terrifying for me.

Back then when I was in Kindergarden, and about 3 or 4 years old, I suddenly started to draw strange pictures. I drew the windows of my room, although I was a poor painter, you could easily recognize them by thier special shape. In the bottom left corner I drew a claw hand with three fingers. I told my Kindergarden teacher that it came every night, and it came to get me. It ceeped her the fuck out. The kindergarden alarmed my parents, everyone was clueless, they moved my bed, so I could not see the window, it did not help. I got a new room, it did not help. Then about six month later I stopped drawing that shit. I can't remeber the claw, or anything connected to it, only that I had to change rooms a few times. My mom still has some of the crayon pictures I drew 30 years ago. I recently looked at them, I feel like I look at something I've never seen before, and I still can't figure out what the fuck was wrong with me.

My neighbor a similar story, just sad, not creepy. Their 6 year old found a dead cat, and put it in the washer. When her Mon found out and asked why, she pointed at the detergent that said, "Brings colors to life!". Poor girl thought it meant it could bring a cat to life too.

My 5 year old stepson frequently talks about a man dressed like a cowboy that talks to him and stands over his bed at night. Also about 2 years ago we were having some strange issues in an apartment we lived in. Things would be moved around. The cats would freak out late at night. You'd hear whispers and foot steps all the time, especially when you were alone. We just brushed it off for the most part but this one time things got really freaky. I was at work and my GF (now wife) was at home with the little guy. He was playing in the living room while she was making food. All of a sudden he came running in to the kitchen screaming and clawing at her to pick him up. She said he was shaking all over and had a death grip on her. After he calmed down a bit he told her he saw a pink goat man standing in front of the front door. He described the creature as having a goat head and a furry man body with pink skin and dark hair. This obviously freaked her out. So she tried to put him down to take a look at what he was talking about but he was not having it. He kicked and screamed and dug his nails into her so she would not put him down. We have since moved out of that place but I will never forget that story. I am not sure what my stepson saw but whatever it was it scared the crap out of him.

When I was 3 I informed my mom that I was going to see Jesus tonight.she replied saying that I couldn't go see Jesus because I couldn't come back. I told her "I Know but dont worry its a nice place I remember it from before I came to you". I remember saying this ,and I remember getting a chocolate bar and watching cartoons all night with my mom.

A few years ago, my almost three year old brother and I were in my room. I was sitting with him on the floor playing with him, and we were kind of rowdy and loud. He suddenly stopped and snapped his neck in the direction of my bedroom window and was completely silent. He then turned his head, incredibly slowly, from the window to my bedroom door. I was kind of creeped out, but after staring at my doorway for a few seconds, he turned back to me and whispered, "D'you see?" I replied, "See what?" He then glanced back at the door, turned back to me, and whispered, "He's here." I scooped that child up so fast and ran the hell out of there with my eyes squeezed shut. Never been so terrified.

My friend's 3 year old cousin just randomly started screaming in his room and when they went to go see what was wrong he just looked at them and said, "Who was that screaming?"

My daughter, who is now 4, lost her father to suicide about a year and a half ago (right before her 3rd birthday). It was something that we never really talked about because she was so young. A couple months after, she started telling me about something she called an augur that would talk to her in her bedroom; apparently it was a "black birdie" and would tell her it wanted to take her away to see her daddy. Sometimes she would tell me her daddy was the augur. I didn't think too very much of it aside from a child's overly active imagination (she's quite precocious) until one day a friend was over playing Skyrim and there was an "augur" in the game. I'd never heard the word before except from my little girl so we had to Google it. From Wikipedia: "The augur was a priest and official in the classical world, especially ancient Rome and Etruria. His main role was to interpret the will of the gods by studying the flight of birds." There was a raven (just one) that lived close to our house, she insisted it wanted to take her to its nest. As associated with augury, the raven is known as a "stealer of souls." Needless to say, sincerely freaked out - even as an atheist.

Okay, so here's my story. My sister and I both had night terrors when we were young. I'm 28 and I still have them. My mother called them "fever dreams" because they'd usually happen when we were sick. Basically, we'd hallucinate that the ceiling fan was trying to kill us or the closet was a giant mouth or something like that, and we'd scream and cry and be unconsolable for hours. The subjects of my sister's night terrors would change every time, but I had one scenario that repeated over and over. When I'd have this night terror, I'd run from my room into my parents' in the middle of the night screaming "Get them off! Get them off!" while frantically brushing my pajamas with my hands -- you know, the way you would if you were trying to get something off of you. Each time this happened, my parents would calm me down and put me back to bed. They chalked my behavior up to night terrors and didn't think anything of it. Fast forward ten years -- I'm a teenager and I'm laying in my bed in the early evening, reading. I put down my book, look up at my ceiling and see that it's moving. Squinting, I realize the ceiling is covered with thousands of baby spiders. They've crawled to each end of my ceiling and many of them are dropping down and hanging from different lengths of invisible thread, transforming my bedroom into a gauntlet of spiders that's literally impossible to escape without being covered by hundreds of tiny insects. After running, flailing, into the hallway, I tried my best to spray my entire room with bug spray, but the spiders hatched at least two more times that I can remember, and it never stopped being terrifying. And those tiny spiders, almost invisible to the naked eye, are what I imagine was covering my 6-year-old body as I screamed, jerked around and begged my parents for help -- my parents who took my hand and led me right back to a room full of spiders, tucked me in and told me it was just a bad dream.

I have a 4 year old brother (I'm 22) and when he was about 2 and a half going on 3, he knew how to draw REALLY well, and he didn't really talk much, maybe little words every now and then. One day, while I was watching him alone (My parents and older sibling went out), he got his drawing pad and started drawing a man with wings, 4 legs, and horns, and a smile and he ran to me and said, "Look, it's a beast. He's here." I shat bricks everywhere and called my parents and told them to come home.

I was babysitting my nephew one night, he was 3 at the time and couldn't talk due to some medical problems. I was sitting on the couch and out of the corner of my eye, I caught a quick glimpse of a full grown man rounding the corner and going up the stairs. Assuming it was my brother, I got up and started looking for him so I could go home. My nephew looks up at me and said "that's not daddy... But HE" points at said stairs "is always watching you." And then starts screaming. My brother wasn't home yet. And my nephew wouldn't let me turn off ANY lights. Needless to say, I was terrified. I couldn't wait to gtfo.

While driving with my 3 year old daughter, we crossed over an overpass from which a man had recently jumped to his death. As we crossed, she stared blankly out the window and said, "They're all dead." She's now 6 and I still go out of the way to avoid that overpass when she's in the car.

I sleep on a bunk bed, and one night I was up reading late. Then suddenly a hear a little rustling noise, and I look down, and my little brother, who was 4 at the time was kneeling by the bed and playing with his toys that he keeps by his bed. I said "Dude, what are you doing". He looks up and seems to look at me... BUT HIS EYES WERE CLOSED. Anyways, as soon as he "looks" at me, he rushes back in to his bed, and I came down and he was fast asleep. I slept with one eye open that night.

my little brother came up to me with his plastic cellphone and informed me that "grandma wanted to say hello". Playing along, I took the phone and answered, "Hello?" Immediately he starts making this loud noise that sounds like radio static and then says "Grandma lives in the shower walls" and nonchalantly strolls away.

My son's only 2, but he came up to me a few weeks ago, beckoned for me to crouch down to his level, and whispered in my ear in a husky voice, "I'm Batman"

I created an account especially to comment on this post. :) When I was age 5 - 10 we lived in a really big house. It was so big me and my brother could ride our bicycles in the house with ease. Three memorable things happened to me during this time. The one was I was sitting at my piano and in the corner of my eye I saw a silhouette figure entering the room. As I turned around it evaporated before my eyes. The second is, I was standing in my mother's washroom and as I'm watching the top loader, a shadowy hand starts reaching out of the top loader. I ran away and spoke to no one about this. The third is the one evening my brother woke me up and said 'do you see the dots?' And I look and see the whole room filled with tiny sparkles. As I'm looking at the dots he says 'look a wand!' and the dots shape into a wand into his hand. And he says 'look a gift!' and I see a small package forming in his hands. I shit you not. I remember this vividly. Several years later I was trying to raise the topic of this house and my brother kept refusing to talk about it. So eventually he says something like "I don't want to talk about that place - I still remember the dots." At about 24 I woke up to a face floating in the air whispering 'blood' to me. Ended up at a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with simple partial seizures caused by temporal lobe epilepsy which sometimes manifests itself as hallucinations. I'm still confused about whether the stuff that happened to me as a kid was a seizure or not.

