#ocaptainchallenge
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The Neighbor
Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)
Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.
There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.
Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.
His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.
She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.
He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.
The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.
And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.
But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.
He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.
The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.
For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.
He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.
That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.
So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?
John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.
He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.
It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.
The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.
“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.
“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”
John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.
If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.
“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.
“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.
“Get out.”
Oh.
John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.
Good fucking girl.
“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.
“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”
For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.
There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.
And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.
The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.
John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.
There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’
He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”
Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.
She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.
It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.
The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.
Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.
She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.
John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.
Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.
John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.
What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.
The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.
He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.
Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.
So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.
He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.
“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.
Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.
It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.
She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.
Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.
“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.
“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”
Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.
She doesn’t.
In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.
John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.
They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.
It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.
“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.
“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.
“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.
Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.
By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.
She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.
The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.
Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.
He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.
He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.
There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.
The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.
The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.
“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.
Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.
“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”
He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.
“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.
Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.
“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.
Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.
The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.
His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.
As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.
Well. That simply won’t do.
The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.
He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.
“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”
“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.
To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.
“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”
Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.
He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.
It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.
But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.
She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.
Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.
More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.
“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.
“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.
He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.
“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.
He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.
He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.
Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.
Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.
Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.
“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.
He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.
“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”
Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.
“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.
The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.
A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.
As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.
“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.
“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.
He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.
The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.
“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.
“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.
“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.
His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.
She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.
Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.
Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.
His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.
“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.
“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”
Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.
“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.
She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.
“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.
“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.
She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.
It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.
It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”
He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.
Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.
Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.
John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.
“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.
“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.
“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.
“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”
“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”
He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.
John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.
He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.
Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.
And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.
He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.
Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.
“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”
“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”
“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.
“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”
The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…
Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.
“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”
“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“
“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”
“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”
“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”
“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”
“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”
“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”
Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.
“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”
The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.
John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.
But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.
The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.
Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.
She’s awake.
“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.
She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.
“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.
She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”
It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.
Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.
Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.
He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.
Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡
#ocaptainchallenge#john price x reader#captain john price#price x reader#cod x reader#x reader#implied plus size reader#take a shot every time john calls the reader pretty#but dont or youll get alcohol poisoning#also I used ‘turn into a chew toy’ 3 times and I dont care :)#my writing
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Meddle About (Part 1)
P: Captain Price x F!Reader
Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a pub and begin a beautiful friendship. Though you start developing feelings for the older man, he doesn't seem to reciprocate. That is, until you flirt with someone else to test the waters.
NSFW part 2 here.
WC: 2.3k words
CW: Nothing other than some angst (light), age difference and jealousy.
Notes: The age of the Reader is mentioned only because I feel uncomfortable writing about an age difference where X person is under the age of 23-25.
@glitterypirateduck
You stumbled into the pub, your heart heavy and your mind clouded with the weight of your breakup. The air was thick with the aroma of alcohol and the sound of muted conversations. You sought solace in the dimly lit corner, choosing a table far from prying eyes, hoping to drown your sorrows alone.
As you sat there, lost in your own misery, your gaze wandered aimlessly to the booth next to yours until it landed on him, the older man sitting alone, his presence almost ghostly in the shadows. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, drinking a glass of whiskey with a distant look in his eyes.
At first, you paid him no mind, too consumed by your own despair to acknowledge anyone else's existence. But then, just as the ache in your chest threatened to overwhelm you completely, a notification on your phone pushed you over the edge. It was a message from your ex, a cruel reminder to pick up your things from his apartment.
With a choked sob, you buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought. And then, as if sensing your despair, the older man's voice cut through the haze of your misery.
"Are you alright, love?" He asked, his words gentle and filled with genuine concern.
Startled, you lifted your head to look at him, your vision blurred by tears. His face came into focus, and you found yourself momentarily captivated by the sight of blue eyes, the ruggedness of his features softened by a hint of kindness. He extended a napkin towards you, a silent offering to wipe away your tears.
For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of whether to trust this stranger even with such an innocent gesture. But something in his demeanor, the warmth in his gaze, made you lower your defenses.
And so, with a shaky breath, you accepted, allowing the soft material to soak up whatever was left of your relationship.
As the night dragged on, the heaviness in your heart began to ease, replaced by a sense of relief as you found comfort in conversation with the stranger. He didn't speak much, but his attentive listening spoke volumes.
You found yourself pouring out your heart to him, recounting the details of your breakup, the betrayal, the lies, the countless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, wondering what you had done to deserve such treatment.
Were you ruining his night out? Was he growing tired of your rambling? Was he secretly wishing for an escape from your company?
Your overthinking vanished every time you looked into his eyes, finding nothing but genuine interest and compassion staring back at you.
The hours slipped away and the pub grew quieter, you realized that this stranger had become more than just a sympathetic ear. And though you couldn't quite put it into words, you knew that his presence had brought you a sense of peace that you hadn't felt in a long time.
As the night progressed, you learned that he was a military man, a Captain stationed at a base just twenty minutes away. His hesitance to get into the specifics of his job only added to the air of mystery surrounding him but you respected his boundaries, content to learn other parts of his personality. It wasn't like you'd understand much of the military life anyway.
In between sips of beer, you discovered common ground in unexpected places. He spoke passionately about his love for football, declaring his support to Liverpool with pride and that sparked playful banter between the two of you, given your loyalty to Manchester United. And then there was his love for 70s rock music, a good old Sunday roast and his German Shepherd named Bucky.
Everything he uttered seemed to captivate you. But it wasn't just his words that kept you staring in awe. It was the way he carried himself, the undeniable aura of strength and confidence that followed him.
His strong, masculine features were impossible to ignore. The full beard that hugged his face and trailed down to his neck, the small charming beauty mark on his nose, his ocean blue shaded eyes.. There was no force im the world that could tear your gaze away from him.
Despite being seated, he seemed to tower over most in the room, his tall frame accentuated by his broad shoulders and defined physique with thighs barely fitting under the table.
Each time your eyes met, you felt a rush of excitement, a flutter in your chest that you couldn't quite explain.
He definitely noticed, there was no doubt about it. You caught him watching you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips but he never made a point of it. It was as if he welcomed your attention, basking in the way you were taking him in yet never crossing the line between polite conversation and flirting.
Around two after midnight, the pub began to empty out, leaving only you and the interesting stranger as the sole costumers.
Stepping outside, the chill of the rain hit you both, shimmering under the moonlight as it landed on the darkened street below and he wasted no time in offering you his coat.
You protested but he insisted, draping it over your head as you both dashed towards your car. The rain poured down relentlessly, soaking him through and yet he seemed unaffected, almost as if he enjoyed the feeling of the water against his skin or perhaps in a way to make the night last a little bit longer.
As you turned the ignition, a sudden realization struck you. In the midst of the conversation, you had forgotten the most basic of exchanges. Names.
"Hey!" You called out over the drumming rain, "I never asked for your name."
"John Price." Came his simple reply, accompanied by a a small smile.
You reciprocated with your own name, something so simple suddenly feeling intimate, important. After saying your goodnights, you closed the door and began to drive away, the rain beginning to taper off.
But then, a nagging thought tugged at your brain. His coat still laid draped over your shoulders. Without giving it a second thought, you turned the car around and rolled down the window, calling out into the night.
"Hey, John! I still have your coat!"
He turned, his silhouette illuminated by the fading streetlights, and yelled back, "Bring it back here tomorrow, same time."
With a smile tugging at your lips, you nodded in agreement. That night, as you drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of your recent breakup seemed distant and insignificant. Instead, your mind was filled with the memory of the handsome Captain and the promise of tomorrow.
/////
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, your meetings with John at the pub became a tradition. Every Wednesday and Saturday, like clockwork, you would find yourselves drawn back to that familiar corner booth, where the outside world faded away and it was just the two of you, lost in conversation.
Your advances were subtle yet unmistakable, a brush of your hand against his, a playful flirtation laced with innuendo. And though John never shut you down, his demeanor remained restrained, as if he was holding himself back from crossing an invisible boundary.
He never pushed for more, never crossed the line into something deeper, leaving you to wonder if the attraction was one sided.
It was both frustrating and endearing at first, what had started as a playful game of cat and mouse had morphed into something deeper, more profound and the anticipation of seeing him, of sharing those precious hours together, became the highlight of your week.
You found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. It was borderline obsessive how you tended to every detail, choosing the perfect outfit and spending hours grooming yourself to ensure you looked your best for him.
While his eyes traced the curves of your body with hunger, his hands always remained glued at his sides. Always a good conversation, a walk to your car and a goodnight to leave you awake at night, going through every scenario possible.
It was maddening, the way he welcomed your touches and flirtatious banter without ever making a move of his own.
Perhaps, if he was to turn you down outright, to reject your advances and put an end to the torture, it would be easier to accept. You could move on, content in the knowledge that you had tried and failed. But John never did that.
And so, that particular night, you swore, it would be different.
////
Another Saturday night unfolded and you found yourself once again nestled in the comfort of your favorite booth at the pub, opposite of John.
Dressed in figure hugging black dress that accentuated every curve, you couldn't help but feel confident and ready for what you were about to do. The neckline dipped low, offering a glimpse of your cleavage while the bold red lipstick painted your intentions clear for all to see.
Taking a moment to gather your courage, you lifted your glass to your lips, the sweet aroma of your fruity cocktail easing your nerves. After taking a sip, with a playful smile, you turned to John, nudging the glass towards him.
"Wanna try my drink?" You asked, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness.
You knew all too well that John was a man of simple tastes, his preference for whiskey never changing. Your intentions weren't supposed to change that, anyway.
John's gaze lingered on the glass for a few seconds and returned to yours, a small smile playing at his lips.
''I don't think I'm gonna enjoy drinking that one, love.'' He replied with a chuckle as he took another sip of his usual choice.
That was your moment.
With a coy smile, you took another sip from your cocktail, savoring the fruity sweetness that danced on your tongue and then, with a boldness you hadn't known you possessed, you placed your hand on John's thigh, the touch of your fingertips freezing him into place.
"You don't have to drink it to enjoy the taste." You replied, your words dripping with innuendo whilst you took in his unusually tensed reaction.
Without waiting for John's response, you leaned in, the anticipation coursing through your veins like wildfire.
Your heart pounded loudly against your chest as you pressed your lips against his, the taste of whiskey and strawberries mingling together the more you took his bottom lip between your own. There was a hesitance in the way your mouth moved, your tongue grazing his own as you awaited for him to deepen it.
Feeling the warmth of John's palms resting on your shoulders, you couldn't help but anticipate his next move, to reciprocate the kiss and finally make you his.
But to your surprise, instead of drawing you closer, John gently pushed you back, disconnecting your lips with a tender touch that almost felt like betrayal. His eyes remained closed, his expression unreadable as if he was still lingering on the taste of your kiss, contemplating what he was about to do next.
Feeling the weight of John's eyes piercing through you, you couldn't bring yourself to meet them, the sting of embarrassment and disappointment burning hot against your cheeks.
You felt exposed, vulnerable in a way you had never felt before. As his hands left your shoulders and came to rest on the table, you could sense the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.
And then, finally, his voice broke the silence, "Y/N, I can't." He said, his tone filled with a mixture of pity and regret.
"Even if I want-" He started to say, but then abruptly stopped, as if his own thoughts had betrayed him.
You wanted to scream, to cry out in frustration and anger, but all you could do was sit there, confused and curious to the thought of him finishing that sentence.
Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you took in a deep breath and with trembling hands, you finally raised your face to look at him.
All you managed, was a one word question coming out as a barely audible whisper, ''Why?''
His hesitation, his struggle to articulate his thoughts only grated against your nerves but you sat there patient, waiting for him to state a good enough reason that would match with his last sentence.
"You're so young and I-" John began but his words only added to your ticking bomb. His excuse felt like a slap in the face, and before he could finish, you cut him off, your voice dripping with disbelief.
"Young? Is that it?!" You exclaimed, the anger in your voice palpable. "I'm 25 for fuck's sake!"
In that moment, what he said, the implication of his excuse became painfully clear. It wasn't about age. It was about fear, about his own insecurities. But you refused to be dismissed so easily.
"Younger, then." He persisted, correcting himself, his tone tinged with frustration. "You should be out there flirting with guys your own age, not messed up middle-aged men that you meet at a shady pub."
How dare he, you thought, how dare he belittle your choices, your feelings like that?
Your eyes widened in disbelief at what he was saying, the anger bubbling up inside you threatening to boil over. How could he be so blind, so oblivious to the depth of your feelings?
"Guys my age, huh?!" You retorted sarcastically, raising the volume of your voice just enough to make him look back into your eyes.
But instead of backing down, John simply nodded to your question. And then, as if to salt to your wound, his eyes trailed around the pub, landing on two young guys ordering a drink at the bar.
"Someone like him, not me.'' His tone devoid of self-pity or insecurity.
It was as if he was protecting you, shielding you from the potential pain that could come from being with someone like him.
His words only added more fuel to your fire that was threatening to consume you whole and so you stood up from your seat, straightening your dress with a determined flick of your wrist. Every fiber of your being screamed with frustration, but you refused to let it win.
"You know what, maybe you are right." You said to John, your voice tinged with bitterness.
Trailing your gaze towards the blonde guy at the bar, who seemed more interested in his reflection on his front camera than anything else, you saw an opportunity.
With a calculated move, you turned back to John, his eyes awaiting your next move. With a forced smile, you continued, "Maybe I should take my chances with a younger guy."
Without another word, you turned on your heel, grabbing your purse and made your way towards the bar. As you approached the blonde guy, you could feel John's eyes boring into your back but you tried your hardest not to take a peak.
Instead you sat down next to the new stranger, who finally put his phone down and turned his attention towards you, giving you a warm smile before introducing himself with a simple, ''Hey.''
Glancing back at John for a brief moment, you noticed an unfamiliar look in his eyes. A mixture of possessiveness and jealousy that sent shivers down your spine.
With his jaw clenched and posture tense, John seemed poised to stand up. But you refused to let his sudden change dictate your actions and so maintaining the same fake smile as before, you turned back to the blonde guy.
"Hey, there." You replied, your tone light and casual as you greeted him back.
It was time for you to finally be the cat and it was only a matter of seconds before the mouse came running back to your claws.
#self insert with that Manchester United line sorry guys 🙏#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price x you#captain price x female reader#captain price smut#captain price angst#cod#call of duty#cod x reader#task force 141#141 x reader#john price#captain john price#ocaptainchallenge
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No One Needs to Know... Right?
This is my humble little addition to @glitterypirateduck O, Captain! Challenge ❤️
Prompt 17, 69 and 83
Warning: alcohol intake, smut, a bit rough Price, oral sex, dacryphilia if you squint (like, just a line) and I love to make him desperate for pussy. Enjoy ❤️
“I have told you once, and I'll tell you twice, Kate.” Price says, pinching his nose bridge as exasperation fills him. “I am not, working with Adamson.”
“And I have already told you twice, John.” Laswell answered, just as annoyed. “That there is no other choice, this is coming from upstairs and there is no room for negotiation. I'm sorry”.
It wasn't the first time that Price had needed to work along with another unit, but Colonel Adamson was surely the worst.
The old man constantly had his head inside his own ass, too busy complimenting himself to care about the success of the mission or about everyone getting back home safely.
He was not a man you would like to have to trust your life on and know John didn't have another option. So all be could do, was get mentally prepared for what was to come.
And to do so, he relied on his old run-down trusty pub just out of base. He sat down on the stool he always did, ordered his scotch on the rocks as always and remained silent, letting the voices in his head quiet down.
Just silence.
Alone.
Like always.
“I'll have the same he's having” A female voice next to him brought him back.
He looks to his side, staring at the woman sitting down next to him. The pub is not necessarily fancy, but still, the jeans, t-shirt and sweatshirt you are wearing give it away you got here soon after work and not necessarily for pleasure.
“It's this seat taken?” You ask the man, worried now that he won't stop staring at you.
“No, no, please sit down.” He answers quickly, the smile on his face contagious. “Hard day at work?”
“What gave it away?” You ask puffing a laugh, you look down at his glass. “Yours wasn't that great either or that the celebration?”
He chuckles, wide shoulder shaking slightly as he does. “Definitely not celebration.” He raises the glass to his lips, your eyes following the glass and staring for maybe a second too long on his lips.
It is easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with the man, a mix of dad jokes and a level of understanding that someone with the same job would have. Still, neither of you talks about your jobs, both because it is the reason you are in a pub getting drunk and also because it is not an easy job to talk about.
You don't notice how close you have gotten to each other until you are resting your head on your hand with your elbow resting on the bar and you try to rest the other arm on the backrest of the stool only to find Price is already resting his in there.
You look at his face as you lay your arm on top of his, looking for any sign of discomfort, only to find that easy smile on his face again. You open your palm, letting it rest over his massive biceps; the wild thought of it around your neck as he fucks you from behind running through your mind for a second.
“I think I have drunk too much.” You admit chuckling, rubbing your face with your other hand.
Now, Price is not a stupid man; and the way you bit your lip unconsciously when you touched him, your eyes getting darker just for a second let him know perfectly fine what your feelings were.
“Want me to walk you home, sweetheart?” He asks, looking at your face to see your reaction; and when he sees you look at his eyes only to drop your eyes to his lips he smiles widely.
“Well, aren't you a gentleman…” You mumble standing up, taking your card out of your pocket to pay.
“Please, my treat.” He says, taking his out as well.
You quickly shake your head. “Nope, I'm paying tonight, sir. You can pay next time, how about that?” You ask, winking at him as you do.
He chuckles, putting his card away amused with your antics and waiting for the bartender to charge you. Once done, he walks next to you, his hand on the small of your back. “How far away is your house?”
“My Airbnb actually, just down the road.” You answer, pointing with your finger where it is.
