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erodasfishtacos · 3 years ago

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Better Than We Had

prompt ( from a kofi donation) : “When the twins are old enough to be in school, if they choose to do public schooling, one of the kids says something inappropriate (repeating from one of the parents) and H finds it funny but the missus dosent. “

warnings: guns, violence, blood

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YN had cooked dinner as Harry took care of some…business at one of their warehouses (killing three men to secure at lucrative deal with an Italian afflite.)

Harry is in the door right as the plates are placed in front of their twins at the dining room table - one of their favorite meals of chicken parmigiana.

The two had just come home from school a few hours ago, they had just transitioned to full days for kindergarten at their primary school.

“H,” YN murmurs as they both take one of their kids plates to cut up their food in more manageable pieces.

Harry looks up from his daughter’s peppa pig plate to see his wife motion toward the corner of his face to wipe it.

He uses the edge of his black tee to swipe off the blood splatter from his close range shot to Jianna’s head- missed a spot.

Beau greedily begins digging into his plate without his fork, fingers messy as he chows down on his chicken.

“C’mon, baby. Use your fork,” YN encourages, nudging at him to pick up his fork - he does with a little grumble.

Olive giggles at her brother, at him getting trouble as she eats properly with her cutlery like the prim little princess she is.

“Asshole,” Beau says towards his sister, poutingdown at his plate.

Harry and YN’s gazes meet, wide eyed and taken aback by their son’s curse word.

Despite Harry literally being the most infamous criminal in Europe - his children were quite sheltered and they didn’t cuss (much) in front of their children.

Harry barks out a laugh, finding it quite comical - he asks his son, “What’d y’just say, bub?”

“Asshole,” Beau shrugs, slurping a noodle, “Noah taught me it at school!”

YN bites her lip, giving her husband a sharp look as he cackles loudly, “Baby, did y-you just hear him?”

“I don’t know why you think it’s funny,” She retorts, not amused whatsoever, “I don’t think it’s funny that our child has been taught that word.”

“S’fine, brat. I’ve been swearing like a sailor since I could speak,” He replies, trying to keep a serious face as Beau blinks at Olive and says again, “Asshole.”

“And you turned out just great,” YN bites sarcastically before turning to Beau, “We do not say that. It is not a nice word. If I hear you say it again, you’re going in the time out.”

“Turned out good enough tha’ y’wanted m’babies,” He returns with just as much annoyance - god, it was funny and she was being a buzzkill.

Beau whimpers at being reprimanded, he didn’t handle it as well as his sister could, big fat tears start forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Look,” Harry grunts, irritated as he nods towards his son, “Now y’made him cry, s’just a bloody word. It’s not like he killed someone. S’ridicolous.”

The irony wasn’t lost.

“Mummy, mumma,” Beau drops his fork, messy hands and cheeks as he slips off his chair and into his mother’s lap - nuzzling at her apologetically.

“It’s not ridiculous. I am attempting to raise respectful, kind children. It’s obvious you don’t care about that,” She says it because she knows it will make him furious - it works.

YN had kisses Beau’s curly locks and places him back on his seat to finish eating before storming out of the room.

They agreed to never fight in front of the kids.

Harry makes sure Olive is settled with her meal before he follows her into the kitchen where she is aiming a plate at his head.

He laughs with exasperation, eyebrow raised,“Y’wont actually do it, all bark and no bite. C’mon angel, throw it at me. You’ll be bent over the counter before you can squeal.”

Of course she wasn’t going to throw it at him but old habits die hard - instead she tosses it into the sink with enough force it cracks.

“You need t’apologize to me,” Harry demands, stepping in closer so that the kids aren’t able to hear their tense words.

She scoffs which makes Harry’s hair prickle in irritation, “For what? Being a good parent.”

“M’a good parent too,” Harry retorts defensively, he was a cocky bastard about damn near everything but there was an underlying feeling of not being a good enough dad (even though he was actually amazing).

“Then act like it, dickhead,” YN huffs, busying herself with storing away the leftovers and pointedly not making eye contact.

“Tha’s fuckin’ low. I am, just because I think s’funny he said asshole? Jesus, he just turned six - he’ll forget the word by tomorrow,” He reasons, it was the truth - six year olds had the memory of a fucking goldfish.

“I’m just saying, I’d rather our children be raised the right way. I’m sorry I take parenting seriously.”

Harry isn’t sensitive - well, he wasn’t until he met his wife. Life was easier when he didn’t feel any emotion other than anger and hatred.

Right now… he thinks he feels sad?

He isn’t the perfect parent, he’s the leader of the biggest gang in Europe, kills an average of at least two people on a slow week, and is responsible for most of the guns and drugs transported into the country.

But he loved his babies and he wanted to give them the life he never had growing up - he takes parenting serious every second of the day.

His life went to revolving around his wants and desires to whatever he has to do to make his baby boy and girl happy, safe, and healthy.

Harry getting upset, well it triggers him to get angry, and he’s trying to not lose it on his wife because he knows she’s just frustrated too.

“I know m’not fuckin’ perfect but don’t you dare accuse me of not taking parenting seriously. You know how I grew up and how shitty it was. M’still fuckin’ learning!” He can’t help the way his pitch rises - impulse control never been sometime he could get a handle on.

He continues, “If I wasn’t serious, I wouldn’t spend nearly three million pounds a year in bloody security just for them to be safe. I would-“

“Daddy, m’full,” Olive appears in the entryway, oblivious to her parents argument, “Will you watch Tangled with me?”

Harry decides that he’s done with their conversation anyways, giving his wife one finally dirty glare before following his daughter into their living room.

YN doesn’t missed how he gives her the middle finger before rounding the corner.

YN preps the kids pajamas and begins to run the tub after cleaning up dinner, still irked but not as livid as before.

She sneaks into the room to watch her family for a moment before she interrupts them to prepare for bath time.

“No, baby love. Y’so so much pretty than Rapunzel,” Harry is murmuring to Olive who is tucked neatly into her dad’s side with her legs draped over his lap.

It was quite comical. To see Harry like this.

“God, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend,” YN spits at him, wiping her bloody lip as she backs away from him, “Fuckin’ bastard.”

Harry smirks at her, licking the blood off his thumb,“Never will anyways. Why the fuck would I get tied down? Just spend the rest of m’life getting random pussy.”

“And have a million different baby mama’s,” She retorts, baring her teeth when she reaches for her spilled purse and he kicks of out of her reach.

“Fuck tha’. Never gonna have kids, waste of time and space. Fuckin’ kill me before tha’ happens,” Harry grunts, slipping YN’s phone into his back pocket.

That same man was sitting in their family home, long curls pulled into a bun, tattooed from his cheekbones to toes, a bit of dried blood on his shirt from the men he just killed, a gleaming wedding band in his finger, and two precious children who loved and adored their father cuddled up to him.

Beau huffs from his spot next to his dad, “No more of this singing! I want t’watch Toy Story!”

Olive leans around his father, giving her brother a dirty look before squeaking, “No! We watched that yesterday! Daddy said s’my turn!”

“Asshole,” Beau replies with a furrowed brow.

And YN watches from afar as Harry’s shoulders slump a bit, not laughing, and instead he sighs, “Alright, Beau. Y’heard y’mummy, she told you not to say that word, s’not kind. Y’getting a time-out.”

Beau’s face drops in devastation, whimpering, “No no no, daddy! M’sorry! I won’t say it again!”

Harry’s stays firm, situating a grumbling Olive onto the couch and standing to to lead Beau to the kitchen where he points him to a chair.

“Six minutes, okay?” He always struggles with disiplining his kids.

You would think the big bad gang leader would be tough, no nonsense but not him in the slightest - he felt guilty because he didn’t want to be the type of parent that he had growing up.

“Daddy, please,” Beau cries angrily, plopping down the chair and crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

“M’setting it on m’phone, keep your bum on there. I’ll be back,” He tells his son, he can’t help but soothe his hand through his son’s curls before he leaves the room.

YN watches as he returns from the kitchen, standing right outside of the entrance - she can see the sadness on his face as he listens to his son.

“Daddy, no!”

“I don’t want a time-out!”

“Mummy!”

The wails, “Daddy!”

She can’t help but trail over to her husband, cupping his face and catching his gaze - she can visible see his annoyance with her right now but he doesn’t pull away, never pulls away from his wife.

“I’m sorry,” YN murmurs softly, pressing her lips to her husbands - she half expects him to give her a lackluster returning kiss but again, he’s not like that.