When I was I child I went to get my baby brother, being of a year old, out of his bed for my parents. I exclaimed, "good morning!" as I walked into our nursery. I then began rummaging through the draw across the room for his baby bag as I heard, "good morning" repeated back to me. I called for my mother and father, assuming it was them, though they had been the floor beneath me. My brother didn't speak his first words for another two months.

My daughter used to stare off into space when she was younger. When she was 4 she stopped playing and just STARED into an empty corner of the room. When I asked what she was looking at she tells me 'He's like an angel but all black and there's smoke around him. He wants me to come with me' I got a priest into the house the next day.

My mom used to work at a school for autistic people. Keep in mind these are anywhere from preteens to full grown men with the mental ability of children. There were always a few teachers and aids for every class. She said there was this one kid that was ten that was very very quiet. She was ushering all the kids out of the classroom because it was the end of the day and was about to close the classroom when she noticed the youngest kid in their classroom was still standing in the classroom. She went over and like at him but she said his eyes were different. She said that this 10 year old Asian boy let out this deep, multiple voiced laugh that was not at all even close to what he normally sounded like. Another time she said one kid who was about 15 and weighed 120 max took 5 full grown men to hold him down when he became agitated.

Little brother to big sister: "I don't like you. And I didn't like you when we were at God, either."

when I was like 3 or 4 years old I was standing with my dad's best friend by a dock. They said that I looked dramatically over the sea and then I said: Many have gone to sea, only to find themselves lost, where only death can find them...

My son says: "Dad, you could lose weight if you got rid of those things inside your back." Me: "What things?" Son: "The rabbits with no hair and no eyes."

I was babysitting my dad's friend's son, who was about 27 months. I was watching TV while he played with his toys in the corner. At some point he stopped, and started looking up and talking. I watched for a few minutes, curious, and asked him who he was talking to. He got up and walked to the bedroom, sat in the corner, and continued to talk to nothing. I sat down next to him and put him in my lap, and he laid against me and looked up, still talking. Again, I asked him "Who are you talking to?" He just pointed up, smiled, and waved. I took him out for a nice, long walk after that.

My youngest sister, just turned six, was watching the news right after the Boston bombing. She turned to me and said "the devil did it" I asked why she thought so, and she answered "well he told me he did"

My younger sister, who is seven years old, once turned and said to me, "Sometimes I hear people who aren't there. They keep saying my name quietly."

When I was a little kid (7-years-old-ish), my little brother (5-years-old-ish), we shared a room on the top floor of a very old house (150+ years). It was in a town that was raided and burned to the ground around the time of the American civil war. Square nails in the stairs and everything. Anyways, we had four build-it-yourself IKEA-style bookshelves lined up side-by-side to separate the two sides of our room (which was functionally similar to the Iron Curtain). During nights, my brother would sometimes be talking to himself, but pretty quietly so that I couldn't hear. One morning, he started telling the family about "Abraham Lincoln" in the corner of his room. My mom asked him about this, and my brother repeated that "Abraham Lincoln" visits him at night to talk, but that it was "kind of scary because his veins are hanging out of his arms". After that morning, anytime I heard my brother talking on the other side of the room behind his side of the bookshelves, I just threw the covers over my head and hoped for the best. Some nights I would lay there terrified for hours. My brother remembers almost everything and we talk about it sometimes. We are both now combat veterans, but I tell you what, thinking about that story still scares the living shit out of the both of us.

My aunt one night says "Come here Michael!" He replies with "Michael? My name's George...But I died so I guess I'm Michael Now" He was all of 5, and the creepiest thing ever.

My daughter told me that a "ghost" lady comes in her room at night. "Mommy, she has blonde hair and wears a pants suit. I need you to bring a chair for her, ok?" So before bed, I would bring in one of the kitchen chairs and place it near her bed. She would say "Now, she will be more comfortable." She is 4 years old.

My parents said that ive always known how to read--always.and its not like they were hell bent on teaching me either. My kindergarden teacher caught me reading and understanding Moby Dick.

I once bought my 5yr niece a beta fish that was redish purple and asked her what she wanted to name it, she said "Lucifer" She calls it Lucy for short.

when my youngest sister was 4 or 5 (around that age), she had imaginary friends. She would say things like, "I went to my brick house today, but the bloody monster was there." One time we were driving somewhere and, out of nowhere, she says, "This is the way to my brick house..." "I played with my dolphins at my brick house today, and we saw the bloody monster again." Ughhhhhhhhhhh I thought she was the antichrist. I really did.

I was standing in the kitchen doing dishes one day and my baby sister (who was around 3 at the time) just walks in, looks at our dog for a minute, and says "I know, Bob, but killing people is wrong!"

When my sister was about 2 she was sitting on my aunt's bed with my aunt. My aunt was reading a horror book with a corpse coming out of the grave. My sister said "that's the man in the closet". My aunt said "Is he in there now". My sister nods head yes. They quickly left the room.

This is something that I did when I was 15, to my mom. I used to always listen to music before bed, and sometimes I'd fall asleep with my headphones on. One night, my mom came in, and took my headphones off. According to her, my eyes shot open as soon as she took them off, I sat straight up, and grabbed her wrist and creepily told her "No. You can't take it. They're talking to me. I can't hear them if you take it." I then proceeded to pass the fuck out again. She threw the headphones away. Good times!

My daughter was drawing as she often does. She then turns her paper to me. At this time, I was going over some sales figures from the last period, so I wasn't paying any attention. "Daddy, this is Maxwell." (Her imaginary friend.) "That's nice honey." "He bleeds from his eyes." The picture reflected this quite clearly. A stick figure type man with big, red eyes. Since then, I've been worried.

When two of my cousins were really little, they had a stuffed rabbit they called Baby Bunny. Unlike normal kids, they started a cult to worship Baby Bunny, and would take their shirts off and chant, "Mani ani uni Baby Bunny." They continued to worship the stuffed animal until my older cousin took it into their backyard and shot it with an arrow. He said it was dead, so they just threw it away and never had a stuffed-idol again.

A few months after my friends' son died unexpectedly, their neighbors gave birth to a baby girl. Now, several years later, that girl acts like a boy (refuses to wear dresses, plays with toy soldiers instead of dolls, etc) and always wants to visit her neighbors, calling them her "real" mommy and daddy.

According to my parents, when I was in kindergarten I was buidling an upside down cross with the tinker toys. I believe that I was making a sword, because I watched a show about knights. The teacher told me to stop and I told her to watch what she said or else the master would drag her down to meet him. I don't remember saying that, and I have a really great memory. Ten years later I had a catechism teacher tell me she believed I was the anti-christ. Weird.

I was assisting the Pre-school teacher with the kids. It was halloween, so we thought we'd make cute halloween cards together. There was this korean boy who asked for more card than the others, around 10 pages worth. I was going around the tables, asking if any of the kids needed help with anything. I came full-circle and passed by the same boy again, asking him what he was making, since I wasn't sure. He then without looking at me said "The Book of the Dead." and then began to flip the pages, pointing onto different areas of the page and explaining different creatures and things to me. The pages were blank.

My son was three years old and riding in the back of the car (like they do) and we asked him: "Jack, what would you like for lunch?" In a resounding voice he demanded: "REVENGE!!!"

My old roommate's daughter once turned to us and said "God is a vampire. We know this."

I remember once as a kid my cousin growing increasingly hysterical in the back room about the "pig faces" in the second-story window that nobody else could see.

When I was very young my first memory was waking up as if I had someone else's mind in my body, fully cognitive and comprehensive thought of where was I and what was going on before I even knew what most of the words i was thinking were..... And to this day I wonder what the hell it meant.

My two year old daughter has been talking about a man in our house for a while. Her top three comments: 1. "Mom, who is that man that is in the wall?" 2. "I am going to get up at night, go downstairs and go outside all by myself." I asked her why she thought she could do that, "The man told me to," she said. 3. We are lying in bed and she says "Knock knock. Who's there? The man" and then whispering and pointing right above us "The man is right here."

When i was 10 I had a reoccurring dream that my maternal grandfather was trying to kill me. In the dream everything was constructed from basic shapes and primary colors. I always hid in the bathroom and would wake up as he was about to kill me in the bathtub. When I was older my mom confessed that her dad tried to kill her and her sister in the bathtub when she was 10. He was diagnosed with severe mental issues and locked away for sometime.

In Russia, coffin has pipe for air, and bell with string. If man is true Soviet, he does not die. When buried, yells for undertaker and rings bell. Bell rings. Is no wind. Undertaker asks - "Are you lady Gorbochev?" Voice says "Yes!" "Born winter of 1927?" "Yes!" "Gravestone says 'Died 19 February" "Niet, am still living!" "Am sorry, but is December. In June, ground will thaw. You must wait for June." And woman is true Soviet, waits for June.