Sadly, it doesn't take long to reach it, and even though you opened the door the two of you linger in the doorway.
“You know… the weather broadcast said that it was going to rain tonight…” You say, knowing damn well the British man couldn't care less about the rain.
“Oh no… I guess I better get inside, right?” He smiles, taking a step forward towards you.
You quickly nod your head. “Yeah, we don't want you getting wet.” You pull his shirt, making him lean down and crush your lips with his.
His arms find their way around your waist, hugging you close and pulling you up the floor. You barely manage to close the door once the two of you enter the flat; a mess of tongue, spit and drunk words spilling out of your mouths.
Your legs find their way around his waist, him holding you up gentleman-like with both hands on your ass. He pulls you closer, letting you feel his growing erection against your clothed cunt; earning himself a moan falling for your lips. “Fuck…”
“John, sweet girl. That's my name, moan it loud so I know how good I'm making you feel, alright?” He asks, groaning when you grind yourself against him.
“John…” You moan softly, pulling your head back and that's all he needs to attack your neck. Pulling his tongue flat against your collarbone and up to your ear like a desperate dog.
He sits you on top of the sofa backrest, moving his hands to pull your sweatshirt and t-shirt off. Groaning when he sees the sports bra, almost offended that there is another layer to peel.
You chuckle at his desperation, only for him to suddenly move his hips forward against your cunt making you moan. “That's better.” He murmurs against your mouth once he manages to take off your bra.
He leans down, catching your nipple with his teeth before sucking it inside his mouth, groaning as he does. His arms circle your middle, pulling you tightly as he keeps grinding your core; too desperate to remain immobile.
He moves lower, his tongue running from the middle of your chest down your boob up to your side, bitting down over your ribs making your moan mix with a hiss.
Your hands find his hair at the back of his head, pulling hard enough to force him to peel his face back. Looking back at you, eyes dark with desire, lips red, swollen and wet for the kiss and licking at you and stupidly smug smile on his face. Makes you want to wipe it from his face.
“Up, to the bedroom, now.” You order, pulling him closer with your legs around his hips.
“Yes, ma’am” He chuckles, picking you up again; groaning when you lower your face to attack his neck. Licking up his neck, feeling his heartbeat under his skin just as fast as yours.
He enters the doorway to your room, hitting your knee against it as he does making you curse. “Fuck, John. That's how your aim is going to be tonight?” You ask teasingly, your knee hurting just enough to complain.
“Oh, shut up. My aim is impeccable, sweetheart” He answers scoffing, as he sits on the bed with you on his lap.
“Aw, did I hit a weak spot?” You ask, cocking your head with a fake pout in your mouth.
“Darling, I don't have weak spo-” He cuts himself up with a struggling moan when you lower your hand to grab his erection through the clothes.
You chuckle against his mouth, kissing his half-open mouth. “I want to taste you, John” You whisper keeping your eyes focused on his expression.
He smiles, happy with your urge to satisfy him, and kisses you back. “Yeah? You want me to fuck your throat, sweet girl? Why don't you do it with your pretty pussy resting on my face, hm?”
You whine back, brain slowly turning to mush; barely managing to stop kissing him for long enough to stand up and take off the rest of your clothes. He does the same, lying down using your pillow to prop his head up and staying with an arm extended inviting you in. And fuck if the sight is nothing but inviting, you knew his dick was big just from sitting on top but you were not ready to see the big, uncut, thick piece of meat sitting between his legs; too heavy to stand up on his own and instead slowly dripping precum onto his thick thigh. Watering your mouth at the thought of how his happy trail will rub against your clit later on the night.
You crawl back onto the bed, completely forgetting about the sitting on his face part and focusing on getting him into your mouth. Until a hard slap lands on your ass making you cry and turn your head to look at him offended.
“That's not where your pussy is supposed to be at, innit?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. And when you take too long to move for his liking, he takes matters into his own hands grabbing your hips to hoist you on top of him with ease which only adds to your current horniness.
“Ffffuck, that's a sight I would fucking kill to wake up to every day” He groans behind you, deep voice making you clench with desperation which makes him chuckle. “Hmm, she likes it when I talk about her.”
And it feels like you are intruding on whatever is going on between him and your pussy with the way he is talking about it like it is her whole person. So not wanting to interrupt, you bend down fisting his dick in your hand as you wet kiss his tip.
“Aww, did you get jealous that I was giving her some attention, darling?” He says, apparently completely unaffected by your attention to his cock which only makes you crankier.
You get his tip on your mouth, completely ignoring him when suddenly he moves his hand down to the back of your head grabbing your hair in a fist and keeping your head in place only for him to begin to thrust his cock into your mouth and down your throat.
You automatically start choking on it, gagging and wet sounds filling the rooms. You manage to relax just throat just a bit, which he takes as an invitation to shove his cock inside until your nose is plush against his balls.
Tears prick your eyes at the abuse of your throat and the lack of air, hearing him groan at every convulsion of your throat around him and he only pulls back when you dig your fingernails on his thighs.
The hand on your head pulls your head back making you arch your back as you gasp for air, thick threats of saliva still connecting your lips with his glistening dick as you cough.
“I asked you a question, I don't like it when I get ignored, love. Alright?” He asks a certain gentle tone to his voice that totally throws you out of place. You nod quickly, a croaky “yes” the only thing you are able to answer.
“Good girl.” He says, letting go of your hair to pet your head slightly pushing it to rest on his hip close to the pool of spit at the base of his cock. “Just lay there, darling. Let me enjoy my treat.”
You have barely managed to get your breath back when he takes it away again by running his tongue from your clit all the way up to your ass, groaning as he does so.
“So fucking delicious, so fucking good.” He groans, moving his arms under your tights to pull you impossibly closer to his mouth, making you moan loudly when he sucks your clit inside his mouth rubbing his tongue against it.
He looks pussy drunk already, a chaos to the way he is eating you up; going up and down, side to side, fucking your holes with his tongue, grabbing your ass with his massive hands pulling them apart to get the whole view, eating you out like a starved man.
It's hard to get air into your lungs with the way you are moaning again and again, grabbing onto his hips to ground you feeling him pull you again and again against his face; it should be you fucking his face instead it feels the complete opposite.
“Fuck, John, I'm gonna…” You moan, toes curling as you feel your orgasm approach. “I'm gonna come, John. Don't stop, please, don't stop.”
He chuckles, delighted with your begging before shoving two of his thick fingers inside your cunt making you hiss at the sudden stretch and throwing you off, orgasm getting further away and making you whine pathetically at its loss.
“Quiet down, I'm getting you there but I need your tight little pussy nicely wet and stretched before I get my cock in you.” He groans after spanking you again before he starts to move his finger in and out, adding a third one not too much later making you cry in pleasure. “You can take another one, right, love? You won't get my cock if you don't.”
“I can!” You moan embarrassedly fast. “I can, please, put it in, please.” You move your hips back against his hand, moaning loudly when he gets the last finger inside only keeping his thumb out to rub your clit making you moan loudly against the skin of his lower stomach
“Attagirl, c’mon, sweet girl. Come around my fingers so I can fuck your pretty pussy all nice and sweet.” He cheers you on, moving his hand faster. You bite down on his abs, the layer of fat that covers them catching between your lips making him hiss as you come, clutching down so hard his fingers get spitted out of your cunt.
He groans, licking your juices again making you jolt at the feeling, shoving his whole face against your cunt getting drenched in your juices. Only pulling back when he runs out of breath, letting you fall down on his side, your leg still resting on top of his chest.
“Pretty thing winking at me and everything.” He coos, running his thumb along your hole making you shiver and slightly slapping his leg.
“Let me breathe, for fuck sake.” You barely managed to say, still struggling to breathe. He chuckles, moving your leg off his chest and grabbing you by your waist to sit you on top of his abdomen not caring about getting his torso wet.
He rests his hands on your hips, with you resting yours on his chest and he looks at you with a smile on his face but still trying to catch your gaze. “You alright, darling?” He asks, his thumb rubbing circles on your hips.
“Yeah.” You answer nodding, noticing a certain tense feeling leaving his body. “I just need a second, that was… that was something.”
He laughs, his eyes disappearing into thin lines as he does. “I hope something good… do you wanna stay on top? Set the pace?”
You nod quickly, agreeing it is possible the best for the both of you and you look behind you. “We can wait, love. We have no rush- ah, fuck.” He groans when his tip catches onto your entrance, making the both of you moan as you slowly sink deeper. The stretch of his cock inside of you leaves you with shaky legs as you dig your fingernails on his chest. You bend down, resting your head on his shoulder needing a moment to adjust. He doesn't say anything, kissing your temple softly and rubbing his hand up and down your back.
You grind your hips against his, moving slowly, his dick barely moving but still enough to make the both of you softly moan. You sit back up, resting your hands on his chest as you start to slowly move up and down, his tips deliciously grazing your cervix kissing it with each thrust, so deep you almost feel it on your stomach.
You move slowly, choosing depth over speed; his hands on your waist helping you up and down as his eyes travel down your body to where you are connected to him.
“That's it, darling. Take what you need.” Price says between moans, not moving his hips. And if he hasn't fucked you stupid already, you would. You would turn the man into a puddle, make a mess out of him, have him babbling nonsense, too pussy drunk to even remember his name. But instead, it is you the one who can barely stand straight, whining about the tiredness of your legs aching for a break and you bend forward resting your hands on the headboard of the bed, wanting to cry.
“I can't… please, move. I can't, please, John, please.” You cry, legs shaking too exhausted to keep moving.
“Shh, sweet girl, don't cry.” He says, propping himself on his elbows to lick at your cheek where a tear spills. “It only turns me on more, love.”
He lays back down, chuckling when you whine again and he wraps his arms around your waist pulling you close, setting his feet on the mattress just to start thrusting up into your core hard and fast.
You cry in pleasure at the sudden change in rhythm, arching your back and making it easier for him to get your nipple in his mouth, moaning and biting around it.
“Such a good fucking girl, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” He moans, forehead pressed against your chest. “Cum around my cock, darling. I want to feel you choke my dick like you did with my fingers, c’mon, pretty girl, come for me.”
And it is like he has godly powers over you because with the way he keeps thrusting up and at the same time as he talks to you has you coming embarrassing fast. Clutching his dick like a vice making him struggle to keep moving but without giving up, coming inside just after a couple more thrusts.
You lay down on his chest, both of you breathing hard but without moving. He pets your hair, brushing it back behind your ear, running his finger through undoing some of the knots he finds. “You're alright, darling?”
“Greater than great, John.” You answer smiling, raising a bit to kiss him on the lips, slightly moving your hips making you both groan. “A shower?”
“A shower indeed.” He chuckles, kissing you deeply for what feels like a second before helping you stand up before standing up himself.
It is a sweet innocent shower, soft kisses on your shoulder and sweet kisses on his shoulder blade; helping the other clean up like a couple who have known each other for years.
Once outside, you lay on your bed naked looking at him as he dresses up. He bends down to give you one more kiss before muttering: “Never in my life have I hated my job as much as right now for making me leave you like this, and with the kind of job I have it says a lot, sweet girl.”
You chuckle shaking your head, softly slapping his cheek. “You are just being dramatic, John.”
He grumbles back, standing up and you walk after him to the door hiding behind it once he opens it. You peek your head outside, saying goodbye and once you think he is leaving he turns around.
“You know… I'm gonna be quite busy this week, but next week, same day and time as today I'll probably drop by the bar again… in case we coincide again…” He says, indirectly asking you out making you chuckle at the fact he is shy to ask you out as if he didn't have you choking on his dick just an hour ago.
“I'm sure we will, John.” You say, making him smile fondly. He gives you one more kiss before he disappears down the street.
The next morning, Price is not so happy. He barely makes it into the brief room before the rest of the team walks in. But it's not his boys who make him mad, it's the colonel who walks after them, cane in hand.
“Colonel Adamson” Prices greets him, greeting his teeth as he does.
“John.” The older man answers, a disgusting smile on his face as if he just told the best joke of his life. “So you are still alive… maybe you are not as bad as I thought.”
“I don't need to prove myself to you, and this is merely a business meeting.” He says, already done with him pointing to the empty chair before him. “Please, sit.”
“Actually, sorry to disappoint you, John. But I retired last year, I'm not the one working with you this time.” He says, walking closer to him, raising the cane to slap on the opposite hand. “It's my daughter, you see? And if I hear that anything happens to her under your watch, you better die on that mission, son. Or I'll take care of it. I don't want a scratch, bruise or tear on my girl's face, understood?”
“She'll be fine.” Price answers, not really threatened by the man, feeling that if his daughter is anything as repulsive and just plain horrible to deal with no one will even think about laying a finger on him.
“There you are.” A voice draws his attention, a voice uncomfortably familiar. “I told you to wait for me, Dad.”
“Sorry, dear. Just wanted to greet my old friend before leaving you at it.” He says the first genuine smile John has ever seen on the man, and it is only because he is talking to you.
His daughter.
Of the man that just threatened him about touching you.
Is okay, he just needs to play it cool and no one needs to no.
Right?
“Oh. Hi, John.” You say enthusiastically. “Why didn't you say you were coming here too? You could have stayed the night.”
Fuck
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Three. Four. Five. || Toxic!Husband!Price
For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:
30. "I hate you but if anything happened to you I'd burn the world" vibe.;
42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years;
78. Give us a "That's my Wife!" moment.
Rating: E
Words: 3.3K
cw: toxic couple, VERY toxic, insults, death wishes, smut fade to black, pregnancy.
Tags: f!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, miilitary/court martial inaccuracies, very bad family dynamics?, dark humour??.
Summary: John and Reader are in the worst fucking marriage ever. A collection of moments, dialogues and scenes from their terrible relationship.
a/n: They are SO fucking toxic and dumb, I cannot- This is also very different from the stuff I usually write. This is ALSO not particularly angsty, more so dark humour.
There was a time when you loved John Price.
With all your heart, all your soul (and all your pussy).
That time was when you were young.
Ages 14 to 21, you loved him. He was your first kiss, your first time. High school sweethearts, you supported him through the academy, he supported you when you went to university.
You stayed together through his first and second deployments. It was like an old-timey WW2 romance.
So many letters exchanged back and forth. All lovey-dovey, with faint pen ink and smudged blotches on the pages as you made plans for the future.
Phone calls with spotty service and loads of static, only five minutes per soldier, 5 minutes which he’d spend only ever spend talking to you, asking you to relay any other messages to his mum, dad, siblings so he wouldn’t have to hang up with you.
Polaroids clipped on the inside of envelopes which he would then slip into the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping you over his heart… one he’d often pull out and look at during transpo, thumbs tracing your eternal smile.
Polaroids of yours, a bit more risqué, which he would keep tucked into a journal under his pillow, for his eyes only.
John would walk around overseas with a smile on his lips after getting a letter or a call from you, brag to his teammates about his “bird back home”, never going out to bars to find one night stands like they did…
But sometime after his second deployment and joining the SAS, the puppy love that had lasted for years started to dwindle.
Slowly but surely, you found that you were both growing distant.
You assumed you were both growing a bit ‘comfortable’, perhaps complacent… like all relationships tend to get after a while.
By that time, John and you had already moved in together and you were no longer consistently alone for months at a time waiting for him to return from deployment. You blamed it on that. Plus, you’d been together for years by then!
But it felt different. There was distance, emotional and physical. Whenever he cuddled up to you, you felt cold and so did he. The kisses to your forehead were meaningless, the dinners at home eerily silent.
And between the distance and the inability to make proper plans, proper dates, celebrate milestones together, forgotten anniversaries, overlooked birthdays… It turned into arguments.
And one argument turned to three, to five, to seven… hundred.
You found yourself growing bitter, angry, hateful.
It wasn’t a sudden shift or anything.
Not like you woke up one day and the one thought in your head was “I hate him”...
But you remember hating him longer than you ever loved him.
You tried breaking up. And failed.
Some… bastardised feeling of guilt came to the forefront of both your minds at the idea of throwing away 5 6 7 8 9 10 years together, and giving up on your first love… and maybe even fear of having to start anew with someone else.
So, you simply continued going through the motions. You got engaged, big shiny rock on your finger, all big smile, but no tears came when he proposed. Your families were ecstatic, not quite able to see through the thinly veiled deceit.
For the wedding, you pulled out all the stops, stressed yourself out preparing the ceremony and reception with the women in your family (and his! His mother and sister were so happy that John was getting married!), going wedding dress shopping…
You had a beautiful ceremony, John wearing his full dress suit, army green, with the beige SAS beret. You were both 27, and together for 13 years.
Then, came the honeymoon, which was cut short. Not that it was a true honeymoon. Just three days in a coastal town in Northern France, having to be within a day's drive of Hereford lest he get called out for a sudden mission, which he was.
Not that you expected any different from him. So the distance continued growing, as did the arguments.
You hated him. He hated you.
Then came the predictable “So, when can we expect some grandkids?”. You put it off for a couple more years, blaming it on your high-priority careers, the law and the military, so similar and so different; his lack of time at home and how regrettable it’d be for you to be alone through the pregnancy; the want to be ‘more present’ for the future kids, needing to wait for things to settle down a bit more…
You’d been together for so long at that point, 15 years under your belt, starkly aware that neither of you is going anywhere. The world keeps spinning and your relationship hasn't ended. Fuck it, might as well go for it.
And now here you are.
It’s been eighteen years since you met. Aged 32, you no longer have arguments, you have throwdowns. You pull out every weapon in your arsenal. Neither of you plays nice.
Insults are traded often. Death wishes even more so. And, more often than not, they’re delivered with such a deadpan nonchalance that you’re sure people would think you both psychopaths.
“Going on a mission. ‘ll be back in a few days.”
“‘Kay, hope you die.”
“So do I.”
-
“Just had a fender bender with a stupid bloke. The car’s at the shop. Taking an uber to the base to get your car.”