Despite his anger, he buttons their lips together and kisses her back harshly - hands moving to her plushy hips to squeeze tightly.

YN pulls back, sheepish as she speaks, “I overreacted and I’m sorry. You’re the best daddy and you’re the best parent to my babies I could ask for. I just…I want them to turn out better than we both did, have better childhoods than us.”

“Don’t y’see tha’ they already do? They’re literally the happiest children I’ve ever met. S’cause we love them so so much and we love each other.”

“You love me even when I’m a jerk to you?” YN asks with a bit of self-deprication, hissing when he palms at her rough enough to sting.

“Y’been a bitch t’me from the second I met you. Yet y’still managed to get me fo buy y’a house, give you m’name, and fill y’up with my babies. You’re still a massive bitch and I’m so bloody in love with you.”

How romantic.

But really, YN did think it was.

“It’s gone awfully quite in there,” YN hums under her breath.

And she was right, Beau was no longer whining and tantruming which was unusual because he usually fussed the whole time he was in time out.

Harry puts a finger to his lips and they quietly tiptoes into the kitchen - where Beau is no longer in his chair despite the timer not going off yet.

They hear a giggling from the other side of the room, the parents look over to see the door open with Olive and Beau sitting inside the pantry with a package of cookies.

“I swear they are mini versions of you,” YN mutters fondly, watching as the twins giggle as if they’re getting away with a crime.

“Watch this,” Harry whispers before then loudly announcing, “I think I could really go for some cookies right about now.”

The twins become dead silent, with wide eyes staring at each other as they realize their father’s approaching.

“Maybe those chocolate chip ones I really love,” He adds onto the dramatics and the children break out in quiet belly laughs.

Then Harry pops out in front of them, with a low growl, “Darling! We have some little mice in our pantry!”

The twins absolutely squeal in delight before bolting in opposite directions out of the space and run from their father.

But he’s too fast, he chases after Olive and lugs her up on his hip before tracking down Beau, tugging him up too.

He then takes them back into the living room

When he arrives, he flings them onto the couch before he (carefully) throws himself on top of them to “smush” them - all the while their giggling, squeaking, and grabbing at their father.

He nips at them gentley, blowing raspberries on their bellies before pretending to bite their toes, “M’little cookie monsters!”

Says the man who once said…

“Fuck tha’. Never gonna have kids, waste of time and space. Fuckin’ kill me before tha’ happens.”

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years ago

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Ask Naboo

Author: Nonexistantpup

Year: 2010

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairings: Naboo, Bollo, Spider Dijon, Rudi Van DiSarzio, The Braincell, Howince, Moss/Roy

Bollo slid his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his hairy temples with two fingers. “It no good,” he said with a frown. Naboo looked up, annoyed. He was busy relaxing and smoking and hated to be interrupted. “What’s no good?” “Books no add up,” Bollo said. He sigh. “Bollo warn Naboo that monkeys not make good book keeper.” “What are you saying?” asked Naboo, with an impending feeling of doom. He’d have said he had a bad feeling, but didn’t want to steal Bollo's favourite phrase. “Need money,” Bollo explained. “Stop paying the losers workin’ downstairs then,” said Naboo. “Done that. Sold beach house too. No more money. What else can Naboo spare?” Naboo frowned. There was his submarine, but he never felt comfortable without one of them in the house. His Rudi & Spider memorabilia couldn't go either, of course, and his rug collection was pretty vital. “We better fix this,” he said unhelpfully. “Otherwise I’ll have to sell you, Bollo.” Bollo paled. Or - well, he didn't really pale. His fur remained the same colour. He seemed unnerved, however. “But - Naboo need familiar!” “I know,” said Naboo. He tapped his chin. “We need make money.” Naboo clicked his tongue and took another drag from his hookah. “I suppose I can go back into pop psychiatry,” he said thoughtfully. “I do sort of miss it. Hearing about peoples’ problems. Imparting wisdom. The regular income...” “What about Bollo?” asked Bollo. Naboo shrugged. “You could be my editor.” Bollo seemed appeased by this idea, and put his glasses back down onto the table. “Now,” said Naboo, “Call up the newspapers and tell them I'm willing to reinstate my relationships column." Dear Naboo, I can’t fulfill my partner’s sexual needs anymore; I'm exhausted! If it was just a good, hard romp four or five times a day, it would be no problem, but he’s practically insatiable! He has eight cocks, you see, which means every time we make love, we do it eight times in a row, each time lasting at least a month and a half. Now, I'm not great at mathematics, but I contacted a local mathematician, who informs me that 4 x 8 x 1.5 equals 48. Which means that every day, I have sex for over forty-eight months - in other words, more than four years! I'm exhausted! What should I do? - A Worn-Out Woman ‘Worn-Out Woman’, As I see it, your options are threefold. 1. Dump the freak and get some sleep. 2. Let me tell you the story of the broken flute. Once upon a time, there was a flute. One day, he tripped over one of his shoelaces and fell onto the footpath, breaking to pieces instantly. All the little shards of flute were scattered all over the place, causing passing bare-footed pedestrians to cut their feet. One of these pedestrians happened to be a passing eccentric billionare, who limped home, not realising the shard was still in his foot. The shard of flute had never been in a mansion before, and hopped off gleefully to look around, and liked the place so much that, that night, it cut the millionaire's throat while he slept and inherited his entire fortune. See what I'm sayin’? 3. Get over it. Sure, it may be hard to deal with at times. I get that. But think about it, yeah? You’ve got a man who alters the very laws of physics, the axioms of reality, just in order to have enough time to spend in the sack with you every day. There’s not many men who would do that. Love, Naboo

= =

To Naboo, How can I make my boyfriend take our relationship more seriously? I mean, we have so much fun together and I know he cares about me, and yet whenever people ask him about me, he lies as if he’s ashamed, saying he is merely changing one of my strings. I love him, but if this doesn’t change, I don’t think I can go on seeing him. Please save our relationship? - Irritated Instrument Irritated Instrument, I had a similar conundrum in the forties, as it happens, when my girlfriend at the time wouldn't admit to being deeply in love with our cutlery drawer. They got together eventually, and are still together today, I believe, and expecting their second child. There are two options I can reccommend: 1. Don’t give up! If he cares for you, he will come through. Speak to him openly and honestly and tell him how you feel. 2. Give up! He’s a loser who seems to enjoy getting off with inanimate objects anyway. Find somebody more your type - a cello or perhaps a ukulele if you’re strung that way. Love, Naboo = = Deer Naboo, It’s got to the point where I just don’t no what to do anymore. I am married with children, yet I can’t seem to think of anything except the other people I’d like to shag and how much the drudgery of an unhappy marriage is marring my carefully pampered image. It would be alright, you know, but the person I’d really ideally like to fool around with just sees me as her boss. I’ve tried everything! I invited her to work late, and she worked late. I told her she was cute and she said ‘thank you’. I even custom-designed a sparkly soot, just to get her attention, but she still doesn't notice me. I'm starting to doubt my dead sexiness and although I know I have quite an important job, my work ethic is crumbling like a fresh piece of shortbread. What can I do?! - Suffering Cell Suffering Cell, I have some words of wisdom for you, although I can’t be sure they will be anything new. You have not been specific about many of your problems, but my crystal ball has kindly filled in most of the blanks. What you must consider very seriously is this tale - the tale of the ant and the grasshopper. Once upon a time, there was an ant and a grasshopper. They were experiencing a fruitful summer. For the whole season, the ant worked hard, storing up food for the winter while the grasshopper just hung around smoking joints and watching the telly, not collecting any food except for what he wanted to eat that day. The ant warned him that laziness came with consequences, but the grasshopper didn't care. When winter came, the ant had a huge stockpile of food - enough to keep it and its family nourished all the way through until spring, while the grasshopper was left outside, cold and hungry. He had run out of weed and the electric company disconnected his telly. Desperate, he knocked on the ant’s front door to beg for food, but frustrated with the grasshopper’s lack of responsibility, the ant said he would only share his family’s food if the grasshopper sold his body, prostituting himself off to the ant in exchange for food. The grasshopper, who wasn’t into that kind of thing (in fact, he was a bit of a prude) turned away in disgust, and the very next day he hopped aboard a plane, smuggling himself in the luggage of a slightly inebriated badger. He found himself on the other side of the world, where it was summer and food was plentiful, paid his way out of debt quickly and hired a lawyer so he could sue the ant for sexual harassment. I hope this has cleared some things up for you. Love, Naboo.