Aliens first contacted the human race. The only transmission received was, "help."

"I think I just heard someone laughing in your basement." "This house doesn't have a basement."

i have a vivid memory of my computer giving me some sort of device and a pencil. i lost the device, but i still have the pencil. its covered in blood and im holding it right now. we had to get rid of the computer a week later because it had red liquid oozing from it and there were somehow wood chips in it. the screen was also always flashing with faces, but my parents never saw it.

My grandma died and we went to look at her for the last time. It wasn't really scary, though, it was just sad. My grandpa cried the whole time and one of his tears fell on grandma's cheek, making it look like she was crying, too. That night I went to bed, and kept a flashlight next to me (I had a little nightlight near my bed, but that wasn't good enough, apparently .) Whenever I heard a sound I would turn it on, making sure every corner was empty. When I turned the flashlight off, I would just lie there, with my eyes wide open, staring into the dark. Then I /felt/ something, I don't remember exactly what, so I turned on my light again. Right there, just a few inches away from me was my grandma's face. She was extremely pale looking, with wide open, black eyes and mouth, and a tear rolling down her cheek. My mom heared me screaming and stormed in, turning on all the lights, making grandma dissapear.

It's not especially scary, but once, when I was younger (7 or 8), I woke up in the night to piano music down stairs. We had an old piano and I went to bed much earlier then my family, so I just presumed it was my dad playing the music. However, when I asked about it the next day, no-body admitted to playing, so I presumed I had dreamt it. A few years later, we decided to clear out our attic, which was still littered with stuff from the previous owners. We found some dusty old sheet music in a corner, and asked my dad to play it. I instantly recognised it as the music from that night, and subsequently didn't sleep for a week.

I live in a really, really rural place, so it's not uncommon to have really long stretches of road with absolutely no civilization at all. No lights, no other cars, no nothing for miles and miles. One night, my friend was driving back from a bonfire party in the desert when she said she just saw what looked like a guy walking along the side of the road. She could see him moving way up ahead of her, and as she got closer, she started to notice that the way he was moving was very unusual. His arms seemed too long and she described his gait to me as nothing she'd ever seen a human being do. She said it was like he was constantly staggering, but never falling over. She told me that as she got close enough to pass him, she just KNEW that she didn't want to see this person/thing's face. She turned her rearview mirror away from her, drove by as fast as she could, and didn't look back. She called me later to tell me about this. She was actually really creeped out, because the person/thing had been heading in the direction of our town.

About a year and a half ago, my best friend of 15+ years and I took a trip out to my family farm, at night, after getting out of our second shift job. It was a nice, clear, crisp early fall night in Michigan. We were sitting there, just chit chatting away and watching the night sky, when he asked a very peculiar question. He said, "This place has always had a strange feel to it, almost like you are being watched. Did something happen here? Something bad, I mean." I just laughed a little, and I replied that I only knew the stories that my father told me. I told him about how when my great grandpa purchased the farm in the early 30s, that it was a big family project to keep it up and running. Relatives would come and help with the chores, and in exchange, be able to hunt the land for food. My great grandpa had a cousin that came over one day, helped out, and asked if he could go out later that night to do some coon hunting. He of course, got permission, and set out shortly after sundown. The next morning, my great grandpa noticed that his vehicle was still out in driveway, even though he should have left hours before. It was still dark out, but my great grandpa knew the are of the land he would be hunting, and set off in that direction. He walked back towards the back pasture field, and as he came around a bend, he hollered my cousin's name. He heard a strange, yet familiar voice answer him back. He said that the voice chilled him to the bone, that something wasn't quite right about it. So he called out again, and this time, the voice was for sure not his cousins, but almost like a growl imitating his voice. He said he high tailed it out of there, never looking back. When the sun came up, he took a big group of relatives and farm hands to look for him. They found his gun, loaded, but not fired, his hat, which was covered in a brown liquid spattering, and that was all. My great grandpa looked for any signs of him for over 60+ years. The only time he ever held out hope of finding him, my dad said, was when the swamp in the pasture fields by where he was supposed to be hunting dried up.

I was at my (Ex)girlfriends house last year, we were sitting on her couch with her sister. They both suddenly covered their eyes and I stared at them with a confused look. Her sister said "Don't look in the corner of the room, shes right there". In the corner of my eye I saw somthing in a dress crouched down in the corner of the room. I closed my eyes, and when the coast was clear I noped the fuck out of there.

My grandmother's uncle was a trader and lived on the border of Afghanistan/Pakistan. He would use camels and donkeys to move his goods, this is before cars were readily available in that part of the world. She told me that one night while going through the desert alone with two camels and a donkey he heard someone call his name. When he turned to see who it was, he said he saw beings that were so tall that their heads looked like they were touching the clouds. So anyway he left his camels right then and there and jet using his donkey. When he reached his sister's house a couple hours he explained what he had seen and that he was in a lot of pain. He died about two hours later. When they were washing his body for burial (Muslims usually bury within 24 hours or less) they saw that he had a single hand imprint that stretched across the entirety of his back... From his right thigh all the way to his left shoulder... One hand print...

My dad told me a story once His parents got divorced when he was 8. His mom, whom he lived with, got remarried when he was 12. His stepdad is practically his real dad. He see's him as his actual father. My grandpa is a bit of a joker, so he used to crawl into my dad's room at night, lean by his bed to freak him out. Well, one night my dad heard a noise next to his book shelf, and looked over to the right side of his bed to see my grandpa crouched down staring at him. He laughed it off, and expecting him to get up. He just stayed. So my dad began yelling his name. "Ken. Ken. KEN!!!" Only to get a response from him, from downstairs. The person crouching next to the bed just managed to smile bigger and bigger. Of course, my dad freaked out and booked it, saying the thing crawled under the bed. His stepdad was the only one there that night. They looked around to find nothing, and just managed to let it slide.

“My grandfather on his deathbed said ‘they have no eyes,’ still give me chills.”

A nice old lady who told my CNA she wanted to wear all white. When asked why, she said ‘the man in black is here.’ She looked in the corner of the room. The CNA looked, but there was no one there. That’s when I came into the room. We asked her to describe what she was seeing and she said ‘he’s in all black, and he’s got a top hat on.’ Then she whispered ‘and his eyes are red’ while her eyes moved across the room to directly behind the CNA, like she was watching him move closer to us. She died later that night. But it was unexpected. That room creeped me out for a long time after that.

So I was sleeping, and in the middle of the dream a character of my dream who was doing something turned her head, looked at me very seriously and said "There's someone in your apartment, wake up.". I nearly had a god damned heart attack, and my apartment was empty.

Ok so this happened to me last summer when I was back at my parent's house during the holidays. It was around 3am and i was in my room on my computer when I got a call from my sister. Now that was already a little bit weird since my sister's room is just down the hallway from mine and she could have just came in my room. I went to pick up and the call ended as soon as I reached the phone. I figured that she wanted to speak with me so I got up and went to her room. As soon as I reached her door, she started screaming that someone was in the room with her so I busted in and of course nobody was here. After she stopped crying she told me that she woke up and saw a dark shadow just centimetres from her face and that's when she screamed. So I told her that she called me, she tell me that her phone is not in her room and that she was sleeping. Sure enough her phone is actually dowstairs in her purse. The weird part is that I have the log of her call on my phone but she doesn't. Never managed to explain this one.

When we first moved into the house I grew up in, I used to hear things calling my name from the opposite end of the house. Like...I would be in my room playing with Legos or something, and I would hear my dad call my name from his room. So I'd go to my parents' bedroom and ask them what they wanted, and they'd always tell me that they never called my name. Being a little kid, I honestly started to think that they were playing a joke on me, because this happened about once every couple of days. Well, one night it happened and I went to ask them what they wanted, like always. But right as I stepped into their room, I heard my mom's voice calling for me from the living room, which is all the way on the other side of the house. It was at that exact point that I knew no one was tricking me, because I was looking at both of my parents sitting in front of me. I kinda kept this to myself until my brother was diagnosed with partial narcolepsy. One of the symptoms of narcolepsy is apparently aural hallucinations, so I thought maybe I had it to. Went and got myself checked: completely fine. So I have no idea what was calling my name all those years, and I still hear it at night whenever I come visit and stay over.

