Topher Lydon
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Everything posted by Topher Lydon
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Ben's building, what that means for Riley is anyone's guess. Ben's already got the poor lad dressed up like a schoolie and taking lessons.
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slowly cracking Ben's shell, but Riley's getting there. But refusing to be what Ben expects him to be, yet another construct running on Ben's expected programming. Ben is still a monster, but he's evolving.
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Riley's probably the first person, outside of Ben's family, to work out what is wrong with Ben
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Also what's all this Riley's Ben's now HAH, Ben's Riley's, has been for a while now, he marked him and everything.
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Good morning. If anyone asks I wasn't late, I was at my desk the whole time. shhhhhh
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Chapter Nine: The Anatomy of a Sheepdog The new car was a silver Audi saloon. It was arguably even more boring than the Jaguar, a masterpiece of German anonymity designed for mid-level executives who wanted to look successful without being memorable. It smelled of new plastic and aggressive air freshener, a scent Ben had immediately tried to neutralize by opening all the windows, letting the damp Manchester air reclaim the interior. They were parked on a double yellow line outside a C
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This is true, he could turn up with 1000 tadpoles... I mean that is if animals have souls... Buddhists say yes, Catholics not so much
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Four more of these. Two more of the Crusade, one set two years after. One side book as well. All will be staggered releases alongside other works over the next few months.
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They are in the shoe capital of the world
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I mean there are always options
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some times, Matt is the only one with common sense in the entire bunch
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Chapter Nine: Angelic Heathrow The next day, the Hartley kitchen was riding a wave of unprecedented, caffeinated peace. Simon was meticulously making himself a cup of Earl Grey. Matt was buttering toast with the enthusiasm of a man who didn't have to go to his butchery job for another three hours. Charlie was feeding Cecil, who was currently occupied with trying to set a stray Cheerio on fire, and Taine was leaning against the counter, smiling at his phone. The FaceTim
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I like the rawness of Riley, I dated a Riley for nearly four years. Great boyfriend, but oh boy the sticky fingers. Always a scheme, scam or play he was making. Temper on him though, wow, he could shout the house down when he was annoyed.
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So not a Typical Tuesday for Riley, cool
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It's also his stoned face... but hey they're probably the same thing...
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Right Then, one freak out face:
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As ever, thank you for reading. I am always humbled by it.
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I am never going to unsee that now
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Chapter Eight: The Debit Column The First Class carriage was a sarcophagus of moneyed quiet. Ben sat in 4A, the Financial Times a geometric puzzle of folded broadsheet in his steady hands. His eyes tracked the rise and fall of numbers—copper, wheat, bonds—with a lulling rhythm. Numbers were clean. They did not bleed in the night, or ask for stories, or flinch at a raised hand. Opposite, in 4B, Riley looked like he was dressed for a funeral that hadn’t happened yet. The cloth
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Reform at it's best, destroying evidence. Nigel will be so proud, and Cecil has a future in politics
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Chapter Eight: The Grandpater Protocol The morning after Sabrina's defeat dawned grey and cold, but the Hartley kitchen blazed with a new kind of chaos—the chaos of victory, which apparently required approximately seventeen times more tea than regular chaos and involved significantly more squeaking. Cecil sat in his high chair, Mr. Binkie clamped in one hand, a bottle of pre-prepared cambion mince in the other, alternating between bites and squeaks with the focused rhythm of
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