= = Alright, Naboo? Probably are. You seem to be pretty on top of things, being a shaman and that. Anyway, I live with a friend of mine who drives me nuts. He has no taste in clothes or music (ie. wears tweed and listens to jazz), is finicky (ie. Control Freak!) and I just fancy the pants off him. Well - not literally. Do you think it would be possible for me to actually do that though? But that’s not my question. See, he's taken to walking around the place wearing nothing. Well, nothing except this monocle of his - something to do with ‘going au naturale with class’. Whatever the reason behind it, it’s making me mental. I can’t even fancy the pants off him from afar, because a whole lot of the time he ain’t wearing them to begin with! So, what do you reckon? - A Very Randy Socialite Very Randy Socialite, You batty crease. Can't you tell? He's trying to seduce you. Just don't do anything unless you're sure there’s nobody else in the house, yeah? Love, Naboo P.S. I mean it. If I hear you two humping away in the next room, I'm throwing you out on your naked arses. I don't need that shit.

= =

Dear Naboo, I'm having the most awful trouble getting girls. See, I'm not bad to look at and I'm a clever, sensitive man, but none of them will look past my career. I am a homocidal maniac (hoping to climb the ladder and become an official genocidal maniac). I can't give that up! How can I get girls to accept me? - Bloody Lonely Bloody Lonely, I had a friend with the same problem. He worked in Dickson’s and girls could never come to terms with it, judging him and all that. Here's some wisdom that helped him and will hopefully do the same for you. This is the story of the green crow. Once upon a time, there was a crow. He was a normal crow, except for the fact that he was green and looked like a big, feathered, mouldy potato. In fact, one day Marilyn Manson saw him and was so disgusted that he kicked the poor crow into the recycling bin at a local primary school. The green crow was very upset, especially since he was such a huge Marilyn Manson fan he had a milky lens in one eye and hadn't drunk any water since 1997. Depressed, he sat in the recycling bin for days, ‘caw’ing miserably. On the fourth day, however, a whole lot of colourful craft paper cuttings rained down on him. The green crow was newly inspired. He found some old chewing gum and made himself a turban and cloak out of the colourful paper. From that day on, everybody treated him with respect because they thought he was a mouldy, green, feathered shaman and Marilyn Manson issued a public apology. That should clear up your problems. Love, Naboo.

= =

To Sir/Madam (I'm sorry, your name is quite androgynous), I must admit I am quite distressed. My best friend and I are always doing things together. We should be seeing girls but instead we’re always in each other’s company like an old married couple. I'm at the end of my tether. Thank you in advance, - In A Flippin’ Rut In A Flippin’ Rut, The answer to your problem is so simple, I'm frankly staggered that you’ve even found the need to ask my advice. Obviously, you and your best friend are meant to be together. The real problem is just that you have all the elements of a successful marriage except for a healthy sex life. So, you know. Get it on. Duh! Love, Naboo P.S. I do have more specific advice regarding what you should do, but it is inappropriate material to have published here. Send me a private email and I shall tell you the story of the phallus-shaped coral.

= =

Dear Naboo, Just what kind of an advice columnist are you? My friend wrote to you, complaining that we can't meet anyone because we're "like an old married couple" and you send him some story about coral willies and tell him to seduce me in the most disgusting way imaginable. You are obviously a pervert and shouldn't be allowed to give advice to anyone. -Thoroughly Repulsed P.S. Just to clear things up, we are NOT like a married couple in any way.

= =

Thoroughly Repulsed, That’s gratitude for you. From your indignation, it’s pretty clear to me that the seduction worked. If you wanted it to happen in another way - one that perhaps didn't involve an aquarium, smelling salts or three feet of chicken wire - you should have stepped up and made the first move on your ‘friend’ long ago. What are you, some kind of selfish, absent-minded, narcissistic slacker? You pompous bloody wanker. Love, Naboo P.S. Whatever. P.P.S. Bite me. P.P.P.S. Prick. P.P.P.P.S. Watch your step, yeah? Or I will turn my back on you.

= =

Naboo, I'll have you know that the seduction did NOT work. What I saw when I got into work this morning made me want to vomit. It's pretty clear to me that you're a wanker with nothing better to do than corrupt perfectly nice people with your kinky fantasies. My friend and I haven't spoken to each other all day and it's been very awkward for the both of us. I hope you're happy. -Repulsed P.S. You're the prick. And how dare you call me narcissistic.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo #naboo the enigma #the braincell #rudi van disarzio #spider dijon #vince noir #howard moon #howince #vince noir/howard moon #vince/howard #the it crowd #it crowd #maurice moss #roy trenneman #moss/roy #maurice moss/roy trenneman

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scrambledeggsforella · 7 months ago

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Ella's response came just as quickly as her father's questions. To a stranger's ear, her voice sounded faintly accented, but whether it was more affected by her father's accent or her mother's was unclear – it was actually a slight lisp that could be attributed to her braces. "'Cos of Elliot." She didn't expand on her reasoning, still looking intently at Tremont on the other side of the table and barely acknowledging Nettie when she set their cups and plates down a moment later. The smaller girl's hand briefly made contact with Ella's sleeve near her elbow and she murmured a hurried "good morning–" to Ella's father before she straightened her apron and made her way back towards the kitchen window, the well-worn leather soles of her shoes – brown moccasins with purple beads inlaid – quiet against the floor. It seemed to Ella that her brother had been absent from school for the larger part of the spring semester. She or Bruiser had almost been taking turns bringing Elliot's classwork back to the Carmichael house. February had been a particularly difficult month for him and then March had essentially followed suit. Now April was in swing, with her birthday around the corner on the nineteenth, and suddenly Ella was less concerned about whether his grades were taking a hit and more worried about everything else. He'd still been upstairs in bed when they left to come to the K-18, but there'd been several days even after their parents had taken him to see the specialist in Wichita, that he was practically immobile on the couch, apple juice box in one hand and looking more pitiful than ever under a blanket, eyes glazed and fixated on the television screen. To her, it was all too reminiscent of when he'd been sick in primary school, but even that was better than when he'd fainted in the living room early on in February, which had been the catalyst for Lucy and Tremont contacting the children's hospital for the specialist appointment in the first place. "I am still excited." Ella admitted. "It's just..." She stabbed at her plate blindly with the same fork she'd stabbed at her napkin with when they'd first sat down and then took up her cutlery in earnest to cut her slice of toast, first into long strips, then into small squares, so she could pick them up at the same time as bits of the scrambled egg. "What if you guys need me here Dad?" There was a slight whine in Ella's tone that almost entirely masked the wobble in it. "What if something happens to him?"

Driving, like schoolwork, came easily to Ella. She'd never had a shadow of a doubt that she would pass the practical test and get her license when she'd turned sixteen, but she rarely had the need to drive very far – the bus picked them up to take them to school at the end of Parkview Road every morning and it wasn't often that she went somewhere on her own. If they were going out of town, even just as far as to the Walmart in Salina, it was almost always with the rest of the family or at the very least, several members of the Laframboise household, usually with Robert at the wheel of his truck, and within the minute constraints of Lucas's city limits, there was hardly anywhere to go. Unsurprisingly, when she reached the end of Parkview on Saturday morning, Ella checked the mirrors, turned onto First Street, and headed in the direction of the K-18. It couldn't quite be called a bustling establishment but it was a hub of sorts in the community, especially amongst the retirees throughout the week. The decor was somewhere between understated and an afterthought; a pastiche. The dark red vinyl backing of the chairs at the tables in the diner's center matched the dark red vinyl cushions of the stool at the counter, but neither matched the black vinyl of the booths. Seated inside the diner at one such booth across from her father, Ella poked four identical holes through a thin paper napkin with the prongs of her fork. Nettie's large brown eyes had followed them since Ella had parked out the car out front, but she hadn't come to their table to formally take their orders; from the serious expression on Ella's face, she'd decided to wait to greet them. Besides, she knew what they wanted, and had already scribbled it down on a page from a tiny spiral flip-book and passed it through the kitchen window to Dave, the short order cook. Eggs & Toast x 2 Tea (Hot) Milk Unbeknownst to Nettie and perhaps even to Ella herself, as her memory didn't extend so far back, this was practically the same breakfast she and her father had shared at the kitchen table in their tiny living quarters in the Bronx when she was a baby. "I dunno if I'm gonna accept that offer to Wichita State, Dad." Ella stopped fiddling with the water-spotted silverware and trained her large blue eyes on Tremont instead, the soles of her Converse planted firmly on the linoleum floor under the table. "...I dunno if I should."