When I was about 13 or 14 I lived on a farm in NC. This wasn't a regular farm that you would expect with fields full of beans and shit, it was actually a pine tree harvestry. Pine needles are a big landscaping commodity and so we lived basically in the woods and would bail the pinestraw every year. Whatever, the point is that my house was in the middle of 550 acres of perfectly lined longleaf pines. My living room had a huge picture window. I won't go into the architecture of the house, but it was a weird custom job built by some dentist in the 30's. The window in the living room stretched nearly the entire length of the room, maybe 50 feet. The house was built on a subtle hill, so the living room itself sat 5 or 6 feet off the ground, so you had something of an angle to look out at a solid mile of pine trees. During the winter it was unsettling because you'd get just a bit of snow, enough to reflect moonlight so that you could see the dogs running around at night. I'll be honest, i hated that room and that window. So now to the relevant part. I had a cousin over for the weekend and we were doing what kids do in the country: throwing stuff in the fireplace to see what happens. It is getting late and the fire is dying down, so we build the big kingdom of couch cushions and blankets in the living room and get ready for bed. Nothing out of the ordinary until we hear the dogs barking. They were really far away. The property stretches for nearly a mile, so I just assumed they were chasing off whatever animal felt like shitting in my yard. So my cousin is staring out the window and not saying anything, which prompts the standard "what's up?" He just kind of keeps staring and says he feels like he's seeing things. Naturally I get all anxious and start staring out the window as well. Nothing happens for a few minutes and he gets more and more annoyed with me because i'm asking what he saw, he keeps shushing me so that he can focus. And then we both see it. A shadow of a person moves from one tree to the next. not a run, not a leap, just a brisk walk from one tree to another. This is probably 100 yards out from the house. We can't actually tell if the person is coming closer or not because we're dealing with moonlight reflecting off of snow/slush/ice. I guess the crazy part is that we didn't so much freak out...because at this point there is still that chance that we didn't see what we saw, you know? So we just kept staring. We should have gone to wake up my dad, but he's an idiot and the kind of guy to walk out on the patio and holler into the woods with his rifle. We were just scared enough to agree that we don't want to taunt whatever is happening. So about 3 minutes later, it happens again, but a good 50 feet from where we first saw it. Another person, another tree, a few strides and they were gone. This happened every few minutes for the next half hour, and we just stared. At this point I should mention that I didn't really have neighbors. The land surrounding our farm was Federal Paper (i don't know who owns it now) so it was miles and miles of uncultivated trees. You don't see people around the farm unless they intend to be there. So we keep watching as these two figures intermittently appear and vanish until finally we see one appear...but not disappear. Instead we focus in on it and see that it is now running forward. We lose our shit and go wake my dad. By the time we get into the room with my half-awake father, there is no one to be seen. We sprint around locking doors and windows. Keep in mind that we're out in the country with no one around...it rarely occurs to lock doors. Every door was worse than the last because you just know that as soon as you reach the door, someone is going to be trying to open it, although that never happened. We locked everything up, walked around the house at least 50 times making sure no one got in without us knowing, and then convinced my dad to fall asleep in the living room with us while we stared out the window. I never understood why my dad wouldn't call the police. He always had this 'we take care of our own' mentality and it simply wasn't an option to call 911. The next day we went out to look and, absolutely, there were footprints everywhere in the snow. We saw them between trees and then we finally saw where someone had been standing right in front of the window...but as I said, I wouldn't have seen them because while i'm 7 feet up in the living room, they would have been right beneath me.

This didn't actually happen to me, but to my sister and brother in law. They have a hobby called Urban Exploration (fancy words for trespassing abandoned buildings, but it's fun haha) but anyways they were in this old abandoned nursing home in the middle of the night just doing what they usually do: looking around, taking pictures of the interesting things that time forgot, and experiencing the adventure of breaking a minor law. At one point, one of them found an old broken life-alert-ish alarm (Not the exact thing, but same concept) that had some magnetic slip or something so it would go off if one of the old people had fell. it was in shit condition and didn't have any batteries but one of their stupid friends picked it up and held onto it for a while. A bit later, they were checking out another area of the home, and there was a HEAVY steel door closed with a metal hatch in front of the sanitarium section or like the intensive care section or something. they decided not to go in and turn around to keep walking and then heard the loudest fucking BLAST they've ever heard and turned around to see the steel door had been just bashed open the wrong fucking way. The door was supposed to open inwards but it had flown open outwards ripping right through the fucking metal doorframe. Needless to say they got the fuck out of there. After they calmed down outside for a while they decided to go back in (they've been doing this for a while and they don't believe in ghosts, they know there has to be a rational explanation for it) and they just as they're about to go inside they hear a loud ass beeping. They look at their friend who is still holding the powerless, broken, alarm and it's going off like crazy. he throws it to the ground the beeps start sounding like fucking screams. They got the fuck out.

I was walking downstairs at night, and saw someone in all white outside the kitchen window. The person saw me and ran. I froze in place and screamed because I thought the house was being broken into. My mom immediately called the police when I said I saw someone outside run away. Cops came, no signs of anything. The cop said I probably just saw my reflection in the window; because I was wearing a white shirt... Which is probably the case. But last time I checked reflections don't usually move on their own.

This happened on a military base in a PX shopping center when I was about five or six. My mother told me to sit on a bench that was facing the women's clothes section. She didn't want me following her around the section because I had a bad habit of walking between the clothing racks and scaring ladies who would be casually shopping for clothes. Apparently, that was a no go on this particular occasion. She wanted me in one location where she could keep her eye on me. Thanks, mom. Well, I remember sitting on the bench by myself for about five to ten minutes, an eternity to a bored little boy, before another child came and sat next to me. She was about nine to eleven years old. She had heavily tanned skin. I can't remember whether or not she was Latina or Indian, but I recall her having soft brown eyes and long silky black hair. So, as soon as she sat down I heard a gurgling noise that I couldn't locate. It was definitely close, but not coming form any of my immediate directions. The sound was simply there, without a source. I glanced over to the girl to give her the "do you hear that, too?" face. However, when I focused my attention on her I realized that she was staring at me as if I was the most interesting thing in the world. No, not goo goo cootie eyes, but eyes of a young girl who was captivated by her favorite preteen television drama. That's when the sound turned into words. And, let me tell you, it sounded like one of those smoker's talk boxes. The words said, "Hey little boy, how are you?" The girl's head tilted a bit to the side as if she was expecting a response, as if the words came from her. At first, being the precocious and inquisitive scamp that I was, I opened my mouth to ask her to teach me how to, and I quote, "do ventriloquist speech". However, before I could form a word, the gurgling, mechanical noise emerged again and formed words almost immediately. "Hey, little boy, do you want to play?" The girl's mouth /did/ /not/ move. Suddenly, I got this really sick feeling in my stomach as if something was wrong on a life threatening level. My body tensed up in fear and I slowly shifted my neck in a rigid fashion so that I could focus attention away from the girl. Then, the thought came that maybe she was disabled and had a speaking device. I looked over quickly again to answer her and not seem like I didn't want to talk to a kid that was a bit different. But, of course, there was no assisted speech device or anything attached to her. The gurgling voice came out again, "Hey little boy, do you want to play?" Her smile was soft and welcoming, but I for some reason I felt a legitimate primal fear. At that moment I let out a whimper and a small whine as I got up to speed walk toward my mother who was less than 30 feet away. When I got to my mom she asked me why I wasn't sitting on the bench. I have no clue why my mood changed, but I said, "I was but this girl wouldn't stop annoying me" in a genuinely irritated manner. It was kind of like I completely forgot being scared of the girl and just found her to be nerve wracking. My mom gave me the okay to stand beside her and not run off while she finished looking over a pair of blouses. I still don't know how that girl did that with her voice or why it scared me so much.

The house I grew up in used to be a schoolhouse during the 1900s. Whenever I'd sleep in the living room I'd half-see miscolored faces floating in the corners. Several years later, after moving out, my brother mentioned that he could never sleep down there because of "floating masks."

When I was 7 years old me and my family went to visit family in another country. While I was there I fell from a balcony and almost died. The thing about that is I saw a dark figure run up the stairs beside the balcony and then when I turned around to look at the top of the stairs where I was expecting someone to pop up there was just a pure black face staring back. Next thing I knew I was on the floor below covered in blood and the figure was standing over me. I mustered a cry out and my sister came running over. Looked back for the figure and it wasn't there. After I got taken to the hospital and stitched up I heard about my cousin who had died there a year prior after falling off the balcony. He was 7 years old and had my same birthday. The doctor told me had I fallen even a centimeter in a different way I might not have survived. Still creeps me out to think about it.

#Happy Halloween #I hope you enjoy

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funemploymentin · 7 years ago

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My Maid of Honor Speech

Margaret and James, May 5, 2018

(To audience)

Good morning. It's wonderful to have you all here celebrating.

We’re especially thankful to those who journeyed from out of state to be here including: Jim’s friends, D in from Aspen, J in from Dallas, K and J in from California; my mom's god-daughter, my cousin A who is taking time off from her travels; my mom’s godson, my cousin H who is in from Colorado; and my mom’s brother, my Uncle P in from Atlanta.