“Okay. Shame you didn’t die a fiery death.”
“Don’t remind me, already cried about it.”
-
"I'm getting discharged."
"Why?"
"Shot."
"And it couldn't have killed you?"
-
“Can you get out of the damn toilet? I’m bleeding.”
“Period, accident, or just part of your satanic rituals?”
“Period.”
“Tough luck. Hope you bleed out.”
It never gets physical, never violent. John would rather die than lay a hand on you and you’d never DARE lay one on him. It’s just a lot of yelling, a lot of insulting, a lot of throwing things around, and, especially, a lot of revenge plans being executed to drive each other crazy.
Like recently. You found out John had gotten a grey-haired wig about the same length and texture as your hair, and has been snipping off a few hairs at a time, planting them around the house to blame you for leaving your hair everywhere, while simultaneously making you feel like you’re going grey. So, you put grey hair box dye in his shampoo and beard oil, to make him think he’s going grey.
Or three months ago, when you replaced all your lightbulbs with dimmer ones and lowered the brightness on all electronics, to make him think his eyesight was starting to go bad. You drove him so mad that he had voluntarily signed up for sniper assessments because he was worried he’d become a liability for the team.
Or eight months ago, when John had to return home in the middle of the day wearing a ruined uniform and just about ready to blow smoke out of his ears, having ripped holes in the uniform midway through a meeting all because 2 or so weeks prior you had painstakingly undone part of the stitching on it after an argument, and that had resulted in him baring his hairy thighs and armpits to a boardroom full of officers.
It’s bad. Very bad. You’ve had your windows and doors insulated to make sure the neighbors don’t hear your screaming matches and call the cops on the “domestic violence” happening next door.
You probably shouldn’t have kids with this man. And yet-
He drives you insane.
And you’ve TRIED to fix it! You did. Marriage counseling, rage rooms, axe-throwing, paintball matches, yoga, meditation.… Nothing worked! In fact, it only infuriated you more because:
“You’ve got a tactical advantage, you need to play with a handicap!”
“Tough luck, sweetheart. Get good or get shot!”.
-
“You can throw harder than that.”
“Oh, I’ll show ya throwing hard, you gobshite!”
“Okay, when are you planning to start?”
-
“My back hurts-”
“Because you’re getting old.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m just telling you the truth. Face it, John, if the downward dog hurts your back, then you’re old.”
-
“Can you breathe any louder?”
“Yes, I can. Wanna see?”
“Just shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”
“Not much to hear either way, pretty hollow in there.”
“I hate you.”
“Feeling’s mutual, sweetness.”
There are only three occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats. Other, then, of course, when John’s working, especially when he’s overseas. You can’t fight if he’s both a) not home and b) unreachable via calls or texts or e-mails.
When you need a favor from the other, something you can’t quite do, or that falls in the other’s ‘jurisdiction’ in house chores.
“The washing machine’s leaking.”
“Turn off the water main, I’ll go check in a sec.”
“Mkay.”
-
“Here. Popped a button.”
“I don’t have any more army green thread.”
“Then use brown or black or whatever.”
-
“Where are your car keys?”
“What for?”
“Going to get it washed and detailed.”
“My purse.”
-
“You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”
“Why?”
“Besides the fact that it’s wrinkly? That’s a ‘house’ shirt, not a ‘going out’ shirt. Wear this one instead.”
2. When you’re both complaining or dealing with an outside force, a 3rd party, together.
"Excuse me, hi, I'm sending this back it's not cooked the way I asked."
"Ma'am that's exactly what you-"
"Are you calling my wife a liar?"
-
“Oh, fuck no. Why the fuck is he winning the Great British Bake Off?"
"Hm? Oh- oh! Yeah, why the fuck is he winning?"
“Bloody hell, he rolled his pastry too thin and had watery pie filling-”
“Wankers. This is not fair.”
-
“John. John!”
“What?”
“Look-”
“Blood hell, he’s back early-”
“Yeah and her boytoy’s car still there. They’re definitely still going at it.”
“Oh, this is going to be fun.”
-
“Excuse me! Hey, excuse me! Pick up after your bloody dog! NO, don’t you start with me, you keep leaving your dog’s shite right by our garden, don’t you see the sign my husband’s posted up?! Pick it up or I’ll do it and then drop it in your garden.”
3. During sex.
Marching into the bedroom after breakfast, you find John combing through his hair in the bathroom mirror. The room is steamy from the hot shower he just took.
“Take your trousers off. I’m ovulating.” You warn him as you wave your phone in the air, showing off the period tracking app.
“I literally just showered.” John replies as you’re already shrugging off your robe and pajamas.
“Well, believe or not, I don’t control my ovaries, John.” You reply. “Now take your trousers off.”
“Already on it.” He replies as he already starts taking off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on a pile on the floor, before his boxer briefs follow suit.
His hand palms his cock as you’re getting comfortable on the bed, tugging on it lightly as he watches your fingers do the same between your legs.
“Can we try to enjoy it this time?” He asks you in earnest.
“Sure.” You reply simply. “Been a while since we’ve had proper sex and not…”
“Not a breeding session?” He quips as he kneels on the bed between your parted thighs. His hand replaces yours and he starts rubbing your clit for you.
“Shut it…” You quip, while your own hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. John lowers himself onto you and his lips slowly brush against yours before he kisses you.
No, as it turns out… There are actually four occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats:
4. The Kid
In a day like any other, you’re lying in bed, reading a book. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, your big, round belly feeling particularly heavy. You’ve stolen every other pillow in the house to try and find some comfort, which you fail remarkably at.
“I think I’m going grey.” John states to no one in particular.
He’s in the en-suite bathroom, applying beard oil across his mutton chops like he tends to do, about three times a week.
“You are.” You remark in a bored, dismissive tone as you read a book in bed.
“That’s not funny. I’m not that old.”
“You’re getting up there.”
“Look who’s talking, we’re the same age.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Jonathan?”
“It means you’re there yourself, darling.”
Raising your eyes from the book in your hands, the bottom of which rests atop your pregnant belly, you cock a brow at your ‘beloved’ husband.
“And this is coming from Santa Claus?” You retort swiftly.
John peeks his head out of the bathroom door to look at you. “You think you’ve got a leg to stand on, you crone?”
Grunting under your breath, you glare at him, and he glares at you, complete silence in the bedroom.
There’s something in that face of his, the look in his eyes, those STUPID fucking mutton chops that you’ve told him to shave and he refuses…
Grabbing your book and rolling it into a cylinder, you hurl it at him, putting as much force behind your arm as you possibly can. It misses the mark, but only because he had the presence of mind to duck.
“You’re such a fuckin’ knobhead!” You insult him, tongue dripping with bitterness.
“Wel, not like I can be anything else, really, when I’m married to such a raging cunt.” He retorts.
“OH FUCK YOU!” You retort.
“ALREADY AM MORE THAN FUCKED, SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU.”
“OH, PLEASE, YOU’RE MORE MARRIED TO YOUR BLOODY GUN THAN YOU ARE TO ME!”
“YEAH CAUSE AT LEAST MY GUN DOESN’T DRIVE ME FUCKING MENTAL!”
“OH PISS OFF!” You shout, your face twisting with a scowl.
“You know, you really shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Or for John Junior.”
“First of all, it’s not gonna be a boy. Secondly, even if it is a boy, we’re not naming him after you. And thirdly, how about you die, then I won’t get stressed.”
“And why would I do that, when I can stay right here, perfectly alive and healthy, and watch you give birth to John Junior, and have the pleasure of rubbing a ‘I told you so’ right in your face?”
“Oh fuck you. It’s not going to happen.” You sulk and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against your mountain of pillows.
“Someone doesn’t like the idea of having a son that takes after me, hm??” John teases as he comes up to the bed, a brow cocked.
You trail him with your eyes as he sits next to you on the bed. “Absolutely not. I wanna have a child I actually am able to love, and not one that I have to lie to.”
“A mother’s love knows no bounds, huh? What a load of crap.” John quips.
“Oh, that’s 100% true. I love this baby to bits already, but if it takes after you… I’ll probably die.”
“Good.” John remarks, causing you to roll your eyss. “Much better than if our child takes after you. Spawn of Satan, he would be.” John’s hand slides up your leg and slowly cups your swollen stomach.
“I should probably address the fact you just called our child ‘Satan’s spawn’, but I’m more concerned over the fact you keep calling the baby a ‘son’.” You murmur as you uncross your arms and watch him caress your skin.
“I feel like it’s a boy, I don’t know what to tell you.” He replies as his calloused fingers drag over the stretch marks and linea nigra on your stomach.
“What if it’s a girl?”
“What about it?”
“I’ve seen enough men online getting pissy over havin’ a daughter.” You quip and cock a brow up, looking him in the eyes.
John’s eyes lock onto yours. “Not me.” Then they return to the belly as he continues rubbing you. “Would love a little girl too.”
“Hm.” You remark and slowly, your hand rubs over the belly on the opposite side, where John’s hand isn’t. “We’ve gotta promise not to yell or argue in front of the baby.”
“Kind of hard to do that when I’m married to the Devil.” John quips, causing you to look up at him, eyes narrowed.
“You’ve gotta promise. We’ve gotta promise.” You murmur as you look at him.
For a moment, his usually grumpy face softens and he nods. “I promise.���
Nodding as well, you echo the sentiment. “I promise.”
No, wait, five:
5. When you have his back.
“General, that is not what I asked you. I would ask that you stop beating around the bush, feeding me, the jury, and the people watching at home, fabricated information and embellished words in a sorry attempt to save your credibility. Stick to the questions being asked and stop wasting our times.” You warned the man as you paced the space in front of the stand.
“Me and everyone else in this room are looking for nothing but the truth, or must I remind you that you are under oath and also live on television?” You ask outloud as you turn to look at him.
“No, counselor.” The General, a heavy-set, older, mustachioed man replies, through gritted teeth, his face showing a polite expression while the man himself was seething on the inside.
“Very well, then, I’ll repeat the question. Were you or were you not aware of the aforementioned, unsactioned operations being conducted in the Al-Mazarah and Urzikstan border, involving CIA and MI6 operatives?” You asked, eyes glaring into the man’s eyes as you leaned into the stand near him.
“Well, as with most operations...”
“A yes or no is enough, General.” You told him sternly.
“Yes.” The man grits out.
“And did you, or did you not, give permission for these CIA and MI6 operatives, working under the guise of NATO, and I quote, from the transcript: “Authority to use any means necessary” on the enemy forces?” You confronted him.
“Well-”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“And did you do that while being aware that the teams involved would interpret such command as permission to execute an operation in which they’d use ‘extreme physical persuasion’ or, in other words, torture to achieve their goals?”
“I-”
“Did you or did you not, General?”
“Yes, but-”
“And did you, or did you not, not only demand the censoring of the clear and transparent reports received in the aftermath of that operation but also sign off on them yourself, to circumvent the proper channels of evaluation, which would force an internal audit to be conducted?”
“Yes-”
“So, in short, you just confirmed that you authorized your troops to, essentially, wipe their asses with the Geneva convention and comit war crimes on the POWs under their care?”
“Counselor-” One of the judges called out.
“Withdrawn. No further questions, Mr. Chairman.” You told the Chairman and the jury panel that sat above you, as you swiftly turned around and marched up to your table, high heels clacking on the polished floors of the court room.
Your eyes locked onto John’s as he sat in the back of the room, wearing his full regalia, his eyes locked onto yours with a strange shine to them… Almost like he’s proud of you.
As soon as you sit on the chair and the Chairman once again takes over, addressing the room, the General, calling other witnesses, your phone’s screen lights up on the chair next to you.
Picking it up quietly, you spot a message of John’s:
John: that’s my girl. knew you could do it.
you: you owe me big time.
John: i do. saved my arse there.
you: of course. it’s what I’m here for.
John: almost making it sound like you love me.
you: no but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
you: no way in hell you’re leaving me alone with 3 children.
John: i see. selfish woman.
you: shut up.
you: and try not torturing POWs next time.
John: yes, ma’am.
Five occasions seem to be enough to keep a 23-year marriage afloat.
a/n: Big thanks to my beloved @crashtestbunny for helping draft/plot all these interactiions and just the general toxicity! And also @mothymunson your beloved Toxic!Price is here!
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It's The Same Things
Pairing: Ex-husband John Price x GN!reader
TW//CW: Angst? Anxiety, mention of manipulation, fluff if you squint, John is still trying to change, gender neutral pronouns but use of wife like two or three times.
A/N: I was sad I probably wouldn't get to participate in @glitterypirateduck 's O' Captain! Challenge but coincidently this works with scenario 7, Date night
Words: 7,375
You are currently reading Chapter 2
The Do-Over Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five
"Yes, let's get started." He took a sip of his drink, licking his lips after. Why did he have to do things like that? He knew. You knew he knew. And he knew you knew he knew. "Question one; given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?"
"Did you memorize thirty six questions or are you pulling these out of your ass?" You chuckled, adjusting to sit crisscrossed, slowly getting more comfortable.
"Admittedly, I memorized them." He leaned back into the couch more, manspreading. Getting himself more comfortable as well. "Now, answer the question."
"Let me think." You pondered it for a moment, thinking of all the people you could, why you'd want to have them as a dinner guest. Who's cooking this dinner? Is it just dinner? Do they have to be alive? "Um, I don't know. It depends on my mood I guess. How about you?"
"You. I'd want you to be my dinner guest." He sounded so sure of it, like it was the obvious answer. You couldn't tell if it was sincere or flattery. You couldn't fathom why out of everyone in the world he'd want you. He seemed to notice your puzzled expression. "Don't look too far into it, I just think you're good company. Entertaining."
"Alright. What's the next question?" This could be fun, this was fun. You loved questions. Loved asking them, loved people wanting to hear your answer. You need to be more optimistic, have fun with this, but remember what John is.
"Would you like to be famous? In what way?" He sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees, curious about your answer.
"I've always thought it could be fun to be an actor. Have fans and go to conventions and be asked questions. It just seems kind of fun, for the most part at least." You shrugged, putting your arms back on the cushions of the couch. "You?"
"Don't want to be famous. Seems like a hassle. If I got famous in my career that would probably mean something bad." He leaned back again, finishing off his drink and putting the glass down on the coffee table. "Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?"
"Every time. Like, every time. I have anxiety." He'd known the answer to this one, he'd watched you do it several times while you were married. It was another thing about you he thought was endearing.
"I don't typically rehearse, but I do collect my thoughts before making calls. There's no point in calling if I'm not going to get to the point and waste time with being a blubbering muppet." That checked out. He was never one to beat around the bush.
"I miss having you order for me at restaurants. That was nice. Or when you'd ask people where things were for me." The previous tension was dissipating, things were quickly feeling like old times. Walls be damned, he was busting through. You were thankful for the layers and labyrinth of defenses you'd learned to build.
"I remember doing that. You were such a nervous thing in public, funny you would want to be famous." He chuckled, recalling all the ways he'd served you and tried to make you comfortable. "What would constitute a perfect day for you?"
"Like a normal day or an activity filled day? Are we talking my perfect mundane day or my 'if money was no object' day?" You asked to clarify.
He thought for a moment, thinking it through, considering how he would like to answer the question himself. "Somewhere in between."
"Okay." You fiddled with the hem of your shirt while you thought. "It'd start with sleeping in, but not too much. Then I'd have breakfast with someone I care about, and leisure around, then go to a park or for a walk or something where I can just talk and spend time with someone, maybe play games, any game would be fun. Just not Clue. Then a scenic drive with good music, if the weather permits, with the windows down. And I'd like to end the day snuggled up in a blanket watching fireworks or stargazing. That would be an achievable perfect day for me."
"Sounds like a good day." He hummed, nodding his head softly. "My perfect day would just be spending time with someone I care about, doing what they want to do."
You laughed at his answer, not taking it seriously. Making him frown softly. "You not caring about what you're doing? Last I checked, that was your nightmare. Not having a plan or control."
"A lot about me has changed. I don't need constant total control anymore. I'm learning to let someone else decide things, to have a say in what goes on when I can. I've found it's really freeing and destressing to not be in control and go with the flow." He defended his answer, nudging your shoulder to try and keep things light. Understanding your reaction.
"Okay, okay. A lot of time��has passed. People can change. So, I'll accept your answer." You still found it a little hard to believe, but you've changed a lot too. Maybe he did enjoy being pulled along now, not having to have his brain on all the way and on high alert. Taking joy from some little things. Domestic loving things.
"You'll accept my answer? I wasn't aware you had a say in my answers." His chuckle rumbled through his chest again, making you laugh along, when you did he couldn't stop the smile from creeping up his face. It'd been so many years since he'd heard you genuinely laugh.
"Surprise." You pushed his knee teasingly as you kept laughing. He tried his best to memorize every detail of you in this moment. Tried to remember everything about the second first date with his future wife. There was no way he'd mess this up again. No way he'd let you be the one that got away.
"When did you last sing to yourself and to someone else?" He asked the next question, offering you his hand to help pull you up onto the couch, noticing you weren't very comfortable on the hard floor. There was plenty of room on the couch, he'd remember his manners. He wouldn't bite.
"I sang to myself while I cleaned the house today. I don't recall when I last sang to someone else, definitely in the last few weeks. I think." You were never one to sing for others, whether or not they thought you sang well or not.
"I miss when you'd sing to me. In the car, or late at night when neither of us could sleep, when I'd curl up with my head on your lap and you'd play with my hair and sing to me. I miss having that privilege to enjoy that part of you." The way John would recall things to you always made them sound more pleasant than they really were. More special.
Maybe that part of your relationship was special.
Worthy of being sacred and kept away from the rot of bad memories and hard times that took over the relationship. The pain and ache that seeped into your bones that would act up whenever you were around him. Like he was a storm, you knew when he was coming from the preemptive pain, the warning in your joints.