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0-waste · 2 years ago

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three days of a zero waste lifestyle!

The zero-waste movement is an eco-friendly way of living that aims to reduce the amount of waste an individual creates on a daily basis, which worsens climate change and global warming. While I admit that it's quite impossible to achieve completely zero waste at all, its primary purpose still holds its ground and perseveres — a dedication and commitment to sending as little waste to the landfills as possible. By doing so, we act on reducing the harmful impact of humans on our ecosystem.

This journal aims to focus on and record a zero waste lifestyle within the household and the home with all of its members.

Day One:

Refraining from using single-use items.

Instead of using paper and plastic utensils for eating, which always end up in the trash after a single meal is finished, I continue to use the recommended alternatives. They can be washed and dried again and again for them to be utilised more than once. To be specific, there are the metal cutlery (spoon and fork), a cloth napkin, and a water bottle, so that I won't need to buy plastic bottles from stores anymore.

This is all in order to avoid further contributing to the already quickly increasing amount of paper and plastic waste day by day all over the world.

This practice made me remember what I, along with a lot of the Ibarang, already do during breakfast, lunch, and dinner time in the cafeteria in Makiling where we bring our own utensils to eat with and wash them clean afterwards to use again

Repurposing household items.

Most families buy material necessities to provide each of their members’ basic needs and wants. Of course, mine isn’t an exception. That’s why there’s a diverse variety of things stacked away and kept within the shelves and cabinets of our house. It has then become a habit of ours to continuously put them to use and prevent them from just lying around as a means of neatness and organization of our belongings.

For example, in the photos shown, we fill an ice cream container with water, dishwashing soap and a sponge for cleaning purposes. There are also the Eden cheese and dental floss containers where our jewelry and little trinkets reside. Lastly, there are some mason jars that once held jams, sauces and such to store excess oil that we also reuse for cooking the next batches of food.

Day Two:

Giving away or donating items that aren't or won't be of use anymore.

Connecting to the deed yesterday, having bought a lot of stuff over the years, I tend to grow out of these items, having clothes that don’t suit my taste or don’t fit me anymore, and I deem to be no longer useful to me as time goes by.

Rather than just letting them gather cobwebs and dust in our house and throwing them out in the end, our family has been collecting these said objects. We’ll be giving them to Tatay’s family in Capiz, Iloilo when we visit them again in December to celebrate Christmas. It’s similar to that of a little balikbayan box that I hope would be to their liking!

Day Three:

Keeping and reusing tote and grocery bags and gift wrappers.

Similar to what was mentioned before in the previous days, the same goes to gift wrappers from gifts given to us. We make a collection of them, so we can use them again for the presents that we’ll be the ones giving to others this time during celebrations, holidays, and other occasions to our relatives and friends.

Moreover, whenever we go grocery shopping, we always have the same two large tote bags in hand where we place the newly bought food, drinks, and snacks. The remaining bags are also set aside so we have more room and options for storage of different items that we can also bring to different places.

Creating situations wherein the already used papers can serve other purposes.

Both my parents work in offices in educational institutions and environments, and both their children, my younger brother and I, are still at school as well. That’s why we end up producing papers of all sorts. We gather those as well and turn them into scratch papers.

references:

https://www.masterclass.com/articles/zero-waste-lifestyle-explained

https://www.ecofriendlyhabits.com/zero-waste-living/

https://meuresiduo.com/en/blog-en/moving-toward-a-zero-waste-lifestyle/

p.s.: credits to sophie reyes for the icon of this tumblr blog ♡

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aspamscottish · 3 years ago

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How to Get Your Child Ready for Preschool?

Many parents wonder, "Is my kid ready for preschool?" because it signifies the start of a new period in their child's development. Even if your pre-schooler has previously attended a toddler programme, they will make new friends, learn new skills and develop confidence and independence during the following six months. This early start puts your child on the path to academic achievement in the future, but it is not always simple. As babyhood passes, you and your toddler may be experiencing a spectrum of feelings, including enthusiasm, anxiety and even sadness.

Academically preparing your child for a primary school in Noida may be easier than you think; chances are, you are already doing many things. You may help your child prepare for preschool activities by simply reading, playing and exploring with them. Take a walk in the woods, do some puzzles, play board games or go to the library. Provide a balance of active, entertaining experiences and quieter, more concentrated activities for your child. Fine motor skills can be developed by painting, playing with playdough or stringing beads together.

It may take more effort to emotionally prepare your child—and yourself—for top schools in Noida. Here are a few suggestions for making the transition go smoothly.

Tips for Getting Ready for Preschool

Before nursery admission in Noida, follow the following tips:

Pay a visit to the preschool. A few days ahead of the start, visit your child's classroom and meet the preschool teacher. If a class schedule is available, show it to your child. Discuss what to expect from each part of the day. Show your child where they will store their backpack and other personal items.

Make a play of it. Pretend play is a great way to get your child ready for preschool. Pretend you are going to school, putting your backpack on the shelf and sitting down for group time. Make a simple snack, play games and read stories. Inculcate a few essential social skills in your child. Discuss how to gain someone's attention, how to take turns and how to join in on the fun. To roleplay, use puppets.

Work on self-help abilities. Going to preschool is a huge step towards your child's development, and independence will become more important. Help your child develop self-help skills such as handwashing, going to the toilet, putting on shoes and socks and eating with cutlery at the table.

Express and acknowledge feelings. Starting preschool is a thrilling journey, but it is natural for both of you to be nervous. Encourage your child to communicate their feelings, pay attention to their words and acknowledge their anxieties. At the same time, be honest with yourself about your ambivalence or concern. As your child works through their emotions, you may notice changes in their behaviour. Children frequently regress in one area while progressing in another. For example, children may regress in toilet training or become less autonomous. These behavioural modifications are only transitory, with loving care.

Make a timetable change. Make any required changes to your routines, such as an earlier dinner or sleep, before the first day of school. Limit the number of media platforms you use. Serve a nutritious breakfast and spend time outside. The transition will be considerably easier if you establish consistent, predictable habits a few weeks before school starts.

#nursery admission in Noida #primary school in Noida

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 7 years ago

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OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE: CHAPTER SEVEN

eremika soulmates through time modern au

( chapter one/chapter two/ chapter three/chapter four/ chapter five/chapter six/ ff.net/ ao3)

YI RI SAN QUI

CHINESE IDIOM; "ONE DAY, THREE AUTUMNS" – INTENSELY MISSING OR LONGING FOR SOMEONE SO THAT ONE SINGLE DAY APART FEELS LIKE THREE YEAR

"and it ain't a mystery you fell for me

we're just two lost souls trying to find our peace

love like ours ain't a masterpiece

it's a good day in the sun

i was born to love you

out where the water is wide

make me your country bride

you'll be my prince of tides

you were born to heal me

under a velvet sky

cattails dancing in the light

we were born to live a long and happy life

a happy life

- Delta Rae A Long and Happy Life

People notice things, they are well aware of that; it is surely spotted how baron often seems to be dozing off when his wife shamelessly winks at other men above her feathery fan, but his dear friend is always the apple of his eye. How baroness herself is terribly fond of said friend's wife and can be rarely seen without her by her side, both of them dazzlingly dashing with their blonde hair and tightly-laced corsets.

How much time the four of them spend together; the sheer close proximity of two couples would be enough to raise rumors, but, in addition to that, they slowly but surely get too lazy to cover their tracks, get tired of masks and lies and deception. Eventually, it's almost like they are not even trying anymore. They always split for vacation, when two women enjoy the thermal waters of Vichy or well-stocked libraries of their respective estates and two men laze around and almost carelessly spend golden mountains of money on wine and blackjack in Monaco

(but never women, they would never buy a single woman and the baroness and her lovely lady in waiting never take men. They would all preen or giggle or send a smile or two, charming and daring, but none of them is ever actually caught red-handed. In a way, you could say that they are shockingly faithful to their respective partners – not to mistake with 'spouses'.

That is worth noting too.)