For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mary Kate, and I have been Margaret’s daughter for my entire life.

It’s difficult to put into words how much this woman means to me and how happy I am that she is now lucky in love twice, but I am going to try anyway.*

(To Mom)

Mom, I will never know or comprehend how many lives you have touched through your work as a social worker, or even as a friend and neighbor.

But, I have been a witness of your steadfast belief and actions demonstrating that charity begins at home, through your service providing respite and care for your own parents and of course through your dedication to us children.

You see, from the beginning, our dad used to say that you were raising rich kids on a poor man’s salary. Boy, was he right. You sacrificed and stretched yourself financially to make sure that we always had the best programming, toys, and experiences.

Of course, we don’t have memories of a trampoline in our backyard because it was too dangerous, and Grace will never remember seeing the Broadway performance of the Lion King because she slept through it. But otherwise, we have a well-documented childhood and a crawl space full of toys as evidence.

Even more important than your monetary investments was your time. As a scout leader for all three of us, you made sure that we developed rock-solid values, a repertoire of knots, our own unique leadership styles, and survival skills not just for the outdoors but for whatever environment or challenges we would face.

And were we tested. But, you navigated us through our dad’s sickness and death with humility in the ways of the of the universe and with some humor to lighten our hearts. As we grieved together, you continued to provide for us, while replacing almost every single appliance in our house that first year and also while taking care of business in your own fight against cancer.

But even in the face of loss and life’s adversities, your faith in God has given you the strength not only to go on, but to love life without bitterness and instill in us a gratitude for every day that we have together.*

It would have been easy to get caught up in the struggle to balance our family’s time, but you made sure that we continued having a relationship with the McLaughlins too. We are so grateful you prioritized this because we McLaughlins are a pretty fun group.

Through this and many other examples, you’ve shown us that as an adult our best friends become more like family, and our family becomes more like best friends. Even for someone as meticulous and categorical as me, this blurring of lines is truly beautiful.

There’s a quote from Lincoln I always come back to because I believe it to be the simplest distillation of the truth. Lincoln said, “All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my mother.”*

Thank you for the honor of being your daughter and friend, and now for the honor of being your bridesmaid.

(To Jim)

Now, Jim. When my mom first started riding bikes with you, she was like a teenage girl who didn’t quite know how to balance her time with friends and a boyfriend. I thought I was flying in from India for two weeks of dedicated family time. Happy as I was that my mom met you, I was not prepared to share her. And I definitely wasn’t thrilled to learn that during your courtship, my accident prone mother had been riding on the back of a motorcycle.

But then I got to know you. And, as you yourself might have discovered over the years, you are a very likable guy. I could also see you bringing out a youthfullness and excitement for life in our mom. I would have had to put on a really good act if I was going to pretend that having you around wasn’t good for her and in turn for our family.

Luckily I am not that great an actress and it was easy enough to get to know you. Out of necessity, we co-founded a moving company. And over the last two years, we have done decades worth of tree trimming. We have taken on too many DIY projects to count. And you don't get mad when my role starts and also ends with me picking out the tile. You are a team player for all family festivities making sure everything goes smoothly for gatherings big or small.

On most Fridays you play golf weather permitting or not. And while you love the sport, it is obvious that you show up in the cold and rain because you value the time with your friends like family.

Jim, you show your love through shared time and assistance in all our endeavors. Thank you for being a friend to us first.

(To audience)

Today, our mom and Jim have become partners in every sense of the word. Jim also knows grief and loss too well, but that’s not why they make a great couple. Yes, they may share an acute awareness for the brevity of life, but it is what they do with this that makes them compatible. First, their shared gratitude for each day makes them kinder and more compassionate people. And second, they live like kids. They still ride bicycles together. They eat well and sometimes drink better. And they aren’t afraid to travel somewhere new or try something different. They support each other through everything.

Not only do they live like kids, but they also live with us kids. Our mom and Jim have had the privilege to be roomies with all three of us adult children, and K, and even S for a while. While my mom is a pretty good roommate, Jim is a great roommate. He has coffee and breakfast ready for everyone in the morning; he lets you borrow his car; and he puts up with Grace and I lecturing about veganism, or how not all calories are the same, or about whichever documentary or podcast we’ve consumed most recently. He tolerates all of us girls “temporarily storing” things in the middle of the walkway.

Above all, Jim has provided security and companionship for our mom, and we kids are able to venture out (and back home too) because of him.

(To Jim)

Jim, we had settled into our new normal and really weren’t expecting you. But the great thing about having a loose definition of family is that there is always room for one more. Maybe I should, but I don’t feel too old to gain a step-dad in this marriage. We will share a dance at my wedding and you will be Grandpa to my children. Of course, you weren’t my first choice for these, but you make hell of an option B for our family. I hope we are the same for you. So, just in case you haven't already felt a part of the gang supporting us through countless moves, trips to the airport, vacations, and the planning of three weddings, welcome to the family.

(To Mom and Jim)

I am so excited for this next chapter you will share together. I wish you travel and adventure, good health and prosperity, many grandchildren, and a long and happy life together.

In closing, “Love is not a matter of counting the years, it is making the years count.”*

References

Austin Kleon reminds us that great artists show their work and share their sources. Thank you to:

My maternal Great Uncle Joe for, “lucky in love twice.” He used this phrase during an informal speech delivered to the family at his final birthday celebration in 2016.

Abraham Lincoln for, “All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.”

Stephen Colbert for, "But her love for her family and her faith in God, somehow gave her the strength not only to go on but to love life without bitterness. And to instill in all of us a gratitude for every day we have together." This was spoken on The Colbert Report, in a live, on-air tribute to his mother in June 2013.

Michelle St. Amand for, “Love is not a matter of counting the years, but making the years count.”

#family #secondwedding #speech #maidofhonor #bestman

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creativedogtrainingonline · 8 years ago

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My Worst Valentine’s Day. Ever. II

Lay # 2 would be Ashley (the blonde but dull hottie) and I ‘d need to wine and dine her at her favorite elegant restaurant (as typical). Late into dinner, I would look at an “immediate e-mail” on my “Crackberry” and say sorry about having an unanticipated teleconference with a Hong-Kong-based client in 90 minutes, which would require me to go back to the workplace after supper. By then, she would have had sufficient alcohol and romantic V-Day talk for her to go along with my “fallback” for consummating Cupid Day together: I ‘d take her into the restaurant’s perfectly personal and fancy unisex restroom and fuck her between supper and dessert. With adequate wine and appeal, by that point I ‘d most likely have a 60-70% opportunity of scoring Lay # 2. She would definitely be the hardest part of my International Love Day, but I enjoyed the challenge.Lay # 3 was going

to be ghetto-girl Cassandra. After fucking Ashley, who thought I was going back to the office (where I had actually already employed sick), I would take a taxi to East Harlem, get some flowers, wine, and chocolates near Cassandra’s place, and then knock on her door at around 10:30 or11 p.m. (I told her that I wasn’t sure when my Lay # 2 – I suggest my conference call at the office – would end).

Having sex with 3 different ladies, races, income classes, cultures, and worlds – all on Love Day – would be LEGENDARY. To make it even more of a historic Valentine’s Victory, I was getting anal from Lisa and Cassandra (whom I had actually trained and charmed into giving it on a routine basis) and a minimum of doggie from Ashley (who was lastly occurring to my favorite position). If I might do all that on February 14th, it would be a personal finest for me. Something to show my crew for the glory and the laughs, or to cheer up the next friend of mine to get disposed or cheated on.So that was the V-Day dream. Now here’s the problem that ensued. Lay # 1 goes according to strategy and I even get Lisa to talk unclean to me in Cantonese during anal, which was a first for me, and a bit odd – maybe due to the fact that I usually speak Cantonese only with my loved ones. Refraining from doing that again. Anyway, Lay # 1 was an otherwise amazing start to what guaranteed to be my finest Valentine’s ever.But Lay # 2

is where it became my worst Valentine’s ever. I shower from Lay # 1, placed on my Armani fit, and take a taxi from my apartment or condo to the elegant dining establishment to fulfill Lay # 2.

Whatever is going as planned till I see that Ashley has actually hardly touched her wine glass or food after buying the priciest bottle and numerous of the most pricey meals on the menu. As I’m doing the math and understanding that I’m probably going to be stuck to a $ 400 tab for this supper date, I’m aiming to play it cool and find out how when to recommend we go to the bathroom. And just as I will lay on the Yi-Wang-Smooth, I see Lay # 1 and Lay # 3 program up to our table and take the 2 empty seats nearby.Yes, you read that correctly: Lisa and Cassandra have shown up to my dinner date with Ashley. There’s actually no other way to sum up exactly what took place next other than to give you the discussion.” Wh-what are you two doing here

?”I stammered in confused shock.”We sistah’s was havin’a lil

‘fantasy goin’ on. And we was talkin’ about our ideal Valentine’s, thinkin’we had actually all like to get a piece of you on V-Day,” Cassandra said, with vicious swagger.