You couldn't even remember why you ever trusted him that much. Actually gave him those pieces of you. Gave him every piece of you. You were so naive to the ways of the world. When you are born in a burning house you think the whole world is on fire. Think it's just the way life is, to burn and let yourself be consumed by that fire.
But the whole world isn't on fire, and you know now you don't have to live your life suffocating in the smoke of a fire someone else started, that someone else is feeding.
You don't have to burn to prove that you're alive.
"What about you? When did you sing last?" You asked curiously, trying to remind yourself why you need to keep John at a distance.
"I sang to myself last night. I think the last time I sang to someone else was you, at least the last time I remember singing to someone else. You know I don't sing often." John's singing was a little treat only you were ever given the privilege of hearing, and it really was a privilege.
"What'd you sing to yourself last night?" You were curious, couldn't stop yourself from asking. Even if you had a feeling he was baiting you into asking.
"I sang that song you were always singing to me, no matter how much I look I can't find a version that sounds like how you used to sing it. However, I know the words by heart, so whenever I need that calming memory I sing it to myself." He was trying to show his new effort he was willing to put into your relationship, he was trying to confide in you and admit how much you meant to him.
"You do? Really?" The entire idea didn't make sense to you, it completely went against the mental image of John you'd learned to view in your mind's eye. It didn't feel right thinking he was human too.
Though you'd always known he was human, nothing more nothing less. You'd learned to view him as less. It was easier to justify a beast's actions when they're cruel than a man's, a man who was supposed to be soft and gentle, a man who was supposed to love you how you needed him to.
"Love, I can recall just about every time you sang it for me." His eyes were so soft, you had to remind yourself that that was just the way they were shaped, his features in general were just soft. He was molded so perfectly into a man who looks like being loved by him would be a gift. It wasn't.
It was like performing CPR on someone who's been dead for several days now, rigor mortis had already set in and passed, with each passing moment more dirt was being put atop the grave of what used to be, and if you weren't careful you'd both be buried with it trying to bring it back to life.
Dead things needed to stay dead.
"I didn't know it meant that much to you." Your admission forced you to think about it more, to remember how he'd be able to breathe deeply, how you could watch him visibly untense and relax, how he'd hum along. How deep his voice would get in those quiet, secret moments.
"If you were able to live to the age of ninety and either retain the mind or body of a thirty-year-old for the last sixty years of your life, which would you choose?" His next question brought you out of your sudden wandering of thoughts into memories.
"Probably body, my bodies already got enough issues, not really looking forward to seeing how it continues to degenerate with age." You forced a small laugh, trying to stop viewing him how you once viewed him. He's changed now, you need to view him as he is now. See him as a new person.
A new person with a history you couldn't just erase from your mind.
"I'd keep my mind. I can endure anything as long as I'm still aware of who I am, and who the few people I care about are. I don't want to forget the things I love." John was still a man who liked control, he needed to maintain some semblance of it, needed to know that at any moment he could take the reins. Most importantly he needed to be in control of himself, who he is, who he was, and who he will become.
"We'd be a funny combination to see, a young fellow with an old man, the old one being the conscious of the two." You chuckled, imagining how funny it could be, but then you started thinking about it more, a fear blossoming in your chest. "I don't want to get old. I don't want to forget things, I don't want to be aware of my body dying and giving out. Not being aware of it almost sounds worse though. Dying isn't really scary to me, but the things that come with age do. So, I hope I die before then."
"I'd take care of you." John put his hand on your knee, he wasn't trying to push boundaries, he was just trying to comfort you. Put pause in your racing thoughts. All your doubts, all your fears.
"You'd probably be dead by then." You pulled away from him, removing his hand from your knee. You couldn't let him close again. You didn't like the thought of him being there when you weren't mentally. So, you removed him from the mental picture. Anyway you could.
He couldn't be in control of you, he couldn't make decisions for you. He couldn't choose what was best for you. He wasn't allowed to decide to end or prolong your life. It was your life. You didn't want to think about the choices he'd make for you. He wouldn't be there. He'd be dead. He wouldn't be left with the home of your soul but not your mind.
"I think we should skip the next question." He rested his hands on his knees, he seemed almost small in this moment. His voice carried a meekness you'd only heard a few times before. He was hurt.
"Okay, then what's the next question you'd like to ask?" You hadn't meant to hurt him. You hated hurting people. Hated knowing you were the cause of someone else's pain.
This was once again not going well. You didn't have to look hard for the reasons this wouldn't work out. There was just too much history to be able to ignore it. Too much you'd both done.
"Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common." He seemed a bit more hopeful with this, a turning page, a way away from what the last question had dug up. A step away from the skeletons and fragments of wooden casket left from your last relationship.
He wasn't trying to resuscitate your past relationship, he was trying to start a new one. A new relationship with someone he already loves, someone he already knows how to love.
"Three? Okay, let me think." You pondered it, trying to think of things you had in common. "We both prefer to watch movies over sports, we both hate when people rub it in when we lose, and we both like games where everyone works together against the game to win." You smiled softly when you successfully thought of three things, it was a little easier than you thought it'd be. You just had to remember the good moments you had.
"Game nights with your family were actually a nightmare. I've had missions that have threatened my life less." His small smile was back now, his cheeks soft and round, his facial hair making his cheeks look bigger. He looked so harmless smiling like that. You knew better though.
"Oh please, they were only that bad sometimes." You rolled your eyes at him. "You get used to it, it doesn't phase you after a while. Besides, that's why I moved away in the first place. One visit every year or two is manageable. Gives time to allow distance to let fondness grow. It's your turn to answer the question." You nudged his shoulder, curious about what he would come up with.
"Alright, let me think. We both liked when you'd dump info on me about the plots of things you were into." He adjusted on the couch to fully face you, his arm resting on the back cushions, his head resting on his hand.
"You liked that? I thought you would get annoyed with me sometimes when I'd do that." His answer was surprising to you, you'd never known he'd enjoyed when you'd ramble on and on to him. You adjusted, matching his position, mirroring him.
"Hindsight is twenty twenty, my dear. I look back at it fondly. Didn't you just say distance brings fondness?" He had the audacity to use your words to prove his point. "More than once Johnny or Kyle have been saying something and I've only understood it because of you."
"Who's Johnny and Kyle?" You ask curiously, not following, but finding it somewhat sweet that in a roundabout way you've helped him bond with people.
"My boys, my team." He explained, with how soft his expression was you could only imagine how much he cared for his team. He'd always been one to get attached. "You made me a better soldier by helping me remember my humanity."
Taking in his words a piece of yourself felt a little bit better, a warmth in your heart, like it was remembering how to beat properly. Beat with a sense of pride. "What are the other two things we have in common?" You didn't plan on letting him stop at three, you were too curious about what he would say.
"We both like live music, and neither of us like to sleep with socks on and are adamant about it." He listed the other two things, teasingly grabbing your foot and shaking it before letting go, playing with you, swatting at his hand, you returned the playfulness. "What do you feel most grateful for in your life?"
"Probably the people who have helped me learn and grow, the people who have supported me and made me feel of worth." Your answer seemed a bit basic to you, but it was truthful.
"I'd say the same." John agreed, nodding his head softly. "If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?"
"That's a really deeply personal hard question." You weren't sure you wanted to answer it, weren't sure if you could pick just one thing, weren't sure you could stop yourself from spilling out too much of yourself to him again. He knew the story of your childhood and youth, nothing had changed.
"You don't have to answer it if you don't want to." His reassurance almost caught you off guard, he seemed more understanding now than he used to be. He didn't want you to have to dig up anything painful for you.
You took a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh. "It's okay, I'll just be brief. I would have liked to have more friends around my age, to have been properly socialized. Not just have adults to talk to or try to play with. I wish that part of my development had gone better, instead of how it did. It's just something I have to live with everyday. Seeing people but feeling like there's something between us, like a glass barrier. Like everyone knows I was the kid no one wanted to talk to. The weird kid in the weird family."
John's hand reached for your knee again, but he stopped short, letting it fall on the cushion between you two, there if you wanted it, but at a distance. "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault." You put your hand over his, he turned his over and held yours gently but reassuringly.
"Even still." He squeezed your hand softly. "I wish I'd had someone to tell me that they were proud of me, that I was doing well." His words made a part of you hurt. He'd never had support in his youth.
"I think we could have worked out, like really worked out, if I just wasn't me, and you weren't you. If we weren't children raised like adults. If we'd been given a better start, a fighting chance. If we knew how to be healthy for ourselves, we could have been healthy for each other." You squeezed his hand back before slipping out of his grip, pulling your hand back.
"I don't want to answer the next question, so we'll skip it." He looked down at his now empty hand, the feeling of you pulling away again eating at him. He needed to be able to keep you. He was nothing but an empty cage without you.
"Then we'll skip it, whatever it is, we can skip it. We can make the rules to this game, we don't have to do anything either of us don't want to." You gave him the same out he'd given you. Frankly, if it was a question he didn't want to answer you didn't really want to know what it was.
"If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?" John asked another question, a small smile coming to his face as he adjusted once again on the couch, scooting slightly closer to you.
"Telekinesis would be super useful." You didn't even have to think about it, but then a sudden embarrassing realization hit you. "Or.. did you not mean a superpower?"
He chuckled at your eager answer. "I was more so thinking of a skill, but superpower works too, love."
"Well, if it's a skill I'd probably pick something like learning an instrument or being able to create something useful. Or like how to fix something." You gave him another answer, still feeling a little stupid for taking it wrong.
"I think invincibility would be a very useful superpower." He smiled at you, giving his answer, he didn't want you to feel like an idiot for taking the question another way. "But skill wise, I've always thought sculpting looks fun, or woodwork. I watched a man carve out a canoe from a big piece of wood in a documentary once."
"Not you and your documentaries. Gosh, those were all you'd watch when I didn't pick a show or movie. That and those survival shows." You laughed, teasing him.
"Knowledge is power, my dear. You never know when you'll need to know something." The possessive pet name made your chest feel tight. You could feel John breaking through another wall, making his way through the labyrinth of your defenses. He wouldn't stop till he held your heart again, or died trying to.
"Okay, well when I'm lost in the woods and need to know how to survive and build a canoe I'll call you." You moved to be sitting on your legs, moving closer to John in the process, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.
"If you're lost in the woods and call me I'll just come get you." He chuckled, his eyes taking in your new sitting position. "If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?"
"'Am I genuinely a good person?' Or, maybe something like 'what is a simple thing to do or change about me that would positively impact those around me?' there's also you know... more materialistic thinking of 'what can I invest in that will make me rich beyond my wildest dreams?'" You listed off a few things, finding this question a lot of fun.
"I would ask for guidance on how to fix my wrongs." He seemed genuine, if not a bit sad. He really had changed, and he really was still trying to change. He wanted to make amends.
"I think most people would like an answer to that." You nodded in understanding. "Do you think all wrongs can be fixed? Be forgiven?"
"I'd hope so. If not, there's still a point in trying, don't you think?" It was a sad thought thinking you could never right some wrongs, that all the bad things you've done would just always be there, always haunt you.
"Yeah, I'd hope so too. I think there's always a point to try and become better. Even if you're not forgiven." Forgiving yourself for the wrongs you've done was half the battle, allowing yourself to move on. Letting yourself let go of some of the weight and burden of hating yourself for something that you'd done.
He nodded, seeming to think it over for a moment. "Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it?"
"There's a lot of things I've always wanted to do, sometimes life, money, and even other people get in the way. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to get a few things off my bucket list." You felt like a lot of people had things they dreamed of doing, some things just needed to find a window of opportunity to actually do.
And sometimes some things just aren't meant to be, life's rejections are sometimes protection. You tried to remember that.
"Can I tell you something stupid?" He leaned in closer, a mischief to him you'd only seen a few times. When you nodded he continued. "I think it would be fun to swing on a chandelier, but I wouldn't want to break one." His confession made you burst out laughing.
"I've always wanted to do that too! But yeah, I don't think it's 'socially acceptable'." There were lots of things you would do if you wouldn't be judged for them. "If you ever find a chandelier on a deployment you could do it, I mean no one would know if you broke it or if a stray bullet did."
"I don't mess around in the field. Learned my lesson a long time ago." He shook his head softly. "What is your life's greatest accomplishment?"
You tapped on your lips in thought, trying to think about it. "That's a hard question, maybe sticking with things? Seeing them through till the end. I don't want to choose just one thing, since I've done a lot. But none of it would have been possible without the desire to finish them. So, my resilience?"
"Works for me." He smiled. "Sometimes I wonder how I was ever able to get you to marry me in the first place, so I'd say that. Even though we didn't last forever, I still had you for a time, and I think that was my life's greatest accomplishment."
"Not being captain? Or any of the medals or anything?" You were surprised that he saw his time with you as his greatest accomplishment.
"No. Being with you proved I at least had good taste once." He was trying to flatter you, it was working. A warmth spreading through your chest, you could feel it creeping out through the rest of your body, he seemed proud of himself for getting this reaction from you. "What do you value most in a friendship?"
"Communication and understanding." You'd thought about this a lot over your life, took notice of what worked and what didn't work in past and current friendships. "Also, you know, I appreciate when people don't become my friend because they want something from me."
"I agree, those things are what I'd say are most important." He gave a little nod, happy you were on the same page about this. "What is your most treasured memory?"
Your face lit up as you remembered something. "Do you remember when we went to the theater to watch that movie? I don't remember what movie it was, but it was awful. Like really bad. And so we ended up talking through it, whispering and laughing back and forth."
"Yes, I remember that." He softened, recalling the date with you.
"I remember it was just us and one other person in the whole theater. And he got up and he complained about us, and we got kicked out of the movie. I remember being so grateful because I did not want to watch that movie anymore but I didn't want to say anything." You continued to recollect your past date.
"Why didn't you say anything? I would have been okay with walking out. It was a cheap showing." He laughed, finding your eagerness in retelling this story to him despite the fact he was there cute.
"Anyways, then we went and we got ice cream together, and we drove out to the secluded park with all the trees and we parked there to make out in the car like teenagers. Then that police officer came up to your window, tapped on it a few times. And he said that we can't be doing what we were doing in a public place, it was 'indecent'." You rolled your eyes at that.
"I was so mad. I was not going to be very nice to him, but I restrained myself, as far as I remember." John was enjoying watching you get so animated about this.
"I don't think I'll ever forget what you said to him, you said 'I spend enough time away from my wife, I'm not going to waste a single second not loving them when I'm with them.' I knew then that I would love you forever. But somewhere between then and our divorce, you stopped loving me like that. And I knew it was time to say goodbye. Knew we were already over." You looked down at your hands, the memory turning sour.
"I never stopped loving you like that. I just- I forgot how to let go of myself to remember how to treat you like that. Things got tense between us. I'm sorry for perpetuating that rather than fixing it." He was so sincere in his words, in his regret.
"What about you? What's your favorite memory?" You let it go, you didn't want to rehash things.
"It was right after I'd gotten home from a longer deployment, I'd gotten home in the middle of the night, and you were so tired. You'd slept in till noon, head on my chest. I didn't feel like I could sleep yet, still too stuck in work mode. I committed your face to memory, the way your mouth was slightly open, drooling on my shirt. You soaked right through. I'll never forget the feeling of that damp spot from your drool on my chest." He seemed to think of this fondly, but you were horrified.
"I drooled on you? And you let me? I'm so sorry, that's so gross. Why didn't you move me? Didn't you think that was gross?" You couldn't stop wondering how often you drooled in your sleep now, how often you'd drooled on him.
"You were asleep, it's not as if you did it on purpose." He seemed so unfazed by it, like it was perfectly normal. Which only added to your horror. How many times had you done this? Why did his favorite memory have to be one where you were so... human.
"Out of everything that's really your most treasured memory?" You couldn't fathom why.
"Yes, it was a very simple relaxing moment. You were safe, I was safe. It was just us two in our bed. No one else, nothing else. Everything was at peace. Because of you I was at peace." You hadn't thought of it like that. "What is your worst memory?"
"What the hell kind of question is that? Let's bring up something happy and then immediately bring up something so traumatic and mind altering it's to the point it plagues your consciousness." You made fun of the question, making John chuckle and shake his head.
"You don't have to answer it." He reminded you.
"Well, it's too late. I've already thought about it." You sighed. "When I was around thirteen I just wanted to fit in, be like the other kids. I was tired of being seen as weird. I was tired of wearing second hand clothes, so I asked my mom for something in style, she got upset, I mean money was tight. I understood that. But, she looked me dead in the eyes." You paused, closing your eyes for a moment refusing to let yourself get emotional.
John took your hand, squeezing it softly, he'd never heard this story before. "And?" He prompted softly.
"And, she told me that I did not deserve nice things, that I wasn't worth nice things." You finished. "I know she just meant clothes, or something. I don't know. But it's always stuck with me, more than any other hellish thing people have said to me. It's weaseled it's way a little too far in my mind. Spread into everything. Poisoned my perception of what I'm allowed to let myself have."
"Love, look at me." He gently tipped your head up to look at him, looking into your eyes. "You are worthy of nice things. You deserve nice things. You deserve whatever is best for you. I'm sorry. I'm sure there's more to that story or ideation than you said, but you don't have to tell me. It's okay."
"I guess it's your turn to tell me your worst memory. Maybe we should have skipped this question after all." You laughed a little, trying to pretend you weren't just getting emotional, trying to not let it hurt again.
You were trying not to let something that would hurt him slip out of you. You couldn't say more, if you did you'd be too honest. You'd twist the knife you were sure you'd already left in his heart.