They mix clothes and rely on servants and hotel service not to spill spicy details about any compromising and surprising positions and configurations in which they may be or not be caught; they leave dozens of apartments covered in feathers from ripped pillows, with ruined bed rests, silk ribbons thrown haphazardly all around the floor and love bites on display on the skins of their necks

They chase after one another through long corridors of castles and mansions, skirts hitched up and cravats untied, hands reaching for wrong hands, lips locked with forbidden lips. Laughing out loud like children, the baron and his friend stroll around, tousled hair and all, glued at the hip, their wives following them, clad in smirks and delicate lace and shamelessness as two cheetahs in bejeweled collars. Frowned-upon desire put proudly on display like an ornate Faberge egg.

Stormy sky blue and soft baby blue irises caught in a shared gaze, sparkling emeralds always meeting opalescent greys.

Done with running and hiding, having only enough decency to use marriage titles, their affairs hidden by the sheer layer of translucent ice. A blind man could see through it easily.

So yes, people notice things and maybe even know things; but for some time, they all somehow get lucky and make it; buy their freedom to love and live with pearls and diamonds and defiance, and enjoy every second they are given.

Live like royalty, like gods among mortals, blinding in their disgusting extravaganza. Their years spent together are endless summers filled with baked swans and tender lobster tails served on silver trays, with sky-high elaborate wigs, with parties and dances and sexual plays, tiny poodles on silk leashes, horses with hooves painted in gold.

It's not gossips that put an end to this wonderland; it's a deadly female.

Madame Guillotine cuts through shining threads of their lives in four clean strikes, but it is all easy to bear as even she cannot sever the bonds that tie them all together.

***

There's an album full of Eren's baby pictures on Mikasa's lap and a cup of tea in her hand; cinnamon- smelling crumbs scattered on the table in front of her.

Carla is busying herself in the kitchen with dinner, her son helping her out, or attempting to do so; she can hear them bantering and playfully snapping at each other the way only a loving, if slightly overbearing parent and an equally loving, but a little bit irked child can, but they are not loud enough to interrupt her train of thought.

And that is- well.

She's mostly trying to clear her head a bit because there's a lot to take in.

In ten minutes since she has entered the Jeager's house, she's been immediately seated in the living room, given a hot drink and a heavy load of Eren-related information. He can knit, apparently, was a star soccer player from primary up until police academy, did wrestling for a while, knows how to make a mean omelette, tried living in a forest for three weeks once , owns a pug (she wonders why he didn't feel the need to tell her this particular thing. Maybe he assumed she's a cat person and decided to keep quiet, which is – just idiotic, to be honest. She's not a heartless monster, for fuck's sake; pugs are adorable. Everyone loves pugs). He's hard-working, ambitious, driven and determined and loyal to a fault. Never surrenders and never gives up; always finishes what he has started. An idiot sometimes, mouth quicker than brain and a troublemaker, but with a heart made out of sheer gold.

Carla, Mikasa thinks, would be an excellent PR specialist, if she ever becomes tired of working as a nurse. She has an urge to interrupt her monologue to assure her that, no, she doesn't really need to advertise her son so fiercely. She's already convinced, sold, bought, whatever.

But Eren's getting more flustered and flustered with every word getting out of his mom's mouth and duh, Mikasa enjoys his struggle way too much to put it to an end so soon.

Absent-mindedly, she turns pages of the album; Eren grows up in front of her eyes , from a wrinkled newborn to an awfully cute toddler, a toothy-grinned first grader, a frowning middle schooler and an awkward teenager, his lanky limbs not knowing how to operate simultaneously.

And then there are photos from his high school graduation, Eren laughing, head thrown back, surrounded by a huge group of friends, all wrapped around each other, young and shining in their capes. Hulking blond guy and a tall dark-haired one; athletic freckled girl with her arms around tiny beauty with sparkling blue eyes, a shorty with military cut spinning around laughing girl with thick ponytail, skinny fair-haired guy, glasses on his nose and the sweetest smile. She makes a mental note to ask him about their names.

And – of course- the last picture is Eren getting his badge, his eyes shining with something that looks suspiciously similar to tears.

Her own heart swells a little with pride and she can hardly fight a small smile that finds its way to her lips. Out of all the people in the world, he is the one she will get to share her life with and she couldn't be happier with the fate's choice.

"Mikasa?" Eren emerges from the kitchen, a blue bowl filled with something smelling of sage and rosemary in his hands and an orange apron hanging loosely around his hips. "You're alright?"

She smiles at him, putting the album on the table and standing up.

"Yeah, everything's fine. You need help?"

He shakes his head and opens his mouth but before he can say anything, Carla's voice rings from the kitchen:

"Actually, sweetheart, can you set the table, please? My son still hasn't mastered this art, despite many years of practice."

„Mom, please, stop." Eren sends her a very apologetic look and storms back into kitchen and Mikasa can do nothing but try to stop the giggle from escaping from her lips. She loves it all so much.

It's not just Eren she's getting. It's this house and Carla, and the pug, and the people from the photographs in Eren's album. It's a whole new world, shiny and bright and ready for her to take and be welcomed in.

And with that thought warming her head-to-toe, she follows Eren to ask Carla where are cutlery and glasses, listening to the mother-son banter quietly, with the cheek-achingly-wide smile painted on her face.

She almost moans in delight, taking yet another piece of chocolate cake into her mouth, savoring the taste on her tongue. She tries to hide that and her cover is good, he'll give her that – but he's no fool; even a complete monster would turn into a saint for just a bite of this heavenly thing that Carla somehow enchants in their old oven.

And he's seen it so many times, this expression of wonder on so many faces, but it still suits hers just best. His mom is beaming from the other side of the table, asking Mikasa questions about her culinary preferences so that she would know what to cook for their next visit. Their old golden retriever quietly patters into the dining room and puts her heavy, warm head on Eren's knees, wordlessly asking for scraps. And so, as he scratches Leia behind her fluffy ears and watches his mom and his soulmate discussing apple pies and lemon meringues…

There's a strange feeling that overcomes his body somehow, sweet and wonderful and very, very old – as if the three of them have already been there and done that before; the shared chores and shared dinner, the laughter, the talk, their voices entwined into one, perfect melody. Mom and Mikasa smiling at each other, him between them, like a bridge.

No missing pieces in this puzzle; there's a rightness in this scene that has never been there before.

***

Carla's smiling at them, as she ushers them out of the doors, mischief in her eyes when she says:

„Go, go, take your time together." and the sheer implication rings in her voice so clear that he feels his face turning beetroot red. He quietly wonders how many times he has already blushed tonight and even quieter laments at this count, but Mikasa just laughs.

That's all she's been doing the whole evening, actually. Laughing and beaming, her face transforming with happiness; the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose dusted with pink. For a few hours gone was the stoic, poised girl, still a bit unsure how to handle the situation; for a few hours she was dancing around his house from kitchen to dining room, dishes in her arms and smears of chocolate on her chin.

And he's curious about that, but he doesn't really know what question he could possibly ask her to understand.

He grabs her hand instead and they move forward. The pavement is covered by the thin layer of ice and the heels of her shoes glide against it, making a high-pitched sound.

„Your mom is lovely," she says quietly, grabbing onto his arm for better balance. „And your house too. Thank you-" she raises her head to lock eyes with him, the shadow of a smile still remaining on her mouth, " – for taking me to meet her."

He lowers his own head so that he can press a kiss to her forehead; he can't believe she is the one to thank him.

„Honestly, the pleasure's all mine. But I have to admit, I didn't expect you to click together so … well."

Mikasa chuckles, nodding to herself; a hint of her amusement makes its way into his system, light as champagne bubbles.

„You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be just like her."

He almost trips on his own feet; stumbles and stops for a second as Mikasa steadies his form.

„Wha- what do you mean?"

She shrugs and tries to seem nonchalant, and he might have believed her if not for the way she buries her face in the folds of his scarf and grips his arm a little more forcefully.

"Well. My mom is an academic professor, she was always busy when I was a kid. But on weekends, whenever she had time, we would drive out of the city and she would just spend whole days in the garden. Had the most beautiful sunflowers in all the county. Still does, actually."

The snow is not falling anymore and the street lights shine clear; Mikasa's eyes reflect it even brighter as she stares into the distance, deep down on the memory lane.

"We have this house in the country, kind of a little farm, I guess. I loved it so much then. There was only us and a dozen of chickens and dad would sometimes take me to the river at dawn to try fishing. We would just sit for hours on the pier, not even speaking, just- taking in the view. And my mom would always wait for us with an apple pie ready. She taught me gardening, embroidery, and cooking. All I ever wanted when I was a kid was to be like my mom; to have a little house by the forest, a husband to kiss me when he comes from work and a bunch of kids to run around. To live a long and happy life."