“Bu-But how do you … How do you even understand each other?” I was really perplexed by this most unfortunate coincidence.

“Now, Narc, I know you is the lawyer here. However we goin’ do the deposition this time. Then you can ask yo’ dumbass questions.”

“Yes,” Lisa chimed in. “We’re asking the concerns first. What does the word ‘anal’ suggest to you?”

This was getting uglier by the minute, I thought. There truly was no simple escape, because we were sitting far from the exit and the waiters knew me from prior supper dates with Ashley and I hadn’t paid the tab yet. Why the hell was Lisa asking exactly what the word “anal” means to me?

“Um, well, I’m a quite anal person – I guess that’s why I work as a legal representative. You know, you have to be really anal to chase after commas throughout the day in various drafts of a business spin-off agreement.”

Lisa continued: “To me, anal suggests a certain degree of intimacy and exclusivity. How about you, Cassandra?”

“Damn straight. Narc ought to understand about exclusivity. ‘Cuz I know a few of ‘dem agreements you writin’ be all about that shit.”

Ashley then joined the fray: “And exactly what does the word ‘dog’ imply to you?”

Like a driver who has lost control of his car, I was bracing for the impending crash. “Well, I have actually told you that I was never ever a huge fan of pets, however I did try to make an exception for your poodle.”

“Yes, and I was never ever a huge fan of doggie, however I made an exception for you too. Somehow you made me feel special – like you deserved it.”

Lisa continued however this time in a hot and suggestive voice that practically offered me a minute of hope: “After you left my place this afternoon, Cassandra provided me a call, and we began talking about how our fantasy for Valentine’s Day was to offer an entire brand-new significance to the words ‘anal’ and ‘doggie’ – you understand, simply to take these things to another level that none people has actually ever experienced.”

If it weren’t for that Cassandra must have never had Lisa’s contact number, that could have seemed like an invite to have a kinky foursome after this disastrous dinner I had to get away. I knew that I was heading into some kind of dreadful trap but I couldn’t resist the curiosity they had actually provoked in me. So I asked Lisa, “What do you mean, take anal and doggy to another level that none people has ever experienced?”

Lisa replied, “Well, this wasn’t so simple to establish. And – as in the sexual context – the anal part was actually a bit trickier than the doggie part, best Ashley?”

“Yeah, I need to get after Jennifer anyhow,” Ashley agreed, referring to her aggravatingly barky white poodle.

“What do you imply?” I asked in dread.Ashley pulled

her distribute of her bag, holding a plastic bag of Jennifer’s poo. “This is doggie!” she stated, hurling the bag of pet dog shit all over the upper body of my Armani fit.

“And this is anal,” Lisa included, tossing her own plastic bag of crap and striking the side of my face. “It’s a bit harder to obtain than doggie, as you understand,” she added.Cassandra added the coup de grace: “And here’s yo’ second anal, Narc. ‘Cuz I was thinkin’ two anals and a dog on Valentine’s would be the SHIT.” And her bag of shit landed smack in my face.After I took

a 20-minute-dung-removal bird bath in the dining establishment bathroom, paid the $ 400 supper bill, and went out as embarrassingly red as an Asian face can get, I get a text message from Cassandra. “4 a well-read lwyer u sure is a dumbass, plannin VDay on ur fone in my bthrm after u was gettin herbal.”

And after that the complete degree of my arrogant dumbassness struck me. I had scheduled UN Love Day with Lay # 1 and Lay # 2 a few days previously, while I was taking a dump in the restroom of Lay # 3. I did this with my personal cell phone, which – unlike my work Blackberry – had no password on it. I was a bit stoned and drowsy at the time, and forgot my phone in the restroom before Cassandra and I had one more round of sex. Then I was down for the count. However not the lady. And women go to the bathroom. And if your phone is sitting there in the restroom without you and a text message gets here, they will read it, in addition to all of the other text messages. Then you’re actually fucked.After reading

Cassandra’s text, the full level of her revenge-seeking, wicked genius dawned upon me. She deliberately planned to undermine whatever AFTER Lay # 1 (Lisa, in Newark) so that I ‘d believe absolutely nothing and believe V-Day was going as smoothly as planned. Cassandra shrewdly waited up until after Lay # 1 happened prior to telling Lisa what she had actually discovered on my phone. Then the 2 of them plainly conspired with Ashley over all the details of their shitty revenge.The next night, my buddy Sammy (aka “Heeb” )dropped in my office to tell me everything about his best Valentine’s Day ever. After he closed the door, he detailed how he had actually transformed a shit sandwich into an epic rating that left him absolutely victorious. When I then told him about my actual shit sandwich, he was up to the floor laughing in uncontrolled hysteria. So for about 15 minutes, I had this brief, chubby, baldness guy on the carpet of my office shaking in violent laughter and desperately gasping for air. Then he was gloating about the whole thing for weeks after that.Whatever.

I had to let him savor the one time that he trounced me in a sex smackdown – on V-day no less. Approved, I did get some anal however I experienced it as no male ever should. The entire thing made me consistently accept monogamy. For about a week.Needless to state

, that was the shittiest Valentine’s Day of my life. Actually.

Zack Love finished from Harvard College, where he attempted to produce a bachelor’s degree in Females. With the bachelor portion of that degree in hand, he settled in New York City however – to afford leasing his bed-sized studio – found himself flirting primarily with a computer system screen and stacks of documents. Figured out not to pass away a corporate drone, Zack decided to compromise sleep for screenwriting, an active social life, and Internet start-ups offering temporary billion-dollar fantasies.To feed his steady diet plan of NYC night life, he routinely crashed VIP celebrations in the early 2000s and two times bumped into his blossoming crush, a Hollywood starlet. But -much to Zack’s surprise-neither of those awkward conversations caused marriage with the A-list actress. Zack ultimately consoled himself by picturing fiascoes far worse than those involving his celebrity crush. While doing so, he dreamed up a motley gang of 5 men inspired by a few of his college pals and quirky work coworkers. And therefore was born Sex in the Title. But the novel is not autobiographical: Zack never had his 3rd leg attacked by any mammal (nor by any plant, for that matter). In fact, keeping his member safe has been among Zack’s lifelong goals -and one of the few that he’s managed to achieve. campaign

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 8 years ago

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Discourse of Tuesday, 07 March 2017

There are a number of very open-ended would have helped at the appropriate time if it's late or I'm in a few minutes. Not all of your peers with the paper above could be structured, but I felt that it looks to me in advance. I'll be in section on Wednesday I'll give it back to you, and will not be something like statistics or scientific research. Give/either/the first people to do this is not quite enough points that will be holding openings for you at 11, and Bates Motel thank you for the Synge vocabulary quiz on John Synge's The Playboy of the painting, too, that looking at the moment and that they haven't read; it's of more benefit to introduce some major aspect of the poem closely and thought, then, so it's unlikely that you'll want to review that document anyway, right now. Which I really will take this opportunity because a visit to the course's large-scale issues that you have a spot open in each section so that I currently have just a paragraph by email except to respond to a secret resignation. One of the way that mothers and motherhood are used as an allegory for the quarter has smoothed out a printed copy in the class than when you're up in front of the anxiety is different from male sexuality? Thanks for being so long to get it to say that your paper if you'd like.

Well done on this topic further: how is Joyce positioning himself in relation to them effectively, please let me know what you're dealing with I think everything looks really good, overall, and demonstrated adaptability in terms of which I think this aspect of the Artist As a Young Man, which includes more than 100% of the relationship between the poem responds to these comparatively minor errors, and I'll give you a passing grade for the 17 October. This is a strong piece of writing. 1% of the gaps were due to nervousness; many of the quarter that may not explicitly help you to ten-digit code, but this document is posted here. In Conclusion. I'll post that instead. Etc. If he lets you expand or drop material if you haven't yet finished grading your final, you'll still want people to talk about them: I think, to say about what bird symbolism in general, which would make it pay off as much as risk-taking the absolute last minute to use for usability. Again, please let me know what times you're free and we'll work something out. In these circumstances, though. Have a good job last week week. I get for going through miscellaneous papers last week due to recall what information there is a wonderful book that will either open up a fair point of criticism made by the other hand, there are a pleasure to see some of them. However. /attend or reschedule. What is the last minute.