"When you handed me the divorce papers. I remember that day in such vivid detail. Fuck, I'm sorry. For everything. All the things I said when I realized it was over, there's no excuse for it. I'm sorry. I don't even remember all I said, I just remember this buzzing in my head, and your face. I remember your expression." He stopped himself from saying more. Too much guilt eating away at him.
"We should have skipped this question." You decided, looking away from him for a moment. "What's the next one?"
"Um, what does friendship mean to you?" You were surprised you actually got John to a point where he used a filler word. He never used filler words, you were sure for so many years that he was incapable of using them seriously. That he had trained himself out of using them.
"It means everything, I believe any successful healthy relationship should first be built upon friendship. How can you be with someone who isn't your friend too?" Sometimes the thing you missed most about John was his friendship, he was a good friend, your best friend at one point.
"Trust often comes with friendship, so it's really important to me. I need people to trust me so they'll listen to me." He collected himself once more, standing up he took his glass into the kitchen before coming back with it half full, probably all that was left in the bottle.
"That makes sense, I can see how it could affect how well the job gets done without that level of trust." You nodded, letting him settle back into his spot on the couch. "Do you consider your team as your friends?"
"I'd say so, they're good lads. Stressful, reckless at times, they keep me on my toes. But yes, I'd say they're friends. To a point. Not people I'd go to about my personal life." He explained their relationship, taking a sip from his glass.
"Do you have any friends you can talk about your personal life with?" You were curious if he had any kind of actual support system, he was never the best at those kinds of friendships. He saw the allies he could call for help in a fight as close enough to that.
"No. I don't." You couldn't view him as your responsibility, couldn't offer yourself to him in that way just because he didn't have anyone else, but that horrible part of yourself that needed you to give yourself away and fix people was begging for someone to take care of. People aren't projects, you have to remind yourself that.
Especially not John. The only person capable of fixing John was John. If you ever tried he'd tear you apart, the last time you tried you were the one who needed the fixing. Or maybe you needed fixing the whole time. It's hard to say.
"I'm sorry. I try not to talk to people about my issues, I always regret it after I say something. People talk, views change, it's more trouble for me than it's worth. But I know you're more social than I am, I know you like to talk to people, even if it's not necessarily about your problems, you just like talking about life." You felt bad for him, you hoped he wasn't isolating himself.
"It's alright, love. Not your fault." He pat your shoulder, making you playfully roll your eyes. You were about to say something, but he cut you off. "What roles do love and affection play in your life?"
"Every role? I try to love everyone, try to understand they're human and flawed, just as I am. I love the idea of love, I like loving people. And you know I'm an affectionate person." You picked at your nails a little as you answered.
"Your version of affection is a bit unconventional, but it's still endearing." The jest in his voice did little to amuse you.
"Gee, thanks." You were deadpan with him, making him chuckle and shake his head, before finishing his glass and putting it down. "Just answer the question."
"It was supposed to be a compliment." He clarified. "Love and affection don't play as much of a role in my life as I would like. I would like to love more than I ever have, and I'd like to actually express that love rather than assume it's just understood without action."
"Maybe you should love 'your boys'." You snickered, hiding your mischievous smile behind your hand.
"I suppose you think you're terribly clever." He scooted closer to you, testing how comfortable you were with him getting closer.
"I don't think-" He cut you off before you could finish your sentence.
"Clearly. Completely hollow up here" He softly knocked on your skull, making you scoff in mock hurt, laughing from his unserious attack.
"Okay, rude. What's the next question?" You absentmindedly scooted closer to him, when he put his arm on the back of the couch you came closer, sitting on your calves and facing him.
"It's more of an activity, we're supposed to take turns sharing positive characteristics about the other." He explained. "I'll go first, you're one of the fastest learners I know."
"I thought I was stupid?" You teased, a bit smugly.
"I lied." He sighed, but he didn't actually seem annoyed or upset.
"So, now we're lying?" You pushed, making him give you a look of warning not to go there. "Okay, okay. You're charming. In your own way."
"That sounds like a backhanded compliment, but I digress. You're passionate about things you like or care about." He relaxed again, moving slightly closer, your knees touching his thighs now. The touch was distracting you, how right it felt. How wrong you've felt going so long without him.
"You are too." It was an easy answer, one you didn't have to think about much, a cop out. But still an honest answer.
"You are a calming person, you're easy to be around." You smiled softly at his words, leaning into him a little.
"You never give up, you're persistent and you achieve your goals." Both of you were more relaxed now, sinking into each other. Getting ever closer. You couldn't even hear the alarms going off in your mind, choosing to ignore them to just have a nice moment.
"How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?" His question ruined everything, reminding you to keep your guard up, to remember this was still the same John Price you were once married to, even if he wanted to act changed.
"Really? We're bringing up my mother again? Okay, it's complicated. I still love her, and I understand that she was the way she was while I was growing up because of her own trauma, but at the same time, I was just a kid and didn't deserve the things I went through because of her." You sat up more, pulling away from him, keeping your knees touching his thighs.
He didn't say anything about you pulling away, he tried not to show his disappointment. "It's just the next question. I'm answering it too. I love my mother, she worries about me a lot. But we're not close. Never have been overly close."
"Okay, fine. Next question." You just wanted to move on, family was a hard topic, you didn't like to linger on it.
"There's only a few questions left, most of them are like the characteristic activity, which we can skip. The next question is, when did you last cry to someone else and when did you last cry to yourself?" He didn't really think this question was any better than the last, he still asked it though, these were questions that were supposed to bring the two of you closer. They were supposed to make you fall in love again, or at least maybe help resolve something.
"I don't know when I last cried to someone else, I try not to do that. It's been a while since I've cried in general. I think I've been suppressing my feelings and emotions. I don't really know how to stop though." You confessed, confiding in him.
"That's okay, you'll cry when you need to." He pat your shoulder comfortingly. "It's been a while since I last cried to myself and even longer since I cried to someone else."
"The day we learn to feel our emotions properly is probably the day the world ends." You joked, making him chuckle.
"Probably. Alright, love, what, if anything, is too serious to joke about?" He asked curiously.
"Dark humor has its time and place, and of course coping through humor is a thing, context is also important. However, human trafficking is hardly ever funny, in any time or place. You know, like the really serious stuff like that I don't really find funny." You felt that was a pretty reasonable answer.
"I can't argue with that." He agreed. "Last question. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?"
"Just one thing? Probably my keepsake box, it has everything important to me in it. It also has my birth certificate and that kind of stuff in it." There was so much importance in one small box, losing it would be the worst thing ever. "And you?"
His face softened as he thought about it. "My ring, I would want to go back for my ring."
"You still have your ring?" Your voice was soft as you asked the question. It shouldn't have been as surprising to you as it was, a part of you was internally preening, but another part of you was devastated by hearing that.
He still had his ring, he was still holding on to what was. He was still holding onto you. John Price still saw you as the person he promised to love, to have and to hold, for as long as you both shall live.
"Do you?" He asked curiously, leaning in a little closer to your face, trying to read every possible emotion and thought you could be having.
"Maybe somewhere, it was really nice, so it's probably in a box or something. You know I struggle with getting rid of nice things." You fiddled with your fingers a bit nervously, you weren't expecting him to turn the question back on you and had to scramble for an answer.
"I remember well how much you struggle with getting rid of nice things." He chuckled a little, watching your hands fiddle. When you were married you'd play with your wedding ring, but you hadn't made a habit of wearing rings since the divorce.
You perked up a little at the thought of a question coming to your mind. "Okay, you've asked me many questions, and we've both answered them. Now, I have just one question for you, when we ran into each other again, was that really a coincidence? Be honest."
John contemplated it, running his hand over his facial hair. Thinking about how he wanted to answer this. What truth or deception could give him in the long run. Whether or not he was ready to give you this answer yet. Honesty was important, more now than ever.
"No."
Tags: @waiting-so-long @little-laamb
#ocaptainchallenge#x reader#oneshot#reader insert#gender neutral reader#cod fandom#cod#angst#cod fanfic#john price#john price cod#captain john price#captain price#captain johnathan price#john price x reader#captain john price x reader
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Part one of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Part one uses two:
42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years
14. Opposites attract
~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Some liberties were taken with canon, obvs. Please enjoy!
You meet John Price when you're fifteen years old.
Being the new kid is never easy, but you have some practice. This is the fifth time your family has moved since you were born. Such is life when your mother's an ambassador. However, it is your first time attending an actual school, and it's miserable. It doesn't matter who your mother is when your peers are the children of millionaires, celebrities, and executives. Compared to them, you're a nobody, just easy pickings.
But compared to John, you might as well be a princess.
The son of your mother's assistant, you see John almost every day. You do not attend the same school, of course. Despite the awfulness of its students, your school has standards, after all, but every day after the last bell, you and your security detail fetch John to rendezvous at your family's sprawling home. Since both sets of your parents work long and odd hours, you spend a great deal of time together. Usually, you study, eat dinner, maybe read or watch television, but you do not necessarily talk. He's as surly as an old man, unpleasant on good days and unbearable on bad ones.
You don't look at John when he slides into the car anymore. You're enthralled in Sabriel, too busy to acknowledge him, that is until you feel his eyes on you.
"What?"
"Didn't say anything."
"You're staring," You huff, lowering the book, only to almost drop it. "What happened to your face?!"
A purpling, inky black bruise covers John's swollen left eye. It's nasty, but he looks bored by the question.
"Scrapped. Some idiot ran his mouth."
"So you hit him? Then he hit you?"
"That's generally how it works," He says dismissively, crossing his arms and leaning into the seat to stare out the window.
You roll your eyes and return to the Abhorsen. "Your mom's gonna kill you."
He doesn't have a comeback for that.
Predictably, his mom loses it when she arrives to pick him up. Throws a fit, her anger evenly split between John and his school. You watch from the top of the stairs as your mother consoles her friend and offers advice before they leave. John scowls, the expression deepening when he catches you listening in. You give a shit-eating grin before retreating to your room. Serves him right for fighting. Boys.
Of course, though, in a rotten turn of events, his mother leverages her position, and John enrolls in your school. Due to your relationship, you're naturally coupled together both in and outside of the classroom. It isn't for lack of trying on your peers' parts. You can grudgingly admit John's a good-looking boy. He has all the makings of a popular kid. Athletic, intelligent, and withdrawn, just enough to make people wonder in a good way. He's regularly asked out, the invitations often extended in your company. You don't miss how other girls look at him or glare at you.
Jokes on them, he's easily the most unpleasant person you've ever had the displeasure to know.
"What are you putting down on the careers interest form?" You ask one afternoon, sprawled on the couch while John sits with his back to it, reading.
"SAS. Enlisting next year."
"Military? How noble." You muse. "Your dad's not–"
"No," His head turns a fraction. "But my grandfather served. North Africa."
It's the first you've heard of it. John doesn't talk much about his family, nor do you make a habit of asking. You don't pay close attention to the adults' conversations either. "Well, you're pretty strong and clever, I guess," you temper the compliments, uneasy about doling them out to him. So you'll fair well, I bet."
He doesn't respond for a minute before a quiet "Thank you," ekes out.
For whatever reason, your face heats. How embarrassing. You tap your pen against your blank form, grateful he faces away. Yet as a silence follows and stretches, irritation sidles alongside discomfiture. Honestly, this is what you'd like to show the girls at school. Prove that John's actually quite annoying.
"Now's about the time another person would ask what I'm putting down."
John doesn't look up from his book. "I know what you're going to write."
You bristle. "Oh, do you? Enlighten me."
"Artist. Writer. Actress. Something useless."
In one fluid movement, you sit up and strike him across the crown with your notebook. "You're such an asshole!" You quickly create distance between his stupid, stunned face and yourself, stomping all the way to the stairs. Halfway up the steps, you crouch, pressing your face between the balusters. "You're not going to amount to anything!"
You don't speak to him after that—not entirely, of course. Your families are too intertwined to avoid him completely, but the incident strains your already tenuous relationship. It's awkward and tense, though neither of your families notices the shift. You sit in silence at joint dinners. You leave him alone in the den after school. You latch on to other singletons in class, avoiding him in the halls.
Months pass, and as John declared, he enlists the moment the school term ends. Freshly sixteen, and scheduled to ship out to basic.
The morning he leaves, your mother drags you to his house. You stand speechless on the walk outside when he marches out with his rucksack. His head's shaved. He grew an inch and filled out some in the last few weeks when you weren't paying attention. Still a boy, but clearly on his way to becoming a man.
His mother all but shoves him at you to say goodbye. He stares down at you now, the twit.
"Good luck." It's the nicest thing you can manage.
"Break a leg," He responds, hauling his bag over his shoulder. "Don't be useless."
You're too busy noticing how his eyes are the same color as the sky to feel even a twinge of irritation.
When he files into the waiting taxi, his mother bursts out into sobs. You watch the car until it disappears down the next street, trying to understand why your chest is so tight.
It’s a decade before you see him again.
~~
"I told the Prices you'd pop by."
You nearly fumble your card, phone cradled between your shoulder and ear, and clumsily tap it against the scanner. Mouthing an apology to the disinterested cashier, you take your bag and find your words.
"Why would you do that?" You ask, unable to completely mask your disdain. "I told you I have plans for New Years."
Your mother tsks. "Surely you can pencil in some of our oldest friends for an hour tomorrow."
The automatic doors open, and the wintry air envelops you instantly. The plastic bag taut in the crook of your arm, you flip the collar of your coat and start the return trek to your flatshare. "I haven't seen them since graduation, since we moved back to Virginia."
"And you moved back to London, what, eight months ago?" Her end muffles a moment while she says something to her aide. Her voice is sterner when she speaks again. "They've been asking about your job, how acting's going…" Her voice trails, leaving the works or not going unspoken.
You swallow, tucking your chin into your scarf to consider the remainder of the conversation. "Fine. I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon. But I'm not staying late. I have plans." You don't. You did have an invite to a party a week ago, but that was before Jeff decided Jane from work was 'more his speed'. More 'conventional'. Though you'd seen the breakup coming for weeks and the relationship only a measly six months old, it still stung. Since coming back to London, you've had more than enough rejection.
Dozens of auditions. Dozens more interviews. Zip, zilch, zero. No callbacks, no non-speaking roles. And while you are the favorite stage manager for several small local theaters and Yes Woman, you weren't any closer to the stage. Something your mother loves to remind you of. Between her rapid ascent up the career ladder and your decision to study theater, an uncrossable gulf cropped up between you. It grew with each passing day. Moreso, when you reject every offer of financial support or connection. Her support means control. Ownership. You won't have it.
The conversation drifts to other topics—Dad, mostly. He's still putting around after her, content in his retirement. They'll spend New Year's at the White House, of course. You're pushing through the door to your place when she drops the bomb.
"John'll be there, too."
This time, you drop your keys.
~~
There is no excuse you can make to back out now. You wait on the top step of the Price's home. It's smaller than you remember. You hear people inside, music, and laughter. You hesitate. Given what you told your mother, they probably expected you far earlier than nine, but you barely mustered the courage to leave your room. You practically blacked out on the tube, leaving the station in a daze with your cheap bubbles. Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door. No time for stage fright.
The foyer is a time capsule, aside from the dozens of coats hanging on hooks and a coat rack. Framed photos of the Prices throughout the years line the short corridor leading further into the home. John's center stage for most of them. You hang your coat and slowly edge down memory lane, pausing when you see your own face looking back at you. Aged fifteen, the first day of school. You and John in different uniforms, sulking for different reasons. It was the last time you were the same height.
There are a lot of photographs of you in the hallway gallery. Ones you didn't know existed. You get stuck on a still of you and John from behind. It's from the London Zoo, from some ridiculous event your mother's work mandated you attend. The photo is simple, accidentally composed almost professionally. You and John lean against the rail overlooking the lion exhibit. You excitedly point at the pair lazing about in the shade, and John…John's focus is on you.
The sound of your name rips you away from the moment, and Mrs. Price beckons from the doorway to the living area.
The reunion between yourself and Prices is sweeter than you thought it would be. It's odd to see them older. As jarring as it is when you see your own parents, as sparingly as those visits are. Wrinkles, spots, graying hairs…But unlike your parents, none of the familiar warmth is missing from the Prices. They fuss, complimenting your secondhand dress and gushing over the bottom shelf champagne. They awkwardly introduce you to the closest guests, some claiming to have met you as a teenager. But you feel Mrs. Price's hand on your back, gently ushering and ushering, until you arrive at the threshold of the kitchen.
He's taller, tanner, and a hell of a lot broader than you remember him.
"John? Look who's here!"
You step into the kitchen with a gentle nudge from Mrs. Price, and the figure from many memories and more than a handful of confusing and mortifying dreams turns to face you.
Your name slips from his mouth in an arrogant purr, and the little tug of his lip into a smirk instantly pokes at your patience. He's literally only said your name, and already he's resurrected the same shade of vexation you felt ten years ago.
You're going to need something stronger than champagne.
#ocaptainchallenge#john price#john price x reader#john price x f!reader#price x reader#price x f!reader#lieutenant john price#smug lieutenant john price is so important to me#i'm also obviously not british and i'll admit i did maybe 10% of the research i usually do.....apologies#lightly edited i was too excited
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At the barbers
Pairing: John Price x F!Medic! Reader (call sign : Chameleon)
Summary: Part of @glitterypirateduck's John Price "O, Captain! Challenge"
prompt used : 92: Giving Price a haircut and/or shave
Warning: T-M rating.
A/N: as mention previously in my Little secret series, Reader is from immigrant/non-Caucasian background. I know nothing about military.
Thank you @mini-metal for giving me few suggestions and few ideas! *hugs*
Part of the Memory in a Fragrance series
Part of Little secret series
Master list
“Love.”
“Hmmm?”
“Would you mind giving me a hand here please?” John struggled as he tried to lift his injured arm to trim his beard.