She's looking down at her feet now, stopping speaking abruptly as if she just realized the words that came from her mouth. But he says nothing, just squeezes her hand gently and so she lets out a deep sigh, a little bit embarrassed when she states:

"Your mom is so warm, so big-hearted. This is the kind of woman I've always wanted to be."

Eren studies her form, the grace in her posture even when she is hunched, strands of black hair framing her beautiful face. Mikasa is not a woman she had just described; she is not the sunflower shining for everyone, she is not the summer sun warming all people equally. She will never be loved by everyone or love everyone . But those that she loves, those that she trusts-

He thinks about how she acts around him when there's only two of them and their heartbeats. He thinks how easily she shed her dignified demeanor while she was washing dishes, giggling with his mom.

And he envisions her childhood dream; a log cabin at the edge of the wood, a river humming nearby, picnic table covered in red-and-white checked tablecloth. Mikasa hanging sheets in the backyard, her long braid falling down her back and black-haired, green-eyed children playing hide and seek around her legs.

Coming home to see just that.

Fondness swells in his heart. This is a fantasy that doesn't belong to the world they live in and the one that, at first glance, doesn't particularly suit a woman as independent and put together as Mikasa… but a beautiful, beautiful dream regardless. The picture that he knows he will never manage to abandon.

"Long and happy life, you say?" he hums in appreciation, sending her a dazzling smile and, through their bond, a kiss to her soul, sweet and tender. "I think we can manage that."

***

The evening slowly turns into the night and as they prepare for bed and lay down under the covers, Mikasa can feel the storm coming.

He's about to say something and she will not like it; she knows this before he even opens up his mouth to speak.

He fiddles with his shirt and tugs gently on her hair, licks his lips, scratches the back of his neck. It's like a low-current running through her body, electricity buzzing in her ears constantly and still, nothing can prepare her for the moment when the shoe drops.

"So, uh, my shift starts tomorrow at 8.00, but I think I can finish off a little earlier, like… 16? And we can grab something to eat then, how about that?"

There's ringing in her ears and her breath catches and she wants to slap herself because, jesus Mikasa, overreacting as hell right now. He's got work, he has to go to work, nobody, and especially not her uncle will excuse his absence. But as she turns her face away from him, although she does her very best to get a hold on herself, there's a tremble in her voice.

"Oh. Okay."

I'm about to cry, she realizes, horrified. What's wrong with me?

His arms wrap around her middle and, as he hides her face in her shoulder, she cannot stop the small hiccup of a sob that escapes her lips.

"Mika, hey, Mika. I know- I know, alright?" His hands lock around her." I know, I understand."

Panic is a cold wave that crashes over her, chill runs through his veins, through their bones.

‘'Maybe I'll call and-"

"No, no." She shakes her head, slipping from his arms; distancing herself from him leaves her aching all over but she does it anyway. It's unhealthy, even for soulmates to be so wrapped up in each other, but they got careless, they got too needy. "You should go, we-we can't act like nothing even matters anymore."

His brow furrows and he gulps and she knows which words he swallowed.

(only you matter now, only this.)

She wants to reach out, god knows she does. Wants to take his hands in hers and kiss him; nuzzle her face against his neck, curl inside his ribcage, lock herself in his heart. Let him hold her until she melts into him and they'll never be apart.

But it's not good for them and it's not possible anyway, so she takes a deep breath and says:

"Chinese tomorrow for dinner, what do you think about this idea?"

***

The morning comes too soon.

She didn't manage to doze off even for a few hours; laid with her eyes closed and breath even, emotions ripping her insides to shreds. She didn't let him hug her and thought that will make her body numb, that if she gets used to not touching him when he is beside her, seeing him leave will be easier.

It's not; it hurts, physically hurts and she digs her fingernails into the flesh of her palms not to reach out to him, roots her feet on the floor not to run after him. He kisses her so gently that it's more like a shadow of a kiss than a real thing; maps her cheekbones with the tips of his fingers and walks backward through the door to look at her as long as he can.

She swallows to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth and manages a grimace resembling somewhat a smile:

"I'll be here when you come back."

He nods but he doesn't seem to believe her at all.

"Mikasa-"

"Go." –she waves her hand goodbye, praying not to tear up, praying for him to leave before she tears up. "Go, don't be late. Levi-"

"Hates that, I know." He's still standing in the corridor, still looking at her and he's so anxious that it spills over. So she breaks herself a little inside and coaxes her body to cooperate; slows down her heartbeat, lets her hands hang loosely by her side, raises her head higher.

And so he relaxes too; even manages to send her his trademark boyish grin before stealing one more kiss – this one a little more proper, not just a paintbrush stroke- and turns away rapidly, running down the stairs fast as if he was afraid that as soon as he slows down he'll come back running to her.

Oh, she wishes he did. So bad.

Hours pass so lazily, she's almost afraid that clocks have all stopped working. And she's absolutely restless.

Goes out for a run, hoping to tire herself, but finds herself looking for his face in the crowd of unfamiliar ones. Tries to answer messages that accumulated on her phone and social media during the weekend and realizes that she has no idea what to tell all those people. Writes a short message to her coach to assure her that yes, she'll be back in training on Wednesday. Curls on the armchair for a minute or two only to jump up at the slightest of sounds, as easily spooked as Madeline. Picks up a book just to stare at the same page for half an hour.

By 2 P.M. she's equally anxious, frustrated with herself and dead tired.

So she picks up the phone and does the only thing she can think of.

"Annie? Hi, sorry for radio silence. I had a reason though."

Annie's usual blank voice is somehow less disinterested than normal.

"Better a good one, Ackerman."

Mikasa almost smiles. You have no idea, girl.

***

Eren is pretty much sure that is the worst day of his entire life, but he doesn't really register anything that's happening around him so it might not be true.

His longing takes a form; it's a ball of pain in his chest, covered in thorns and making his lungs and heart bleed whenever he takes a breath . Usually he'd be sulking for being assigned to paperwork for the whole day, but today he thanks, all of the gods he knows for it; there's a white mist obscuring his vision so that even the easiest forms transform into a herculean tasks of bureaucracy, so he's scared to even think how his work in the field would present. It takes so much effort for him not to say fuck it all and run back to Mikasa like a stray dog begging for a little warmth that by lunch he is downright exhausted.

Four-fifths of his new team send him worried glances above their respective meals and the one fifth, his boss, the living legend, the man he admires more than probably anyone else in his life looks so disgusted with his current state that Eren is truly surprised he manages not to spontaneously combust under his burning glare.

All he thinks, all he feels, all he pretty much is is –

Mikasa, Mikasa, Mikasa, Mikasa.

His mind plays tricks on him, plasters her face on any girl that enters the office, forces his eyes to look for her even though the mind knows her location all too well. His knee is constantly twitching, bumping the cheap wood imitation of his desk and making his keyboard jump up and down. He has dark circles underneath his eyes that he's sure weren't there before. She's haunting him and he is, to put it bluntly, a mess.

And yet, he cannot manage to care, not when yet another torturous hour passes and he gets closer and closer to breaking free.

After he glances at the clock for the fifth time in two minutes and it's still 15:24, Petra – who seemed to gravitate more and more towards his desk as the day progressed- taps his shoulder and asks him, very slowly and kindly, is there any way she could help him, really?

He tears his gaze away from the digital numbers of the clock to look at her; amber eyes are wide open, concern written all over her face.

All that's ringing in his head is that he wishes he could look at another woman.

"I-I don't think so." He mumbles, looking down at his still twitching knee. "Or maybe- Petra, I'm sorry, could I drop out early today? Please?"

The desperation in his voice is so clear that even he grimaces a little. Petra bites her lip and opens her mouth and he just knows she's about to say that she's sorry but-

"Let him go."

Levi is standing back to them, seemingly deeply engrossed into the act of scribbling some notes on the whiteboard, but he is speaking so loudly and clearly that everyone in the office just drops their work for a second, exchanging surprised glances.

Levi is not exactly known for cutting his officers slack.

"Let him go, Rall, he's useless anyway."

Petra gapes at the back of Levi's head, mouth opened as a fish gasping for breath before shaking her head and patting Eren on the back gently.

"Go." She whispers softly and Eren can almost see the ghost of the smile on her lips. "Go, you idiot, before he changes his mind."