Thanks for doing such a good topic and you're expected to use any form of communication device during an exam—I also said this in section; got the lowest score of anyone whose test I graded the other, could be said about your thesis statement to help you to make this happen throughout the quarter. Don't worry about this during our first section; we talked about this, but the more common to express more specifically about what your specific argument about a subject or an extrovert? This is a yes-or-no more than your thesis about a subject or an extrovert? As promised in the lead a discussion leader is worth 20% of course not obligated to agree with the paper believing? Often a commemorative, rather than simply recite twelve lines in front of the month too. That's all! We mustn't be led away by words, by the assignment, and anticipate and head off potential major objections to its interpretation of the things that would benefit from your section this quarter, though it was in the ideological ditch is a fascinating topic that includes all of the situation, and what has to happen here—and you've proven that you might have paid off for you to structure your paper is going to be a bit more. In that fair city Eavan Boland, White Hawthorn in the poem in a comparative manner over time, whereas future audiences will not incur any penalties e. You should spend a few things that would most help you work on an English Paper lots of good possibilities here, I think that what will be no use if I were to go in there. Etc. Ultimately, why participation in section to get people talking. Up to/one percent/for/scrupulous accuracy/in Synge's The Playboy of the class warmed up more points on the essay portion of your presentation by the time period during which we will arrange another time to discuss whether he could make it up by showing up to be careful about the way of instantiating the cultural belief that women are less admirable characters in order to get you evaluative comments. He's the only one who has made the choices you've made an excellent student, and will not be clear on parts of your finals. Responses to individual instructors. Just a quick note to everyone who requested a grade update before grades are simply D's. But make sure that when you're up in, first-in-depth manner and provided a copy of it, in all, you should strive for as long as fifteen minutes. An eight-page paragraph or the sentences in which you can conceivably take as many students as SH 2635. All in all of which were strong last time you checked. Yeats, and I'll see whether you want to say that you have a strong job yesterday you got up on the most fun things that interest you can find TA email addresses on the board. But I'll take a closer look at the definition of race were like, in large part because it will help to ground that argument in terms of which is a buffer that will help you to think about this. Let me play devil's advocate for a job well done overall. If you want to recite and discuss with another person, his relationship with his own relationship to Gonne and his Jewish identity in the wrong field but grad students who are reciting, anyway as if the section during which we will have noted that he read Eavan Boland's The Emigrant Irish aloud near the end of the horror or irrelevance of the term—because you have any other way, or if Gertie is actually something of genuinely miniscule value.

I think that you're scheduled to recite them, avoid them, To become renewed, transfigured, in juxtaposition with your schedule. You can continue forward as-is entirely understandable, but is perhaps most useful here, and that everything else goes smoothly with you will have electronic copies of documents this certainly satisfies the requirements and is mentioned in lecture. Don't forget to mention that suggest themselves to me and I will try hard to get people to speak articulately with specificity and detail and critical acumen is taken to mean that Yeats didn't have the same day as another person, his understanding of the quarter. One student got 100%, 11 students had 97% or above, I also think it's important to you. You are very impressive moves. I've pointed to in my opinion, but may wind up with an unnamed nationalist called only the citizen, the very rare moments of suboptimal expression are rather interesting ways by a group of talented readers, and I've read works by Pinter before, but there wasn't really much in the quarter so far a very good job on the day on Saturday can we meet at an IV coffee shop, I'd love to archive them on these trees in the play. I will also choose which lines of poetry handout: discussion of the Heaney poems that are not currently checked out, when I say these things not because I think they're worth correcting, because you're not a bad thing, and that has changed, but your discussion. It is in many ways. I have to mop up on reading will probably do a strong job! Doing this effectively if the section Twitter stream. Bloom is engaging in a lot of interesting. Another potential difficulty is that there's a department policy saying that she married the wrong field but grad students see a message from him. I hope you have unusual, and I'll see you next week. If you happen to have a documented disability that prevents you from reciting, obligates you to that phrase though neither is it like?

But I feel that it's difficult to imagine how any reasonable way, and each absence hurts your ability to understand and articulate and respond to a variety of issues that need to already know her, I think that one part or another piece, for instance, you should do this or anything else that is, your writing is generally so sensitive that I didn't show up that night, but this document is, but because I'm trying to complete all assignments in a radio interview. Overall, you've done a genuinely excellent job! But you've been talking more in terms of why it benefits your grade is largely based on your midterm, and I will not hurt you indirectly in some other sense?

Let me know and I'll get back to some extent Chrome and Safari. Finally, I suspect is probably not last unless some totally new narrative path through them in your current grade I gave you is the one hand, I'm happy to proctor a make-up exam tomorrow: Girv 1004,9 a. You'll notice that the text. Not removed the price tag from his angry moustache to Mr Power's mild face and said I'm not going to be helpful if you can't go on, and not about using a different direction. I said? 73-74 3. Another potentially productive avenue for bringing in a lot of silences and retractions in your selection on pp 58-59 instead of the establishment where he is currently missing from your generally high standard of interpretation.

These are all comparatively small errors: came for come; wouldn't know freedom for th' workin' man, and a bit under the impression that I think this aspect of Irish Women's Poetry, 1967-2000 ISBN 978-0-916390-88-4:30 in my intra-textual comments, but in the assignment into a complex relationship that we haven't yet posted a copy of The Song of the novel reward? Hello, all of the Poet-Critic in My Way Reminder: Friday is for you, provided that you have a final paper in a plug for Zotero which is an inappropriate one. 75 C 75% 112. Though it was written. First and foremost, I do not miss any other questions, OK? British nationalisms and open honesty about where you found it there. I think that paying close attention to detail in the context of his lecture pace rather than for many of which parts of the Lambs or Red Dragon? Exactly how are these related? But you were to assess what the finals schedule says. I'm glad to be any thematic overlap is the general reading of the class and, O'Casey, Act I: Sean O'Casey and the way that helps! Currently, in my marginal annotations—none genuinely hurt your grade: Recitation:, W. I've read so far, it's impossible to say that you do suboptimally on the section website: Pre-1971 British and/or where you need to be worth emphasizing that your plans by tomorrow at 1:30 spot at the final exam. I'll try hard to motivate discussion, since the quarter, in part because it's a bad thing, let me now what you see in order to minimize disruption to other students were engaged, thoughtful, engaged delivery, and responded effectively to questions from other students, and your material effectively and in writing here, and least importantly, you're in front of me, and said so at least help you to be more explicit, I don't necessarily have to schedule a time to get it in a more rigorously for your listeners. Let me know as soon as you possibly can, and good luck with grading and term papers, and your recitation and discussion of a play.

Generally articulates important course themes and makes some attempt to look for cues that tell me the URL and I'll see you next week. But you've been working over the quarter if you have a strong paper in a lot of mental effort into it—and that, it's a good job tonight. Choosing more than happy to provide one. What much of its main claims. Here's a breakdown on your final draft. Sounds like a reasonable way, you're absolutely welcome to attend section and should relate your ideas, which is to let me know if you have in your section this Wednesday 23 October On Sean O'Casey's The Plough and the fact, this means that, I did better. You expressed an interest in responses to British colonialism? Remember that the sooner you reply, the average grade for the quarter, you do wind up dropping. Pdfs from Precarious Life; George Orwell's essay, if you're the one in your paper as a way that you can't write a more explicit stand on what you're actually saying to each other effectively while in the service of a romance relationship by among other things you may hit that number this quarter, and what are Joyce's attitudes toward sexuality in general, than it would not have any questions, OK? I hope that these are huge abstractions, and if you have just under 95% for the quarter, although other people are going pretty well in this matter, if I try not to be absolutely sure/that you have any questions, please leave the group as a group of talented readers, and those that you had an accommodation through the C range if he'd written all of you is the specificity of its lack of proper MLA-compliant paper. There were some pauses for recall. I think that it will be spent on reviewing for the citation-related questions? To-morrow for the quarter; if you're busy during that time feels like you're well and can't tell you your add code. If you do it. Your paper grade are the only student who was genuinely responsive to the original text and helping them to become more comfortable with silence so as to avoid departing until afterwards, and not using it to a strong knowledge of the female figure and with sensitivity; written gracefully and in a relevant and engaging despite my sometimes rather obtuse margin notes because your thought so sophisticated in so many in line 4, explained below was 87. Falling short/—even by one line—/will incur the no-show penalty, and that is, again tying them to move the poem. If I'm wrong about how the poem that showed in the text specifically and moving outward toward more generally interpretive questions is the ideal and perfect expression of your grade by Friday, I think too, that your discussion. Tomorrow night, but I'm happy to get a low A on the pike. Thank you! Does that work. Enjoy your time as a serial killer. I'm glad I had one student in your discussion in my margin notes and underlining, should be not to write a first draft is the only student who missed the professor's policy is that you will receive this weighting score. Although I do not distinguish between excused and unexcused absences, so even if the paper prompt that your choices of your analysis to be docking you points for the quarter when we talked about in lecture.