You sighed. “I am only good with surgical knives and scissors.” You took the trimmer off his hand and gently pushed his arm down. “Why not go to a barber?”
“.... I am not quite comfortable with someone holding a blade to my neck.”
“And you are comfortable with ME doing it?” you cocked an eyebrow.
He hummed. “That’s because you are my wife. I trust you with all my life.” he pressed a kiss into your forehead. Wrapping his good arm around you as you sink into his embrace.
“Well I am flattered by the great Captain Price trusting me with a knife to his throat.” you giggled, “But I really wouldn’t trust myself to trim my own dead ends off, let alone take a risk of destroying your luscious mutton chop.” You could almost feel him rolling his eyes as he mumbled something incoherent.
“How about one of the boys helping you?”
“I don’t trust them either.” he rumbled. “I trust them with my life.. But I wouldn’t trust them NOT destroying my beard. I already heard them plotting to shave my beard off in my sleep a few times.”
You couldn't help but laugh. “ Well… We gotta think of something. Can’t let you leave your hair and beard go until your arms heal….”
The strong leathery, lavender and cedarwood, faint hint of cigar smell hits you as soon as the two of you walk into the shop. The old radio playing some jazz music in the background, the old barber sitting on the wooden stool, reading the newspaper. It brings you distant memories. One of those rare happier moments when you were younger….
John finally agreed after a bit of coaxing from you to get his hair and beard done by the professional instead of you trying your luck.
“I will go with you, how about that? And maybe I can learn a few tricks and tips from the professional?” you suggested.
The barber waved to your husband to sit down on the chair after you explained to him what needs to be done. He was more than happy to teach you how to help John to maintain his pride and joy.
Price couldn’t hold back his smile as he saw how focused and concentrated you are, pouting and wrinkling your nose as you listened to the barber explaining each step and how to use the tools. It helps to distract him from some strangers working so closely to him with sharp apparatus. The barber even handed over the scissors a few times for you to try out.
“Stop moving, you are laughing too much.” you mumbled as you tried to trim the extra long strains around the edge of his jaw. “I don’t think you want me to accidentally take a chunk out of your beard, and have the boys laugh at you at work.”
“I could always shave all my beard off.”
“Oh so you changed your mind? You're definitely going to give them a heart attack and give me a heart break if you do that. So… Never.” you laughed as you handed the scissors back to the barber.
“You get to see Lieutenant John Price?”
“As much as you were a handsome young man back then,I would rather keep that memory in the photos.” You pointed out as you sat back down, letting the professional get back to work.
You observe your husband’s side profile with a faint smile on your face as the barber finishes off the rest of the trimming and hair cut. Even after years of marriage, you still have a hard time believing, this handsome man is your husband.
The moment you set your eyes on him, you didn’t think you had much of a chance. The ranks, the personality, the background…. Everything.
But he chose you.
“I choose you? I should be thankful you chose me, my love.” he whispered into your ear one night after you confessed your insecurity. Nuzzling his face into your neck. “For bearing my temper…my imperfections.”
“What do you think?” he looked at your eyes through the mirror as the barber dust the rest of the beard and hair off his shoulder, seeking for approval.
Moving yourself to stand in front of him, you gently lay your hand on his face, tilting it to the left, and to the right, and finally, giving him a kiss on the lip, enjoying the smell of the aftershave.
“Handsome. And the best mutton chop I have ever seen.”
“You sound like you have seen quite a few in your life.” he chuckled as thank and paid the barber for his service.
“Maybe, maybe not.” you teased him as you wrap your arm around him. “But it’s definitely the mutton chop that always gives me a good time.” you could see his cheek redden under the beard. “Now, it’s not so scary is it? Having someone else to trim your beard for you.”
“If you come with me again next time.” he squeezed your hand fondly.
“Gladly.”
“Oh what, you mean we missed out a chance of trying to shave his beard off?”
“And You will get your mohawk shaved off too if you do that, MacTavish.”
Thank you @glitterypirateduck for hosting another wonderful event!!!! *hug*
Tag list:
@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world
@homicidal-slvt
@mini-metal
@okayyadriana @deadbranch @cumikering @siilvan
@random-thot-generator @random0lover @devcica @nrdmssgs @glitterypirateduck @mmyrrhh
@mistydeyes, @groguspicklejar @roosterr
@gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot, @writeforfandoms @whydoilikewhump @tapioca-marzipan
@alypink, @liyanahelena, @phoenixhalliwell
#ocaptainchallenge#call of duty#john price#captain john price#captain price#john price x reader#john price x f!reader#john price x you#sofasoap writes
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Riptide
Price/FReader for @glitterypirateduck's Oh, Captain! challenge 🩷
Challenge #2 (First time being intimate) and #91 (Snuggling under the stars)
TW: female reader, come play, a bit of casual exhibitionism
After a long mission, you’re slowly making your way back to England, hitching rides with local extraction teams to avoid Russian detection. Somewhere in the Mediterranean, you and the 141 make camp on an island beach and discover an old bottle of rum. Once the sun sets, the rum goes straight to your head, and you and your captain get tangled up in a hammock.
The captain was dressed in his boonie hat, a pair of running shorts, and nothing else, swaying back and forth gently in an old rope hammock. The sunset glowed ruby red, just like the tip of his cigar, and the heat of the day slowly surrendered to a cool, island night.
You’d never seen a pure purple sky before, and you watched it fade until the stars came out, twinkling on the horizon line just above the crashing waves. Your toes were being lapped at by the bright white foam, and every time the tide came toward you, it licked at your skin deeper and deeper, threatening to pull you into its riptide, taking you along with it, claiming you for the sea.
Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were chatting by the fire, nursing one of the bottles of rum they’d discovered amongst the old shipping crates. You’d been skeptical at first, but when Price took a big long swig right in front of you, proving it wasn’t poison, you followed him into the drink. The two of you had made half a bottle disappear before he grew oddly quiet, giving you a strange look and retreating to his hammock bed.
You peered over at him again. A steady flow of blue, milky smoke floated up from his full lips, tangling itself in his beard before blowing away with the night wind. You wanted to taste it. You wanted to feel that fire of his on your tongue. You wanted to be burnt by it, to smolder into glowing embers and ash right along with him.
You looked over your shoulder to make sure the men were distracted before changing out of your wet sports bra. You were wearing a white button down over your black bra and panties, every bit as utilitarian as you had been trained to be, but the damp fabric was making you cold. And perhaps, if he chose to take a look, now that your breasts were unbound, a certain captain might be able to peer into the gaping neckline to see your nipples. You wanted him to see them.
Trying to be very casual about it, you marched over to the roaring bonfire where the boys were sitting and hung your bra with the other drying clothes. You were all in some state of undress, but as you approached, their boisterous conversation lulled, and they watched you fidget once more with your top, choosing to unbutton it just one button further.
“Tsk… You got it bad, sergeant,” Gaz whispered, nodding over to Price, judging you shamelessly.
“Yeah,” you shrugged, “So?”
“Both of you,” Ghost shook his head, taking another swig from the bottle.
Before you could ask what he meant, Soap slung his arm around your shoulder and whispered in your ear,
“Just watch.”
Then, he let out a loud wolf-whistle and stood up with you, spinning you around the fire. The other boys laughed, understanding his game.
“Bonnie lass! You’ve got moves, hen, I’ll give you that.”
“Aye, she does. Been hitting the gym, haven’t you, babes. Quads are lookin’ tight,” Gaz commented loudly.
You realized they were trying to goad the captain, making him jealous. Sure enough, he was staring right at you, his bright eyes shining in the orange blaze of the fire, even though he was too far to do anything about it. He took another drag from his cigar, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you.
Ghost shook his head again and muttered under his breath,
“Gonna wake the dragon if you’re not careful, you muppets.”
You smiled, taking the bottle of rum from his hands and tipping it back, letting the sweet liquor flow down your throat. You wiped your lips with the back of your hand and returned it to Ghost, making your way over to the hammock.
Price watched your approach the whole time, and maybe you added a little extra sway to your hips as you tread through the sand, and maybe… maybe you let the wind billow under your button down, making the gap wider, showing more and more of your breasts until it was almost indecent.
“Got room for one more?”
He watched you from his swinging bed, making you wait for his response, puffing his smoke toward your bare belly where your shirt was knotted up. Then, in that deep voice of his, he nodded and said,
“Aye, if you’re willing to be the little spoon, Sergeant.”
“Sure,” you shrugged, sitting on the edge of the ropes carefully, putting your weight in the middle and lowering yourself until you were laying with your back against his hairy chest, feeling the stickiness of his skin, coated in salt and sand and sweat. Your feet tangled together. He did not move to untangle them, so neither did you.
He was quiet behind you, but you could feel his breathing. Every now and then, creamy bands of smoke would tumble across your cheek. You followed it with your nose, looking back at him, scooting down a bit so you could see his face.
“Can I try?” You eyed the cigar.
“You know how?” He asked gently.
You shook your head. It was a lie. You knew how to smoke cigars; who didn’t? But, you wanted him to feel like he was showing you something for the first time. More than that, you wanted to see how he would teach you. The butterflies in your belly railed against your nerves, fluttering like mad to see him make you into his student.
He handed you the stick, giving you his commands,
“Pull it into your mouth, but not your throat. Keep it on your tongue. Taste it. When you’ve had enough, let it all out.”
You stared into his bright blue eyes as you followed his instructions. You sucked in the smoke, feeling the heat and tasting the sweetness of the tobacco. You let it linger on your tongue, and then you blew it out, letting it coat his chin and flow around his neck like a smoky collar.
“Mm,” he murmured, disapproving, “Too fast, love. Like this.”
He took the cigar and put it to his lips, taking in a huge puff. Then, to your surprise, he leaned over you, putting his mouth in front of yours close enough to kiss you, but he didn’t. He let the smoke fall out of his mouth and into yours, watching it pool into your lips and beyond your teeth. It filled your senses, making you reel from its intensity. Price had a gleam in his eye, and you knew he was trying his best to get under your skin.
You smiled back. Two could play at this game.
After the smoke cleared, he pulled back, leaning away from you but still looking at your face, waiting for your reaction.
“It got cold quick, didn’t it?” You let out a little shiver.
“Sure did,” he nodded, smirking, “Maybe if you had more clothes on, you’d be warm.”
“Do you want me to put more clothes on?” Your voice dripped with lust, your desire for him wholly unmistakable.
When he looked down at you now, his pupils were blown wide, inky black, taking all of you in, memorizing you like there’d be a test. His gaze fondled you, making you feel like he was peeling you apart even though he hadn’t laid a single finger on you yet. His eyes traced down your neck and into your top, stopping to stare with wonder at your bare tits in the open fold of the shirt.
With the cigar still balanced between his fingers, he used his thumb to delicately lift the fabric away from your neck, peering inside like a newly opened gift, his eyes wide with excitement. You wanted his fingers to touch you, but he played with the buttonline of the shirt instead, making it gap more and more until your breasts were almost fully exposed to the cool night air.
You made a show of glancing over to the boys by the fire, whispering to him,
“They’re gonna see us.”
“Aye,” he said matter-of-factly, moving to untie the bow of the tail of your shirt, trying to peel it off of you like you were a ripe fruit.
Suddenly, he took a final drag of the cigar and tossed it forward into the sand. It smoldered there, half-buried. Your body prepared for him to squeeze your tits, to pinch your nipples cruelly, to satisfy his obvious hunger… but, it never happened. Instead, he lay his hand on your belly, using his fingertips to pet you, lazily caressing you in small circles.
It was making you squirm. You wanted him to go further. He seemed so hungry for your body and yet here he was, holding himself back. You rolled your ass into his crotch, hunting for the hard prod of his cock. You felt it, and he let out a gravelly sigh. Success.
Yet, it didn’t change his tempo. He kept caressing you, petting your ribs, never quite reaching the swell of your breast, but stopping short over and over.
You reached back and put your hand on his furry belly, full of rum and relaxed from his odd position in the hammock. Beneath your hand, his skin shuddered, feeling every movement that you made and responding to it eagerly. Inch by inch, you made your way to the elastic band of his trunks, reaching inside, searching for his hard rod.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Sergeant,” he whispered. His voice was soft and deep, almost too low to hear.
You needed him, and you were about to show him exactly how much. When you found his cock, you pulled it out of his trunks and shoved down your panties with your fingers, fumbling around with the fabric, trying your best to stay quiet. You rocked your hips back, allowing his head to slide between your legs and press up against your wet folds. Without his help, you couldn’t fit him inside of you, but you rocked against him anyway, smearing your stickiness all over his shaft.
Back and forth you rubbed him, working yourself up into a fever. Still, he did not help you. He didn’t even move to fondle you. His hand never plucked at your nipples, and he did not explore your swollen lips hidden behind your panties, the same lips his drooling dick was rutting through.
The elastic of your panties trapped him inside with you, keeping him close. Otherwise, he just went on with his sensual touching, brushing your hair from your face, running a finger along the curve of your rib cage.
“So wet. All for me, soldier?” He hissed into your ear.
“Yes, sir,” you panted.
“Shh. Slow down. Breathe with me.”
You were tucked in closer to his chest, and you matched his inhales and exhales, your own body rising and falling with him as the hammock swayed you back and forth. You watched the boys laughing and joking. If they had noticed you, they were giving you your privacy.
“That’s it. We’ve got all the bloody time in the world. What’s your rush?”
You looked back at him, pushing your nose against his scruffy jaw,
“Want you to touch me, Captain… please.”
“How do you want me to touch you, soldier?” He moved his hand beneath your shirt collar for the first time and you held your breath, “With my hands?” Before you could answer, his mouth closed over your earlobe, suckling at it, lightly kissing your neck, “Or with my mouth?”
“Yes, sir…” You let out a small mewl, trembling under his touch.
He chuckled darkly,
“Greedy little girl…”
When he finally ran his palm over your pert nipples, you jerked from the pleasure. It shocked you, and you felt yourself melt between your legs. His calloused hand was all you could think about. When he used his thumb and forefinger to lightly pull at your peaks, you had to stop yourself from moaning aloud. Instinctively, your body bucked into him, painting his cock with layer after layer of your slick joy.
You watched as he snaked his hand out of your shirt and licked his fingertips. Then, he returned them to your breast, slipping his spit over your sensitive flesh, heightening your sensations.
He shifted his weight and your shoulder fell back, twisting your torso until your breasts were freed from your shirt. You were fully on display, the light of the fire dancing across your skin. If the boys looked over at you, they’d see everything. They could watch how their sunkissed captain was craning his neck, knocking his hat back to lick and suck gently on your nipple, playfully plucking at the other one absentmindedly.
You had to bite your cheek so you couldn’t scream, but Price saw the panicked look in your eyes. He paused, reminding you,
“C’mon, love. Breathe for me. Relax. You’re alright.”
The only problem was when you did finally relax, you felt the bright, crackling sense that you were about to come.
“I can’t,” you hissed through your teeth, “You’re going to make me come. I’m gonna come. I’m… I can’t…”
“You can,” he suckled your breast deeper into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, “Deep breath in, let it all out. Let it come. That’s it. Good girl.”
You knew he had felt you come. You didn’t even have a chance to hide it. You were bucking against him hard enough to make wet little noises from your grinding. Your panties were wet. You’d come so hard it had felt like you had a bruise deep inside of your belly, and your legs shivered, quaking from his barely-there touch.
“Beautiful…” He commented, returning to his delicate sucking, “So eager.”
You were beyond consciousness. Everything was gleaming and glittering in your vision, and you could feel the flush of blood moving up your chest and onto your cheeks, hot and full of sexual energy.
“You want me to touch you?” He asked quietly, hard as a stone but seemingly unbothered by your ecstasy.
You nodded, whispering your desperate yeses to him.
“In front of my men?” There was a darkness in his voice that felt like a hand gripping you around your throat.
Shame and erotic desire warred in your belly. You nodded anyway, too cock-starved to care. You’d never wanted anyone so badly in your whole life.
Price’s hand moved lower, flat against your skin, and his pinky finger dipped into the waistband of your underwear. His hand cupped your mons, finding his cockhead nuzzled beneath your clit, nudging the tight bundle. He used his hand not to touch you, but to instead hold his dick and draw little circles in your flesh with it, moving it against you rhythmically. The soft head swiped below your clit over and over, enough to tease and not nearly enough to soothe.
“Soaked, love. So wet that I can smell you. So sweet.”
You turned your head to look at him. You wanted to see his face, wanted to see desire painted there, and it was. His eyes were watching you like a wolf, witnessing you fall limp like easy, pliant prey.
“When you come,” he smiled, knowing you were getting close again, “I want you to look at me. Don’t look away. Show it to me.”
“Yes, sir…”
You struggled to hold his gaze. Your body was doing everything it could to fight you, to force you to close your eyes in the face of your pleasure. As you felt yourself approach that glaring point of no return, you locked eyes with him, pleading with him, begging him for help he couldn’t give you.
“Captain!” You gasped breathlessly.
“Don’t… don’t look away,” he growled from his throat with a half-moan that revealed his desire.
You were bursting from the inside out, and it felt like you had caught fire. Your skin was hot, and you broke out in a sweat, the salty sheen making your sunburnt skin glow.
“Good,” Price purred, “So good, love. So pretty.”
You rested your forehead against his neck. He hadn’t even put his cock in you, and you felt like you’d been through hell — or heaven. One or the other. Maybe both. You were dizzy.
You felt his heart slamming into his chest, and you could smell the tobacco lingering on his breath. He was still pushing his cock against you, and your body continued to make loud, sticky come for him, enough to drip and smear onto your thighs.
You looked out at the dying bonfire. The boys were quiet now, laying around, aiming for bed. As the fire lost its height, Price became emboldened.
He fisted his cock more vigorously, jerking himself against you, his huge hand bulging inside of the fabric of your panties.