He doesn't need to be told twice; he's so happy he could kiss her, but there is another mouth belonging to another girl and waiting for him at home.

***

The only thing he does is ring the bell and suddenly she's all over him.

Arms wrapped around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist; she opens the door so violently that the sound echoes in the empty staircase and jumps into his waiting arms. And he's been running all the way there, driven by the fear that he somehow forgot the way (how could he forget the way, now that he knows it?) and so he's a little than more winded but, honestly, who cares about breathing anymore.

She kisses him with wild abandon nobody would suspect her of, almost livid in her raw desire. She's a mess of emotions, a tangled pile of electric cords in his hands; she sends nerves live-wiring beneath his skin.

They bump into furniture on the way to the bedroom and some small part of his brain registers it, sighs to itself about bruises that will inevitably bloom on his skin tomorrow. But he's got a handful of her and as he lowers his head down to press his lips to her neck and sucks on her pulse point she straight-up moans; this sound escapes her lips like a dirty secret and he swears he's gonna keep it… after he hears it again and again and again.

He nips on her collarbone, feeling her body shivering against his own, and she tugs on his shirt desperately, pulling him behind her until they both collapse on the mattress. His mouth curls into a smirk as he puts his weight on her, but then she spreads her legs, raises up her hips-

And before he can even notice, he's the one laying pinned underneath her and she's the one hanging above him; her breasts brushing his chest, heavy breaths rocking her body. Mikasa has her cheeks stained pink, there's saliva smeared on her chin and bite marks on her neck; he slowly raises his hand up and loops a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His palms cup her cheek face and her eyelids shut close.

Desire doesn't go away, neither does arousal; but as he looks at her – god. God bless.

It's like everything suddenly glows. There's unexplainable sweetness that didn't use to be there before; the strawberry red summer sun warming him up.

It's like somebody reached out and covered all of his emotions in gold, made them better, more complete. Kissing has never felt like this before. Making out has never felt like this before. He could've as well never touched a girl before.

So new, so fresh, like the air after the storm and still so familiar. She's his first time and the last time; the only one he'll ever want, the one he will never get enough of.

You woke me up, baby.

His other hand sneaks underneath her shirt, trails the line of her spine, caresses her back which arches under his touch.

"Eren." She still has her eyes closed, humming his name like a melody. "Eren."

She nuzzles her cheek against his hand, turns her head a bit for her lips to reach his skin and kiss him.

I adore you. They think simultaneously, think with all of them . I was so lonely without you.

He briefly wonders what it will feel like, to tug her top up and her bra down, to put his mouth on her breasts and make her moan again. To let her pull on his hair as he blows raspberries on her inner thighs. He wants it all so badly, desires her body and her heart and her mind and her soul.

You already have it, she thinks to him and it sounds breathless even in his head.

His hands on her back press her down and she lets him; she leans and lets him kiss the remaining sense out of her until everything spins in front of her eyes and she forgets she's supposed to breathe.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling on them greedily and moving down and then her nails digging lightly into the nape of his neck-

Red, it’s all red everywhere, that's all he sees. Red, sticky and stinking of metal; the stifling hotness which coats his skin in sweat and makes his eyes water.

"Eren!" she cries out, her hands reaching for him and he's running, running, blood buzzing in his ears and breath knocked out of his lungs at the fear twisting her features because Mikasa is brave, Mikasa has never been afraid of anything, Mikasa is untouchable, impossible to kill, stronger than all of them combined and yet-

And yet.

"Eren!"

She's so far.

So far away.

Something crunches underneath the soles of his boots, but he doesn't stop to check on whose corpse he stepped on.

Red is oozing from the cuts on her face; it looks as if she was crying blood. And he is stricken with the terrifying familiarity of this scene; of his mother's figure held by the gigantic hand and raised from the earth's surface. The sound of her spine splitting in half. Her blood falling down like a rain.

And him, helpless again.

He sinks his teeth into the palm of his hand again and again, and yet the lightning doesn't strike. There's no magic this time, no transformation; and there's no spark of impossible in Mikasa either, just a small, broken, tired girl who exhausted herself to the point of almost passing out, her blades shattered, her wings torn from her back.

"Mikasa!"

Their eyes lock and her expression softens; the hand she held outstretched for him falls loose. To his horror, she looks at him with this bashful fondness … and that' when he realizes she has given up.

Her lips move, forming words which he cannot decipher because he's still so fucking, goddamn far away and he's screaming, still screaming for her, when her figure disappears in the gaping, dark hole of the titan's mouth.

#eremika #eremika fanfiction #snk #snk fanfiction #our future will be a bright one #attack on titan

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ailsadavies · 4 years ago

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How the subject area relates to my own area of expertise

The sustainable ethos of this project was interesting but didn’t end up being the main thread that motivated me. We had to acquire a regularly wasted material from somewhere local to us, and I used the fish polystyrene boxes from my old primary school. I found pushing the material to its limits to discover its useful and impractical qualities a bit frustrating but ultimately worthwhile practise in thorough, determined research for FMP, as well as instilling in me a zero waste attitude towards materials. Despite the focus of the project being about sustainability, I was still drawn to how we interact with the material physically and I made cutlery grips for children who find it difficult to use conventional cutlery. One of the most exciting parts of the project for me was testing them on children and receiving honest feedback that I could use to inform how I develop my design, much like in the intimacy project. For my FMP I want to explore quotidian struggles, however universal, common, individual... and how we can feel connected and empathetic to others through design.

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gosunsolarenergy · 4 years ago

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GoSun gives Solar Oven and Solar Powered Cooler Grants to Non Profits

GoSun is proud to announce the recipients of our Gifts of Gratitude product giveaway. 2020 was a tough year and we wanted to support individuals and organizations who are contributing to a brighter future and leading the fuel-free frontier by donating $10,000 worth of GoSun products. We had over 500 applications, which made for some very tough decisions for our team to make, but we were so inspired by the amount of people and organizations doing a lot of good in our world. Below, you will find the winners of these products, a brief description of their organization and a link to their project.

Flatware: Travel Cutlery Set: Kathryn Reinhardt,Makers Guild Inc.

Kathryn Reinhardt represents Makers Guild Inc. MGI increases impact by creating local jobs opportunities, empowering their workers and being involved in a downtown revitalization of an empty main street store into a makerspace. MGI hopes to launch a local makerspace for innovation, creative reuse/upscaling of items and job growth in a small rural, upstate New York town. MGI is an example of creative design and concern for the environment.

Flatware: Travel Cutlery Set: AI FENG CHEE, Individual as well asF&B cafe

Ai Feng Chee is an individual who has enjoyed using our Flatware often and takes pride in eliminating single use plastic. They also own a F&B cafe, where they plan to introduce and bring more awareness to eco-friendly products and influence others to make a change.

Flatware: Travel Cutlery Set: Melanie Kobran, Solidarity and Snacks (checkout @solidarityandsnacks on Instagram)

Melanie Kobran represents Solidarity and Snacks. S&S works with residents of Skid Row in Los Angeles to provide food and supplies for their living situations. These people have very limited access to power/water/sanitation in this area where just under 5,000 people are living on the streets in a very condensed area of the city. S&S works with community leaders who have established community kitchens.

Go: Portable Solar Oven: Pamela Sweeny,The Royal Canadian Legion Ontario Provincial Command

Pamela Sweeny represents The Royal Canadian Legion Ontario Provincial Command, this organization assists homeless veterans by providing them with backpacks filled with clothing, toiletries and other necessities. They’ve assisted over 900 veterans in 174 different countries including those who prefer to live off-grid and will benefit from a solar cooker.

Go: Portable Solar Oven: Solar Cookers International

Solar Cookers International is an organization that improves human and environmental health by supporting the expansion of effective carbon-free solar cooking in the regions of the world in greatest need. SCI leads through advocacy, research and strengthening the capacity of the global solar cooking movement. SCI has contributed to over 7.7 billion solar-cooked meals so far with various solar cookers and solar ovens.

Go: Portable Solar Oven: Stephen Gitonga,United Nations Development Programme, Regional Hub for Arab States, Amman, Jordan

Stephen Gitonga represents the United Nations Development Programme, Regional Hub for Arab States in Amman, Jordan, this organization aids countries in crisis contexts such as Yemen or those bordering crisis countries and impacted by hosting refugees. They plan to use their GoSun solar oven to improve social impact and contribute to clean energy transition and contribute to address climate change in these counties.

