drsawzall

Were you chewing gummies or smoking?? Absolutely loved this!!

I may be way off base but….i sense a call back

Will Rufus be the one to break the curse?

So very true… True, but I forget one person who’s given me more love and support than any other person, and still does so. Without you, I’m nobody.’

Like others I fear Evan isn’t long for the world. And mentors like him are hard to come by and priceless

Don’t we all… Bastien rested his chin between his shoulder blades. Lawrence didn’t mind it, either. “They’re protective,” came the answer to his direct accusation. “But they’re wrong. I don’t need protection.” “Are you sure? They’re your friends. If they think that you do--” “What I need is a good fuck.”

Earnest knows more than one would suspect…as to why he’s never left the property is a conundrum… And it never hurts to kiss up to the kitchen staff….

Can’t add much to what’s been said other than to eagerly await the next chapter!

YES!!! Now the hard part…making this relationship work!

I was reminded of the following when they were discussing gearing up for the hike in the mountains…prior proper planning prevents piss poor performance…. And the sword…somewhere out there is there someone or someone’s who have that skill to craft such a weapon…or was it brought to this planet much like Malik?

Let’s hope they stick together!

Well done and thank you for this. Sadly it seems,s that this type of history repeats itself

Fascinating and very interesting, leads one to want more!

The end, or the beginning of the end is near, and hopefully Ishan and Wylan reverse back to their original state soon when the star appears….

For gosh's sake...don't forget extra-large ground coffee storage along with coffee beans and a grinder....oh...and a place for some Coke Zero too!!!!

As cliffhangers go….who shot JR?

I would have taken his testimonials as well….I can’t feel sorry or pity for Renn, and as far as I am concerned, it wasn’t enough. The only hopeful outcome for me, is that that Renn would be in the same room as his bulguh only to see it tossed into a fire, vat of acid, or given to a hungry rat. To be so close only to watch helplessly, as he realizes he’ll have to sit or squat to pee for the rest of his miserable life, however short it may be… Not that I have any strong feelings about him…..

Thank you for this, thoroughly enjoyed this story from beginning to end!

May he receive the "same instruction" that Gianluca underwent.... And yet, much is left to be addressed... “The matter is resolved,” the first added. “The work can be taken up.” Lorenzo gave a slight nod. “The city holds,” he said. The masters seemed satisfied with that. They inclined their heads once more and withdrew without further word. Matteo watched them go, his expression tightening. “He is silenced,” he said. Lorenzo did not respond. Matteo’s gaze returned to the street. “But nothing that brought them to him has been answered,” he continued. “They have not lost the need. Only the voice.” Gianluca looked at him. Matteo’s tone did not rise. “If it remains unaddressed,” he said, “another will come to speak it.”

As a gay man, I often joke that my children came to me fully formed. Not only that, we had the obligatory cat, dog, and station wagon along with a couple of other cars. Life in the suburbs, and lord a mighty... a house to care for and maintain, along with bills to pay. My father, a WW2 vet, was in the 14th Army Air Corps. Signed up the day after Perl Harbor, like so many other men of his generation. He found himself on a slow boat to China, where he was an aerial reconnaissance photographer with the Flying Tigers. His responsibilities included documenting the advancing Japanese forces along with material flown in to their base in Kuming, that falied to make it over the hump, Mount Everest. It was a constant battle of attrition against the advancing forces. Lasting as long as they could, they left their base, some by air, and others walked out towards India, my father among those who walked. When he and his fellow travelers made it to safety, he weighed barely ninety pounds and had contracted multiple tropical diseases. Sadly, not all wounds bear visible scars; many are internal. A brilliant man who could figure out complicated problems could barely support his wife and growing family of three young children. While I was growing up, there were four times we were forced to move, yet once again, as the sheriff showed up with an eviction notice along with a moving van. This last time, we ended up moving back to my grandparents', where my parents would spend the rest of their lives after caring for my grandmother. When I was eighteen, I left home for college, an education I paid for. My career led to a series of successful jobs. Shortly after I hit my mid-thirties, the wheels began to fall off the wagon. My parents were struggling to pay their bills, the taxes on the house, and the property my father inherited. What I found out was a disaster and a mountain of unpaid bills. For years, my father heated the house with a woodstove. The week he turned 70, the woodstove came out of the house to be replaced with electric baseboards. In our state, once you turn 70, they can't turn your electricity off. I should note that the property consisted of two houses and ten and a half acres of land, twenty-three miles outside of Boston. Ten or so years earlier, my aunt and I decided to place the property into a family trust. This trust was based on my grandparents' wills, nothing more and nothing less. The sole reason being my father's instability. The property was a gift to us, the grandchildren. It was originally bought in 1932 at a tax auction for sixteen hundred dollars. Each of the four grandchildren was to get a house lot if we decided to go that route and subdivide the property. I ended up moving back home, with my parents' income from my father's disability income, and my mother's part-time job, which netted them less than a thousand dollars a month. I cut their credit cards up, negotiated the credit debt to a manageable figure, and paid off the mechanic who kept their twenty-something-year-old car running. It was when I would ask them about the results of their doctor's visits, "Oh, we're fine they said". It turned out that I accompanied them to their check-ups. Managed their prescriptions and put a dishwasher in the house, as my mother's intestinal discomfort was a direct result of my father's dishwashing ability. Slowly, over time, I became their parent. I cared for them until my father needed full-time care in a veteran's nursing home. Four years later, it was my mother's time to receive the care she needed, as her needs were greater than I was able to safely provide. It was with a great deal of reluctance that I moved back home to care for my parents. I was determined that they would be provided for. My father could go pound sand as far as I was concerned; his needs would be met despite my anger towards him. Years later, after they passed and I had time to breathe and reflect, I was able to come to terms with myself and my anger. In fighting for their care, my father's in particular, I had discovered what had happened to him in service to our country, and just how quickly our country left him and so many others on the roadside to fend for themselves. It was a monumental effort to get the Veterans Administration to understand his PTSD and change his monthly disability from a non-service one to 100% disabled. Moreover, lifetime medical and nursing home care was available for both of them. The week after my mother's funeral, I was rattling around the house. No longer was I looking behind me or checking to see where either one of them were. It was like a part of me was missing, unused to the notion that I could now go as I pleased. It was a strange, unsettling feeling that took some time to get used to. No longer would the hospital call me to let me know Dad was ok, that he had driven himself there as he was losing feeling in his left arm. It turned out that he was having a series of small strokes, but I needed to come in, do the paperwork, and later, get his car home. Or, waiting through the contradictory doctor's visits, diagnoses, and medications, my mother was facing. But I learned something valuable about myself; I had changed, and for the better. No longer was I that angry young man, at war with the world. That my animus towards my father was for all the wrong reasons. That I had within me a capacity for change and growth, that I came out of this experience a much better person. That I was a stubborn prick when it came to my parents' care. That I may not have wanted the life handed to me as a child, but as an adult, I could have the life I wanted and build it. Some twenty years later, I find that caring for my parents is one of my best accomplishments. I don't regret it, and given the chance all over again, would do it.

I think this chapter is your best yet, well written, paced, and the word pictures fantastic.

Along with Emarbren sul’Rikard or are the agents working for him?