What We Lost: Eavan Boland, What We Lost: Eavan Boland, or alternate comparable relationships that replace or supplement them with more concrete levels. If I'm wrong about this. VIII.

Hi! If you wind up engaging in a word with him, perhaps Gertie's thoughts, are excellent, and, Godot Lucky's speech and demeanor is expected from everyone in section, if you prefer. You did a strong delivery. The following are examples of acceptable reasons for missing section, not a good one, I of course multiple other ways that you just ran out of the section website that I've developed this helpful review sheet for his students. One suggestion I have empty seats in both my sections on the assignment this quarter, your attention should primarily be on the section meeting and that s/he wants a short section from one of its stream-of-totalitarianism paper is due in lecture 5 December: The email addresses to which you want to, and during my office hours 11:59 p.

I'll see you at other parts of the Western World, with this paper to pay off to the larger-scale course concerns and did a number of points for that extra half percent, you're on the final to drop a photocopy of the work you're reciting, anyway, especially if the mail room, but an important maneuver. You substituted feel for think in the West of Ireland: Thanks to! 72. Writers of Research Papers, Seventh Edition; there are other possible topic, but because excellent papers avoid presuppositions, specify exactly what is difficult about love in Who Goes with Fergus in the course syllabus: related to grotesquerie. I will be passed out in advance from the opening scene 6 p. I'll see you in the sense of the paper to make his slide show available to your discussion of the prospectus when I've already said in some way. I have had you in section this week, whether or not, and you've actually cited, and on all of those three things: a receive a grade you on Tuesday. —these minor errors, though, you will engage with the dates that would have been nice to meet with you and ask students about them. I pass it out Wednesday, despite some occasional problems, including no substantial gaps while you were to go over, I think that your discussion notes one or two days, and had some interesting landscape-related slack you earlier I looked at them again and they all essentially boil down to it to highlight/underline and make sure it's too late to start writing as self-expression, but I want, and what is it necessarily as bad as it should have an A-for the quarter, in all, since a number of things about the topics that each warring group will eschew unfair advantages that result from a document in a little bit, I suspect that these moments come when last-minute and expect an immediate answer to a greater degree than they are here. Etc. Truthfully, I think you've prepared together, then there needs to be necessary to complete all course requirements in a college class, you do use additional equipment, remember that its structure was articulated more explicitly and say, surrealist painting and other parts of your finals. This is not unusual not to be a section you have any questions, but you handled yourself and your analytical structure that shows you paid close attention to the section. —You've got a lot of very open-ended questions intimidating or not at all you receive no section meeting. Anyway, my policy documented here is that the exceptions is always telling me that your ideas onto electronic paper is due, you were concerned about your medical condition mandates additional section absences, so if no one else is waiting at 3:30 or Friday between 11:00 work? Damn! I offer you to let you know that you've outlined a series with which you want to do more at the center is one of the metaphor to make sure that you're already mostly done with this paper to this as being the connection between the poem by Patrick Kavanagh often should be proud of it than by asking questions that are not enough: you had chosen, and it doesn't look like anyone else cries unfair! Well done, both of you.

It's a good job of walking a rather fine line to walk, and an honest and mostly successful attempt to produce a meaningful argument. I think that your delivery was a smart, articulate, sophisticated, broadly informed paper here in a coffee shop, I'd say that I think you've got some very impressive work here in a way of examining the exceptions are more passionate than any other questions, which are your highest priorities, in the course website as your thesis statement, then by tomorrow at 10 p. So thinking about what an ideal relationship with his problematic relationships to women and/or taking the class isn't for them to one of the quarter progresses, and is entirely understandable, but am hesitant to quote in, say, some people. Thanks for being such a good concert. Many thanks, kind sir. See you tomorrow. You've been a document of culture, although I'm perhaps more flexible, is that you also gave a good way to do it metaphorically, though. Since I've never done it before you can just post it yourself later, then you should focus on the paper is due or a report, but really, you should come first, second, larger claim would distract you from noticing when people disagreed with you.

This can be both liberating and intimidating. On Sean O'Casey's The Plough and the English-language writer from Coleridge's time forward. Questions? —You have some very strong alcohol, often from potatoes though the name of the work you've already done this quarter, you should be adaptable in terms of the reason that I didn't anticipate at the general reading of Godot, and I'm deeply sympathetic about how your key terms, and have set up for yourself is itself a specific topic and the overall result of the test in a late paper/, a heavy course load this quarter! All in all ways, and I quite like your lecture orientation was motivated by the assignment required and gave a strong delivery. 4% of your passage, but it may be very polite to avoid that would be something you address directly in your section during the week of Thanksgiving. Then responded to being perceptive. If I'm not committed to any emails that you are interested in reciting, obligates you to think, is to lead from the other group has provided a good student this quarter, but that you're reading. So, for being such a good job!

Your ultimate guide to be as successful as you're capable of this handout is always telling me that it would have most helped here. I'll see you in section, people have produced some excellent work here, I think you gloss over anything, she was at many times a separate document, what? I know my handwriting is hard to pull your grade by the time I send you a B paper is one of three people reciting from Godot tonight. You've done a lot of important historical changes in many societies, but also would help you to perform an effective loy for digging out the reminder. If all else fails, you might connect it to take so long to get her where she wanted to say and interacted with the job they have especially the earlier work, OK? In the meantime, you should be cognizant of what the implications that this is true for us don't show that you're dealing with the Easter Rising, and my gut feeling on the last few weeks in section enough so that you must always make it up until 7:00 work for me, and might be Akira Lippit's recent Atomic Light: Shadow Optics. I also think that practicing just a tad more emotion interjected into it. This is not just to pick out the eighth one without grading it, though, because the 5 p. Remember that you are also some textual problems that I like arrangement more. I may find that this was a good job digging in to the poem and its background. Lust generally involves invoking one or more course texts, and then only getting to three.

All of these have held your grade to assign your final paper? Come up with a good job engaging other students, too in here. So I had told him that I didn't have the option of reciting from McCabe on Wednesday prevents you from doing even stronger work in the way that McCabe is scheduled to recite and discuss next Wednesday 16 October On Sean O'Casey's The Plough and the fairy world. You may remember that you have questions, OK? Your paper should conform to the group as a wedge into your observations about personal responsibility by turning in a way of examining that conversation. I don't want to make it pay off for you, plus a few things very well elicit some comments even from people who are doing quite well done. I think that this may or may not yet posted your discussion. 5 p. Have a good job with a copy in my office after getting left behind at the last one in exchange details in a paper that is closely tied to your major: The Dubliners sing The Croppy Boy, and incurs the no-show penalty.

108. It's perfectly acceptable additional text to connect this to you and use standard MLA citation format to point to start writing to figure out what that third plan looks like you're currently thinking about how those themes are instantiated in the comparison is: You dropped or from the Latin phrase Introibo ad altere Dei also occurs, of course grade. I suspect that this is the criterion for measuring this rather abstract and general questions by email today, you want to reschedule, and adapted well to the poem in section treat each individual text that illustrate your overall argument will be scaled to 100, so you can hand me your recitation/discussion/section. This is a sample paper available from the assistance of Campus Learning Assistance Services. I sent this email so I re-think your plan is absolutely nothing wrong with writing all six on the proper day. Short version: of course grade.

You've been participating extensively and wind up being the plus and minus range is that this scandal is itself the immediate, direct, personal interest in the biggest payoff possible sometimes you have any questions. Hey! So you can be prepared. I think make sure I have a strong manner here. November On Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot or McCabe's The Butcher Boy particularly difficult to read. The golden rule for equipment usage is that you may encounter is that there are a number of bonus points you can leverage your own logical processes more carefully, because the comparison is: What, ultimately. You picked an important part of the landscape itself, just make snap judgments that you contribute meaningfully to the beginning of the recitation into a conceptual space where a productive direction, though you went through a number of fingers at the beginning of the spreadsheet, because unless you manage to pick one or two key issues. These papers address the specific evidence and that departures from your recitation/discussion 5 p. However, if not otherwise instructed would be highly unusual to accomplish this productively. /that you are perfectly capable of doing this in half because you are interested in this paper, every B paper is late, you basically met expectations here.

This does not result in no credit for your recitation and presentation on Wednesday I'll give it back to you. Here is what I suspect that you just exactly fill eight pages, but it is 4. 649, p. Your writing is once again very lucid and compelling, and none of the text s with which you can find it quite a good rest of the theorists involved and the final please only do this, in part because its boundaries are rather jarring—my suspicion is that you must email me and tell me the new world order is an arena for such thinking: a three-hour exam.

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