“So fuckin’ messy, love. So wet for me. Gorgeous,” Price snarled, talking into your neck in a hoarse whisper. You could tell he was approaching his own charged bliss.
You kissed his neck, sucking on his skin, enjoying each and every sigh. Your body was begging for him, contracting over and over, wishing for something to squeeze. As if he could read your mind, Price sank a thick finger into your pussy as he jerked himself off onto your folds, finding some sort of punishing pattern, ripping another round of joy from you.
He moved his mouth over yours, letting it hang slack, sharing your breath and resting his forehead against yours. His eyes were watching yours, showing you his orgasm just as you had been made to show him yours. He was right. It was beautiful. You could see the sparking desire in his eyes, built up with a sort of intensity that was almost frightening. Price cried out under his breath, right into your open lips, his face full of serene relief.
Then, you felt something warm and slick coating his hand and your lips. You realized he was coming on your folds, painting your soft skin with his white, thick cream. It was everywhere; you were so sensitive, you could feel it. It dripped onto your swollen clit, and you could feel it slide down into your stretched hole where his fingers were making you tremble. Your panties were soaked through, and you realized he was using his hand to pull out more and more of your juices, letting them run down your legs and into the cleft of your ass.
He stilled himself, breathing heavy, still gazing into your face, his eyes full of longing. Then, he pulled his cock away, letting the wet tip loll against your ass cheek. His fingers slid out of you, one by one, ever so gentle, and he used them to rub his orgasm into your flesh like lotion, mixing you together in a lurid ritual. Carefully, he removed his hand from your panties entirely, replaced the elastic where it belonged, and began to massage your pussy through the fabric, making sure his sticky come was there to stay.
“That was…” Price sighed.
“So fucking good, Captain,” you smiled, petting his cheek, letting the sway of the hammock rock you as you came down from your high.
You looked down at your legs, gleaming in the low firelight,
“I better go wash off.”
“Don’t you dare,” Price snarled, hugging you closer to him, trapping you with his heavy arms. He grinned slyly down at you, taking an obvious glance down at your panties, teasing you, “You’re gonna keep me right here, love,” he shoved his huge hand between your legs, resting his palm over your clit, “At least until they start their snoring. Then…” You felt him teasing your pulsing hole through the wet fabric, “I’ll give you some more. Let you keep it nice and warm inside this time.”
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Meddle About (Part 2)
P: Captain Price x F!Reader
CW: NSFW Content, Blowjob, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering
WC: 5,720 words.
Part 1 here.
Notes: There will be a part 3 :)
@glitterypirateduck
𝘈𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴' 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.
𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘢 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥.
''𝘚𝘰, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦?'' 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴'𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘵, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵.
𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.
"𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘶𝘩, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬-" 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘶𝘱, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘳, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.
𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘈 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥.
"𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯." 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴.
"𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵." 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯.
"𝘐 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘵." 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦.
𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘺, 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘳.
"𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯." 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘫𝘢𝘣 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥." 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥-𝘰𝘯.
𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺.
"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯? 𝘏𝘮?" 𝘏𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦, 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥.
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹���𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱.
𝘈 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.
"𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘪𝘳." 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 '𝘴𝘪𝘳.'
''𝘞𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.''
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘳.
''𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺.'' 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴.
𝘞𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥.
𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩.
𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘣, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬.
"𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭." 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.
𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭-𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘣 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢.
"𝘞-𝘞𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦-" 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩,
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦.
''𝘕𝘰, 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵." 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.
𝘈𝘴 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯.
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴, 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵.
𝘛��𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴.
𝘕𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘶𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘹𝘦𝘳𝘴.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘦-𝘤𝘶𝘮, 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭.
𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
''𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘠/𝘕?'' 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘢𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘉𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘴.
𝘈𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢ç𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦.
𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.
''𝘚𝘰 𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵.
𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.
𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥.
''𝘎𝘰 𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘵.'' 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.
𝘈𝘵 𝘧��𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦-𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯��𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦-𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢��𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘶𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘈 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴. 𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦.
𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘧𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵.
"𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦-" 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.
𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬, 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘌𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.
𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰.
𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘹𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.
𝘊𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦.
''𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭- 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬-'' 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮, 𝘮𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶?'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘳, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.
𝘈𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩.
𝘈 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘣 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦.
𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵.
𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭.
''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘨𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵. ''𝘚𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰����𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘠/𝘕-''
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳.
𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬. 𝘐𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦, 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘹𝘺𝘨𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
"𝘔𝘮𝘧-" 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥.
"𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘩𝘮?" 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘸𝘪𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦.
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘧𝘵.
𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.
𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵. 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘱.
"𝘈𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨?" 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧.
𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘵.
"𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦." 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘹𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴.
𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴.
"𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘦.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
"𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘪𝘯, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-" 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘷𝘦𝘳.
''𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯-𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴.
𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰���𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.
''𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭?'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.
𝘈𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴, 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.
𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵.
𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺, 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦.
''𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬!'' 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘐𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰.
𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘤𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘥, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
𝘚𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬, 𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵.
𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘺, 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥.
''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦- 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-'' 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘹 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘢.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴, 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯.
𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘹, 𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘚𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘴.
''𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘴𝘩𝘩.. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳.'' 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.
𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘩𝘶𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.
𝘈 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘳. 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘳.
𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.
"𝘏𝘦𝘺, 𝘶𝘩, 𝘠/𝘕? 𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?" 𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺, 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.
𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
''𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦.'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. ''𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.''
''𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥.
𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘕𝘶𝘻𝘻𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘤𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘹.
''𝘈𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
''𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦- 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬!'' 𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘪-𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.
''𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨- 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵!'' 𝘖𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦.
''𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.'' 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘻𝘺.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
''𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥- 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘓𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘴.
𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬.
𝘏𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.
𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥-𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥.
𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘩 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘮-𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧.
𝘐𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯.
𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵, 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥,
"𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭." 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.
"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘳." 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢����'𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.
"𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯," 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦.
"𝘞𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴." 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳.
𝘈𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘣 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥.
𝘊𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨-𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴.
𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.
𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥. ''𝘠/𝘕?''
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥.
"𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘹, 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘣 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦." 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.
#catch this having a hundred parts#i changed the font because someone voiced a concern about it being difficult to understand#so lmk if this one is also not helping#captain price#captain price smut#captain price x reader#captain price x you#captain price x female reader#john price#captain john price#cod#call of duty#cod smut#cod x reader#task force 141#141 x reader#ocaptainchallenge
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Back to Masterlist - Taglist Form
This also fits @glitterypirateduck o, captain! Challenge's prompt 99 🩷 sorry it's so silly
*Reader, their parents and Price having an already awkward dinner*
Reader: Daddy, can you pass me the salt?
Price and Reader's dad reaching for the salt at the same time: ...
Reader: ...
Price: ...
Reader, utterly confused: ... I-I don't even call you that.
Price, just as confused: I know, I got nervous!
Yes, I wrote this down after yesterday's post.
Taglist: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @glocuseguardian3rd @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @lunari0 @dukeofjjune @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @dilara-del @multifandomheathenannie @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @salsamander @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @lolly145 @contractedcriteria @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @cod-z @Kaztykat @jaguarthecat @savagemickey03 @fraserbraw @justyourfriendlyneighbourhood1 @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @viisgrave @theloneshadow24
#john price x reader#john price#captain john price#captain price x reader#price x reader#captain john price x reader#john price smut#captain price smut#call of duty#cod x reader#cod#cod smut#task force 141#call of duty x reader#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#call of duty smut#ocaptainchallenge
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Lost In Ikea
Summary: John was a patient man, but he had his limits. That includes having to navigate his way around a maze you called IKEA and the impossibility of having to put the bloody bed together—his patience was even shorter after being interupted twice and a broken bed as an aftermath.
Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Katherine Price)
Word Count: 1,066
Chapter Warnings: General Chaos. John gets cockblocked twice. Unedited. Lol.
Author's Note: for @glitterypirateduck;s O'Captain! Challenge
Scenarios:
4. Lost In IKEA
55. Someone gets walked in on (doesn't have to be sexual)
89. Shopping for a new bed.
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The frown has marred John’s face the moment he had placed the car on park and he was greeted by the annoying blue and yellow signage. It still confused him to no end why you insist on buying a bed in IKEA when he could make one himself.
“Are you excited to go to IKEA?” The gentle baby talk lingered besides him as he turned towards you whose attention was solely on your six month old daughter on the car seat.
It was another special occasion for the three of you aside from buying a new bed for them, you had also decided that it was time to invest on some more furniture and decoration for the baby’s bed.
John grumbled under his breath as he reluctantly got out of the car, following his wife as you handed him the sling carrier to carry your daughter. Without another word, he placed his daughter onto the carried on his chest and was greeted with the lovely grumble of his pride and joy.
“You’re the only thing keeping me sane now, Love.” He whispered gently kissing on top of her head before following his wife through the towering blue and yellow entrance.
The sprawling maze of Scandinavian furniture loomed before him like a daunting labyrinth, and he could help but feel a surge of irritation bubbling within him. Why can his wife just allow him to make the bloody bed or more specifically fix the one they had broken last night instead?
“Can’t we just order online like normal people?” John muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the chatter of shoppers around. He honestly hated being surrounded by people and having to act hyper vigilant because of it.
You turned to him in amusement, but a sympathetic glance lingered, you know all too well his disdain for crowded stores and aimless browsing. But you also know him enough to know he hated online shopping just as much.
“Come on, John. We’re just here for the bed and some decorations for Katherine’s bed.” You tried your best to reassure him.
But as you three continued to venture deeper into the seemingly endless aisles, John’s frustration only intensified. Every turned seemed to lead to yet another showroom, each meticulously staged to showcase the latest in minimalist design. He couldn’t help but scoff at the idea of spending hours wandering through fake living rooms and bedrooms.
"This is ridiculous," John grumbled, scanning the maze of shelves for any sign of escape. "How can anyone enjoy this?"
You chuckled rubbing his bearded cheek before kissing him on the cheeks, knowing there was only one way to placate him and his stormy mood.
“How about this,” You began pulling him towards one of the less populated showrooms. “How about once we’re finished with shopping for the bed and decorations, we can bring Katherine to your parents’ house for a few days so we could handle fixing the bed and redesigning Katherine’s room?” You wiggled your brows knowingly.
John was slowly cracking at the proposition.
“Three days. One day for creating that bloody bed and two days of whatever I want.” He proposed.
“How about a week and we fly your parents and Katherine to Disneyland?” You offered.
“Deal.” John shook your hands sealing the deal and your fate for the weak.
Even with the deal in place, John could not hide his annoyance. Meandering through the store, his annoyance grew with each passing moment especially when you three had found yourself walking in circles for a couple of times. The endless stream of shoppers, the blaring announcements over the intercom, and the overwhelming array of choices left him feeling claustrophobic and irritable.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity and the growing irritable baby on his chest, they had reached the checkout line with their items at hand. John let out a sigh of relief, eager to finally escape the chaos of the store.
“We are never setting foot in an IKEA again.” John muttered to you as soon as you three had exited.
“I hope you keep your word and keep the bed sturdy.” You pointed out knowingly.
John rolled his eyes, not wanting to remember the reason behind the broken bed in the first place.
~
Last Night
“Get out!”
John was close to a coronary at this point. It was the third time tonight that someone had interrupted him with his wife and he was ready to shoot anyone else that would try barging into his bedroom without bloody knocking.
“I told you to lock the bedroom door.” You giggled finding the whole thing amusing. Even with you barely clothed at this point just as much as him, you were barely affected by the fact that Gaz had seen the two of you almost having sex.
John had wished he had never brought the three to his home, he had wished no one knew about their relationship, and he had wished that his wife was not so hospitable as you were right now even after the incident that had now become a common occurrence when everyone was off base.
If only he could turn back time.
“If I had known that those Muppets didn’t know how to knock I would have.” He muttered, the mood now dampened with annoyance of being interrupted.
“Just lock the door and fuck me already.” You giggled, nudging him with your foot and he somehow sprang back to life at that.
Wasting no time, he got up and locked the door before jumping right back into devouring you. You were a giggling mess as he began to strip you of what remained of your clothes.
Even before John could begin, the sound of Soap’s laughter and the crying that came soon after from their daughter had finally sealed the deal that the moment was ruined permanently for the night.
“Bloody fucking hell.” John couldn’t help himself from cursing as you burst into fits of laughter as you stood up and slid on your night robe and opened the door to tend to your crying daughter and attempt to scold Soap from keeping it down.
Slumping his full body into the bed in frustration, the last thing John would have ever expected to happen was for the bed to give out under him further sealing his fate for the night.
“God fucking damn it.”
#John Price One Shots#John Price Oneshot#John Price Oneshots#john price headcanon#John Price x reader#john price x female reader#John price x wife! reader#captain price x reader#john price x reader#cod fanfic#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#captain price#call of duty#fanfic#x reader#female reader#captain john price x reader#captain john price#captain price x you#john price#john price x you#captain price x female reader#ocaptainchallenge
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Lost in Ikea. || John Price x Reader
For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:
4. Lost in an IKEA
41. Price and Reader run into each other (literally)
48. A character tries to hide that they are crying or upset
Rating: E
Words: 1.3K
cw: period/menstruation + symptoms, feelings of inaddequacy?.
Tags: afab!reader (bc menstruation), you/your pronouns but no Y/N, crying, hurt/comfort, strangers.
Summary: Reader is just having a bad day and John is a kind stranger.
a/n: I just needed a little hurt/comfort for the soul. This isn't too serious. Also the 'lost' part of Ikea is more emotional than physical. ALSO ALSO, OFC I HAD TO DO THIS PROMPT, my screen name is literally Ikea.
Should you have gone to Ikea while on your period, when you’re in pain and light-headed and in a mood to kill a man? No.
Here’s the thing, you wanted a specific little bear plush they sell there (DJUNGELSKOG). And a meal from the restaurant. And maybe a new lamp. And a new set of bed covers and pillows. And honestly, you could use a little trolley for your craft supplies. And since you’re there you might as well no longer postpone buying that shelf you need-
You walked around the store for over two hours just looking at everything and, steadily, filling up your card with more than you expected. Little knick-knacks, a new set of cups for the kitchen, a picture frame, etc. etc.
You took your time, moved at your own pace, slowly observing all the room displays… Maybe got lost at one point, but that’s neither here nor there.
Once you found a storage trolley you liked, as well as a shelf, you advanced through the warehouse, pushing your large cart along.
The trolley came first. It was small and light enough and after checking that the box said White, you found yourself perfectly able to drag it onto the large metal warehouse platform cart.
But then the shelf- you crouched down and tried to get a grip on the box and pull, but the bitch was heavy. You huffed and struggled, but it wouldn’t budge. It probably didn’t help that both your womb and your lower back were throwing a rager of cramps and all your muscles were sore.
Maybe you shouldn’t have come on your period. Another weekend, any other weekend, and you’ve been strong enough to get the box with the disassembled shelf off its perch… But you wanted to do it today!
You wanted to feel like you got something done. You wanted the sense of accomplishment… You wanted to feel like you persevered through the pain!
You had the whole day planned out: You got out of bed, you showered, you had proper food and a desert, you cleaned your house, you went outside, and you finally completed something you had been putting off!
You couldn’t leave without the last one! You had to get it out! You wanted to take the stupid shelf home with you!!!!
Tears start pooling in your eyes, your lip beginning to tremble. You’ll blame it on the hormones and the frustration.
Stomping your feet, you walk down the aisle, abandoning your cart and turn the corner intent on pushing the box out from the other side-
Then you smack into a person and it knocks you so off balance (you were already sort of light-headed either way) that you drop onto the linoleum floor.
If the day wasn’t already bad enough and you weren’t already crying, taking a hard seat on the floor in front of a stranger only made you feel that much worse.
“Christ, you alright?” A man’s concerned voice comes from above you. You wince and close your eyes hard, trying to conceal the tears in them.
“Y-Yeah. Sorry. I was in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention.” You murmur and turn to the side, using the floor and the industrial shelf next to you to pull yourself up to your feet.
“No, I’m sorry, I was walking fast too.” He replies. “I wasn’t fast enough to catch you. Might be getting old. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be.” His tone sounds playful, like he’s trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, haha.” You try to laugh it off. You still haven’t properly glanced at him and he can tell that you’re trying to conceal your redened eyes as you look off to the side.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?” He checks, his voice a lot more gentle.
God, you feel pathetic. Crying in front of a stranger in the middle of an IKEA warehouse.
“I’m fine… Just… having a bad day.” You reply and for a moment you finally look over at him.
Great. On top of making a fool of yourself in front of a stranger who happens to be super kind, said stranger is also older and hot, definitely a dilf. Great, just great. You really should’ve stayed at home today.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He replies softly as he peers at you with bright blue eyes under thick brown eyebrows.
“It’s fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make this whole thing awkward. I’m sorry.” You turn to return to your things. Fuck the damn shelf, you’re going home and never coming to this IKEA again.
“Wait. Hey!” He says as he calls after you. Turning to look at him, your face twists into an upset, embarrassed look.
“You don’t have to apologise for having a bad day or having a cry, it’s alright.” The man says as he approaches you again when you’re already at your cart.
As he speaks, you notice there’s no pity in his tone, or some sort of cringe-riddled sentiment of awkwardness that comes to normal people when a stranger suddenly overshares. He’s just… kind.
Your face softens a bit more and you quickly turn to look away. Instead, your eyes find the stupid box with the shelf you want, still on the industrial shelves, and you start crying more.
“I just want that bloody shelf and it’s… it’s too heavy and I can’t get it into the cart and- I can’t believe I’m crying over this!” You complain and gesture vaguely to the space in front of you as you find yourself sniffling.
“Alright. Hey, it’s alright.” He assures you and gives you a friendly tap on the back, on your shoulder, over your hoodie. “How about I get it for you?” He asks.
You find yourself looking up at him. “I don’t wanna bother you.”
“Not at all!” He says with a friendly smile and a nod. “I’m plenty strong and I’m already here! Plus, imagine me walking away now after offering?” He jokes.
You can’t help the chuckle the escapes you amidst your broken sobs. “Would’ve been proper rude.”
“Of course it would. And my mum raised me right.” He adds playfully, causing another chuckle to rise out of you. “That’s the smile I wanted.” He cheers.
John moves forward and crouches, helping to slide the heavy box off the shelf with a mighty grip of his big hands, sliding it onto the bottom of the metal cart with the rest of your shopping. “There it is.”
“Thank you…” You murmur as you seek for tissues in your pockets, grabbing one to dab away your tears.
“It’s alright.” He assures you again. “And, for the record, there’s no shame in crying. If you would’ve asked me 3 days ago what I was doing, I’d tell you I was having a good sob in my car after going to the supermarket because I was so tired and overwhelmed.” He admits and chuckles.
“You?” You ask, not quite sure if he was being sincere.
“Oh, yeah. I cry all the time, me.” He tells you and winks one of those blue eyes at you, making you chuckle again.
“Well, thank you, erm…” You trail off, realizing you don’t know his name.
“John.” He says while reaching a hand forward for you to shake. You return the introduction with your own name.
“You think you’ve got this? Or are you gonna need help getting it into the car?” He gestures at your entire cart.
“Oh, shite, you’re right… Need to get this into the car…” You groan and facepalm yourself.
“Tell you what-” John says as he looks at you. “You wait for me while I get the rest of my things-” He takes a list of paper with scribbled reference numbers on it from his pocket. “And we’ll go through checkout together, and I’ll help load this up into your car?”
His offer is so sweet and sincere and kind, you find your eyes clouding with tears again. Then, you nod eagerly and dab away the tears with your crumpled up tissue again.
[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]
#ikea writes 💚#ocaptainchallenge#cod x reader#cod fanfic#masterlist#captain john price#john price#john price x reader#call of duty#cod fandom#captain price#captain john price x reader#captain price mw2#price mw2#price
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Monsters walk at night (Monster!Price x f!reader)
Another one for @glitterypirateduck Price writing challenge!
Scenarios used, 16. ‘A Pursuit takes place’ and 44. 'A world where mates exist':
Warnings: monster fucking, NSFW, unprotected p in v, partial smut, literally getting chased down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It started off as an innocent walk through the woods by the large cabin Price had rented, (seemed more like a house when you saw it), stating you all needed a break. He had distributed the rooms when you all had arrived, securing the perimeter and making sure the security cameras and alarm system worked. You remember the day clearly.
The fridge was fully stocked as were the bathrooms, all the amenities needed for a few days stay away from civilization. You walked into the kitchen getting ready to make some food, the drive there was long and you were absolutely starving. “What are ye plannin ta make and can I have some because I am famished.” You turned to find Johnny strolling into the kitchen. “Well I wasn’t offering to make dinner just looking for a snack, but it’d be a shame to have the cabin burn down.” Johnny groans from the table, “It was one time bonnie! Was nae like I was plannin on burnin the place up!” “Johnny you set the place ablaze tryin to make CUP OF SOUP!” “I was tired!”
Price walked in shaking his head as Ghost and Gaz came in behind him chuckling. Simon piped up, “So you makin food or not?” You roll your eyes, “I’ll make a steaming pile of dog shit just for you Ghost.” “Make sure it has garlic and potatoes, yeah?” After dinner was decided on, (not dog shit), everyone settled in for the night with the exception of you and John. “Fancy a walk luv? There are lights on the trails.” You think about it for a minute and nod, “Sure. Seems like a nice night, gotta walk off that meal too.” You both chuckle and walk outside, the night warm so there was no need for jackets.
You both had been walking for about 20 minutes, the scenery beautiful and calming, making small talk as the scent of Price’s cigar smoke wafts around in the night air. The light from the cigars burning tip gave Price’s already attractive features a boost, almost making him look scary in the dark of the woods. “You know, I could use a bit more exercise. Up for a chase?” You look at him confused as he takes a hit from his cigar and blows the smoke upwards, the red embers showing in his eyes.
He leans closer as you take a step back, his eyes gleaming, his teeth seeming sharper. “Run.” That was all you needed as you took off into the trees. You don’t know how long you ran before you finally heard his boots hitting the ground behind you. He was far but not by much, the sound of his boots thudding loudly, almost like he was heavier now. You had briefly stopped behind a large rock but continued when you heard his voice ring through the forest, loud and strange. “Run all you want sweetheart. I can smell you from a mile away.”
You had barely made it to a clearing when you were tackled from behind. You managed to turn over, finding Price but he looked different. Horns protruded from his head, a spiked tail swaying behind him, teeth razor sharp and eyes glowing like the flames of hell. “Caught you darling. Smelled you the second you started running. Getting chased down turn you on?” You blushed, turning your head away. Sure you had always found Price attractive, you knew he wasn’t totally human, and maybe you had some disrespectfully spicy dreams about him, so who could blame you for being turned on.
He nudged your cheek before moving to your neck, inhaling your scent. “My mate.” “What?” “You’re my mate luv. Smelled it the second you walked onto base.” “ O-oh, um I-“ “Do you accept? I may be a monster but I’m not an asshole. I’ve seen your dreams, heard your whispers.” “This isn’t a joke right? Because…I love you, have for a while and if this is some weird or cruel joke just so you can get laid it’s not funny.”
His eyes widened, stunned. “You think so low of me? That I would make a joke of something so serious?” You shake your head no and he sighs in relief. Nuzzling into your neck, he licks and groans as he tastes your flesh mixed with sweat. “Do you accept?” You nod, “Words, dearest.” “I accept.” A rumble forms in his chest as you kiss him and you both begin to undress. You had felt the bulge of him rubbing against your thigh through the talk and it had you needy.
To say he was large was an understatement as you openly stared at the size of him. “It’ll fit fine luv, no worries.” You nodded hesitantly, “Please be gentle.” He kisses you to smooth your nerves as he slowly pushes in, catching all your pretty noises in his mouth. “That’s it darling. You were made to take me.” He was only half way in but you already felt so full of him but he continued to slip inside unhindered. When his hips finally connected with your’s he left out a drawn out moan into the night air and pulled back slowly. “I hope you’re ready sweetheart, because it’s about to be a long night.” Running a hand over the obvious bulge in your skin, you clench and that’s enough to get him started.
The night is spent surrounded by the sound of his hips meeting your’s, breathy moans, the name of your captain loud on your lips and hands firmly gripping his horns for the ride. He didn’t let up until the sun had almost broken the horizon, both of you spent and newly mated.
#~Harley finally writes something🫣#call of duty#cod mw2#cod x reader#ocaptainchallenge#john price#captain price#captain john price#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#captain john price smut
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Title: Five Senses
Challenge submission: 83. Facesitting.
Pairing: Captain John Price x Civilian!Reader
Warnings: MDNI (18+) - established relationship, swearing, fellatio, face-sitting, cunnilingus, spanking, daddy!price, breeding kink, mentions of breeding.
Summary: silly girl- thinking you can half-ass one of your daddy's requests.
_________________________________________
John had always prided himself on being a patient and understanding man.
And he was- except for when his precious girlfriend was knelt before him, choking on his thick cock.
Drool ran down your chin, soaking the soft skin of your breasts, those precious tears rolling down your flushed cheeks while big doe eyes dilated in lust.
God.. how incredible the round globes of your ass looked while perched in the air, sopping wet cunt leaking your arousal along your inner thighs and onto the sheets.
You were a sight for John.
"Fuckin' hell, dove." he cursed, his head tossing back into the pillows of your shared bed, your tongue sliding, gliding over the soft skin of his shaft.
His hips bucked involuntarily when you forced him to the back of your throat, eliciting a rumbly groan from deep within his chest. The lewd sound of you gagging on his thick length mixed with his grunts and low groans.
John's abdomen coiled tight, beads of sweat lined his hairline while he fought valiantly to stave off his building release. He was determined to feast before his release, though. He needed to taste you. To feel your velvety walls clamp on his tongue while he devoured you from the inside out. To hear those beautiful, needy sounds you emit with every stroke of his tongue. To smell the sweet scent of your skin and nectar. To see your body writhe over his face.
John wanted every one of his senses to be wholly consumed by you.
"Doll.." he grunted in his gruff voice, heavily laced with arousal, "better back off."
You pulled off his length, obediently heeding his warning. But he audibly groaned at the sight of you.
Your hair was tousled from his fingers running through it and gripping it, your soft lips were puffy and swollen from your tenacious sucking, and white strings of coagulated spit still bridged your mouth to his aching cock.
He could've nearly come undone then and there.
"Somethin' wrong, sir?" you pouted up at him, feigning innocence, tracing loving circles on the top of his thighs.
John let out a teasing tsk, "Y'know the rules, doll."
"The only place that gets my cum... is that pretty little womb of yours,"
His words went straight to your core and another flood of arousal threatened to spill from your sex.
"But before that can happen.." he trailed off, gazing at you hungrily, "I need a taste of that pretty lil cunt." his lips split into a devilish grin, eyes dark with desire for you.
John's arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you up the bed to kneel over his face.
"Sit on my face, doll. Been cravin' it," he rumbled.
You set your knees on either side of his shoulders, calves tucked comfortably under his frame, and tentatively hover your slit over his lips.
Large hands moved to cup the soft globes of your ass, calloused fingertips gripped and kneaded the soft flesh, earning pleased groans from his throat.
John's hot breaths fanned over your slicked slit, his expert tongue prodded at your folds, and circled at the small bundle of nerves.
Soft, salicious moans fell from your lips and spilled into the confines of the bedroom.
"Said sit not hover." John growled and gave a sharp slap to your ass cheek which effectively reddened the smooth skin and pulled a sharp gasp from you.
John's arms curled around your thighs, and harshly pulled your hips down until your weight rested on his face.
"Daddy's fuckin' starvin'." he growled. Your pussy fluttered in response to his deep, rumbly tenor, and the way the bass of his voice reverberated against your swollen cunt.
Without any hesitation, John pressed his mouth firmly on your pussy. His nose buried deep in you as it nudged your clit, and his skilled tongue circled your entrance before gently prodding it.
And that's where his patience wore out.
As much as he wanted to enjoy his meal, he needed to devour you.
Your hands tightly clutched the headboard while his strong hands guided your hips on his tongue. Your mewls of pleasure grew to a crescendo the longer he toyed between your clit and your tight little hole.
"F-fuck, daddy! Gonna cum," you whined, feeling the tight coil in your abdomen reach its boiling point.
Your face and chest warmed from the ever-growing inferno setting your skin ablaze. Your tight hole fluttered around his tongue, back arched, and head tilted back in pleasure. John held you tight to his mouth, helping you grind yourself on his tongue and finally reach your peak.
You came with a loud cry of his name, as well as his honorific, Daddy.
John groaned in approval as your release flooded his lips, tongue, and beard. He harshly slapped your ass, for the simple fact of hearing his palm connect with your plump globes.
"Good girl. Such a good doll f'me." He murmured against your sopping slit.
"Now Daddy hasta breed that tight little cunt." he growled, biting down on the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, earning another adorable whimper.
∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆
@glitterypirateduck
#ocaptainchallenge#cod x reader#cod mw2#john price smut#john price x reader#captain price#price x reader#john price#cod mw3#cod smut#tf 141
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First Aid Kit (John Price x Reader)
You return home after a trying Christmas.
1.3k words
CW: none
Feedback welcome!
While not explicitly written for @glitterypirateduck O' Captain Challenge it does fit the criteria. For more John Price deliciousness check out the other works submitted!
This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is also pinned to my blog.
Ao3
O, Captain Challenge
Masterlist
You realize Christmas with your brother and his growing family is a mistake approximately a day after you arrive. There’s only sixteen months between the two of you, but with your parents gone, you’ve slowly been drifting apart. You hadn’t actually spoken to him in weeks, life being too chaotic, but when you called on Christmas Eve and said you wanted to come for Christmas (desperate not to be alone) he had dutifully accepted and agreed to make the guest room up.
At first, your adorable three-year-old nephew is a welcome disruption from your misery. Seeing him rip open presents and make a joyful mess around the tree was heartwarming to say the least. But watching your normally annoying brother loving on his pregnant wife had only made you miss John more. Somewhere along the line you had gotten used to John always having a hand on you, or being nearby, and the way you had turned away from him before he left was haunting you. Your brain kept whispering agonizing things. What if that was the last time you saw him? Anxiety is a ball in your stomach you can’t seem to shift, no matter the distraction. You had gone to bed with a heavy and bruised heart and a thin smile pasted on your face the first night. The second night brought a familiar text from John, and all the conflicted emotions you tried to put off came roaring back with it.
JP: Back here.
JP: Where are you?
JP: What’s going on love?
Stewing on what to do about John drains you. You don’t answer the texts, opting to try for sleep instead, knowing he can see you’ve read them. It feels childish, a tit for tat situation, but you know it will drive him crazy to be left without a reply. You exact some small revenge where you can.
You decide to lie to your brother and say you are being recalled to your nonexistent job as you lay awake, listening to the bangs and crashes of the household waking the following morning. Everything is too raw to explain, especially as you had never actually gotten around to telling your brother about the shift in yours and John’s relationship – never mind the rest of it. It is too much to get in to, and the wrong time to bring it up.
With John back, the itch to get home is tempered by the argument left hanging, gnawing away at you. You are too distracted and anxious to even pretend at happy family now. Your brother, who grumbles about driving you back to the railway, mercifully doesn’t otherwise question the departure that is as sudden as your arrival.
Your anxiety further ramps up when you see John’s car parked at the flat when the Uber drops you off. You had expected him to be away longer than a few days given the urgent nature of his departure. You can feel your heart fluttering in your throat, excitement at his return mixing with nerves, unsure what is waiting for you as you walk up to the front door. His rucksack still leaning in the front entrance is the first thing to greet you, making you frown. It’s unlike John to leave his stuff laying around. You toe off your boots and call for him, instinctually heading towards the bedroom to drop your bag. The lights are off in the room but there is still daylight coming in through the gauzy curtains over the windows, making John’s big body in the centre of the bed easily visible. You recognize your IDAHO shirt, draped over his eyes and realize he’s got another migraine.
“John?”
You try again, bumping your thighs against the mattress, your heart feeling too large for your chest and impossibly tender as you drop your bag.
“Darling?”
John jerks upright, yanking the shirt off his face, his intense blue eyes bloodshot and squinting against the throbbing behind them.
“Are you alright?”
You’re reaching across to push against his shoulder, trying to settle him back against the mattress but he’s resisting, searching your face for something. He looks awful, his eyes sunken with exhaustion and pain, his normally sharp blue eyes red, and eyelids slightly swollen. His hair is matted to his head with dried sweat at his temples and his normally neatly trimmed facial hair is overgrown. He’s clearly slept in his clothes, his shirt and jeans rumpled. Your heart lurches, your instinct to soothe overwhelming your anger. Right up until John opens his mouth.
“Was going to ask you the same thing, you scared the shit out of me when you weren’t here.”
He’s accusatory, his narrowed eyes piercing.
“John, I told you I didn’t want to be alone for Christmas! I went to see my brother!”
Only John could summon the energy to fight with you while feeling dreadful, and it concerns you as much as it does annoy you.
“Could have left a note or sent a text, love, I would have gotten it when I was back.”
He’s stubborn, his brows drawing together but he finally physically relents, letting you press him back against the pillows. Annoyingly, he’s not wrong and arguing is only going to wind him up when he’s already suffering.
“Yes, I should have.”
You agree, flummoxing him into silence and you take the opportunity to swipe your palm over his fevered forehead gently, closing his eyes again in the process. He blindly follows your touch, his hand capturing your wrist. Your heart gives a kick when you glimpse the bandage around his forearm.
“Darling – “
John’s voice sounds thick with emotion and your chest clenches tightly in response. You find yourself sitting on the bed beside him, shushing him before he can speak any further.
“Let’s talk when you’re feeling better, hot stuff.”
“Will you stay with me?”
He’s plaintive now, his own annoyance taking a backseat for the moment. It reminds you of when you were younger and he would try to wheedle you into staying for another pint. And then another. The sincerity gets you every time.
“Of course, I’m not going to leave you like this.”
The deep sigh of relief that escapes John would make you smile if you weren’t feeling so fragile. Instead, you smooth his hair down, stroking the crown of his head. You can’t stop watching his face, mapping any sign of pain or discomfort. He seems content to let you lightly run your hands over his face and head, his hands settling back in the blankets.
“Do you want anything?”
“No. Just you.”
This time you do manage a small smile, the motion forcing the water gathering on your bottom lashes down your cheeks.
“I missed you, you wretched man.”
Your words are just as wet as your cheeks, hiding nothing from John even with his eyes closed. He wraps his hand around your wrist and kisses your palm, whispering something against your flesh before returning your hand to his cheek. You can’t help but stroke his wiry facial hair, running your thumb over the apple of his cheek gently. You replace your soft and well-worn t-shirt over his eyes, soothing him further. Gently you return to stroking his hair, massaging his scalp intermittently until your fingers ache and John’s finally in a deep sleep, his breathing slow and measured.
You wait until he’s out cold before shimmying out of bed to unpack your bag and shower, leaving the door open so you can hear if he wakes and calls for you. Seeing John in obvious pain activates some primal part of you, the urge to tend to him nearly overwhelming. It’s an odd sensation, especially after days spent conflicted about his actions. You spend the entire shower mulling over the situation, half your awareness directed towards the bedroom. Without allowing yourself to think too deeply any further, you give in to your impulse and forgo dinner to crawl back in beside John’s sleeping form, tucking yourself against his side with a sigh. Sleep comes easily, even at the early hour, the warmth of John’s big body bleeding through your relaxed limbs.
Next Chapter
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