Go: Portable Solar Oven: Angel M. Sewell via Becky Townsend

Becky Townsend, had nominated her friend, Angel Sewall to receive a GoSun Go solar cooker. Angel is a traveling artist who lives in an RV and helps aid homeless people she comes across on her journeys. She is always willing to help everyone and will often give her last dollar to someone so they can go eat.

Sport: Fastest Solar Oven:Jennifer Gasser,Global Development Solutions, Solar Education Project

Jennifer Gasser represents Global Development Solutions, Solar Education Project, a local library that they work with has started a solar oven lending program in their community, which is the first program of its kind for solar ovens. The Solar Education Program provides educational materials, training and support. Gasser and her team are passionate about providing solar cooking educational resources to reduce deforestation and fossil fuel usage as well as educating to help eradicate poverty.

Sport: Fastest Solar Oven: Michael Chacon,Solar Smart Living

Michael Chacon represents Solar Smart Living, which is a renewable energy company focused on bringing sustainability to families. Chacon will use this solar oven to bring awareness of solar cooking to these families.

Sport: Fastest Solar Oven: Anders Hasselroth,GREAT WORLD CENTER

Anders Hasselroth represents his local resilience center, Great World Center, he has dedicated his life to creating resilient centers in order to help save our world. He raises awareness about solar products and educates people on how to use them. Anders products and distributes solar cooking videos and plans to put on events again soon after lockdowns have been lifted.

Sport: Fastest Solar Oven: Bob Lucy,Maasai Conservation Fund (MCF)

Bob Lucy represents the Maasai Conservation Fund (MCF). The Maasai village of Makuyuni is developing a permaculture demonstration farm to feed themselves and teach their neighbours about sustainable agriculture. Part of that plan is to reduce dependence on forests for fuel and are seeking the ability to cook with the sun with the aid of a solar cooker. The MCF works with the people of the village by implementing sustainable developed projects to improve education, food security and economic development all while protecting their environment and unique culture.

Sport: Fastest Solar Oven: Kim Ricket,Highlands Elementary School (Garden Program via PTA)

Kim Ricket represents the Highlands Elementary School Garden Program. The mission of the program of over 500 children is to build a love of nature in young children and to help them to understand the need to work toward a sustainable future. Ricket says that as the children take these lessons home, they see change in the community. They build an appreciation for nature in the children of today so that the adults of tomorrow will take better care of our environment. Ricket plans to use the GoSun solar oven to teach children about the science behind solar powered cooking and how it ties into their sustainability curriculum.

Flow Pro: Filter + Sink + Shower: Denise Luttrell,Colorado Navajo Resiliency Project

Denise Luttrell represents the Colorado Navajo Resiliency Project, this organization supports Navajo people who have no access to running water, this gift will go to a family living in a remote area with no access to water or power. The Colorado Navajo Resiliency Project raises money to purchase goods and accepts donations and then delivers them to individuals throughout the Navajo Nation. They supply both short and long term sustainability needs and in relation to GoSun, have already distributed over 25 Sun King Pro solar light kits!

Flow Pro: Filter + Sink + Shower: Steven Ralf,Eudaimonia

Steven Ralf represents Eudaimonia, a primary school in Kenya that is in need of a washing and drinking facility for the children and their families. Ralf’s business in Eudaimonia is committed to using permaculture pericesses and only using natural resources, they increase impact by encouraging entrepreneurial responses to social problems and developing free thinking.

Flow Pro: Filter + Sink + Shower: Brenna Holzhauer,Aldo Leopold Nature Center

Brenna Holzhauer represents the Aldo Leopold Nature Center, a nonprofit organization that offers a range of environmental education programming. ALNC leads the way to ensure visitors of all ages and backgrounds have the opportunity to connect with nature by offering positive and constructive learning opportunities that capture their interest, engage their senses and teach them to appreciate the interconnectedness of all living things. Some of their programs have adapted to take place mostly outdoors and they plan to use the solar powered GoSun Flow for an outdoor hand washing station.

Fusion: Hybrid Solar Oven: Greg Saxe,Freedom Trail Supply

Greg Saxe represents Freedom Trail Supply and offers free solar cooking demonstrations with GoSun solar ovens at school and events such as Earth Day and local potlucks to feed the hungry. Saxe educates attendees on the environmental, health and economic benefits of solar cooking and shows the effectiveness of everyday living to promote acceptance and use by creating familiarity and a user community.

Fusion: Hybrid Solar Oven: Pamela M. Smith,Change for Hope

Pamela M. Smith represents Change For Hope and has been working in a rural village of Kalitar in Nepal for 15 years. Smith has a plan that the GoSun Fusion solar oven will change the way that the women cook, but preventing smoke filling homes and preventing them having to haul wood for long hours everyday and ultimately will bring clean air to these families.

Fusion: Hybrid Solar Oven: Ian Dodkins,SunnyMoney (SolarAid)

Ian Dodkins represents SunnyMoney, which is a national distribution network specifically designed to ensure low cost distribution of renewable energy products to last mile communities such as Malawi. The GoSun Fusion solar oven will help Dodkins and his team test the quality, durability and feasibility of solar cooking as an alternative to wood cooking in these low income rural areas.

Fusion: Hybrid Solar Oven: Monique Pool,Green Heritage Fund Suriname

Monique Pool represents the Green Heritage Fund in Suriname. Green Heritage works to save endangered species such as sea turtles, dolphins, manatees, mangroves, sloths and anteaters. Pool and her team will use their new solar oven during their fieldwork to cook in the field without having to carry around and use a gas stove or harm the sensitive ecosystems that they work in.

Sport: Fastest Solar Oven andFusion: Hybrid Solar Oven: Solar Household Energy

Solar Household Energy (SHE) is an organization that strives to unleash the potential of solar cooking to improve social, economic and environmental conditions in sun-rich areas around the world. They employ the technology of solar cooking to combat hunger, the global threats of biomass cooking and address seven of the eight United National Millennium Development Goals; eradicating extreme poverty and hunger, achieving universal primary education, promoting gender equality and empowering women, reducing child mortality, improving mental health, ensuring environmental sustainability and developing a global partnership for development.

SolarTable 60: 60W Solar Charger + Battery: Dawn Deydey,Wildsight Elk Valley

Dawn Deydey represents Wildsight Elk Valley, a non profit based in Fernie, BC that aims to protect plant and animal biodiversity and create sustainable communities in the Southern Rockies region of British Columbia. Their aim is to cultivate a thriving, knowledgeable and resilient local food culture in the Elk Valley through education, advocacy and community engagement. They’ve just launched a new local food store, run a local farmers market as well as a community garden and facilitate environmental education programs in schools. Deydey plans to use the solar table at the Community EcoGarden and Farmers Market events and access power at these events where they do not normally have electricity!

SolarEnergy Bundle: Charge & Power: Dean Seibert, MD.ACTS Honduras

Dean Seibert, MD represents ACTS Honduras, ACTS has been working in Honduras since 1986 to foster cross-cultural understanding and to promote sustainable programs for health, education, agriculture and economic development. ACTS works to address immediate needs of the community, support programs that encourage learning and leadership among adults and youth communities. Solar panels and a solar powered lithium ion battery (which also acts as a cell phone charger) will help bring clean power to the Honduras community.

Chill: Portable Fridge + Battery: Kerry Hughes,Ecosystem Restoration Camps - CA

Kerry Hughes represents the Ecosystem Restoration Camps in California and is building an off grid mobile kitchen to travel to disaster sites in California and feed volunteers who work to restore the land and communities. This organization started after the Camp Fire which destroyed the entire town of Paradise, they restore ecosystems through camping experiences that teach people how to care for the land, empower people to take this knowledge back to their communities and teach others to heal the land through restoration best practices.

Chill: Portable Fridge + Battery: Joseph Appell, Solar by Jos

Joseph Appell represents Solar by Jos, a non-profit clean energy consultant and presenter. He displays fossil-free/grid-free yard and garden solutions and works with energy fairs, Earth Day events and environmental groups such as;. Kiswaukee350, Forest City350, Audubon events, Galena Green events, and DeKalb EV show.

Solar Kitchen: Cook + Cool + Charge: Ron Swenson,Homeless Garden Project

Ron Swenson represents the Homeless Garden Project. Swenson, the landlord and a commercial solar developer, has donated the use of his land to this project for over twenty years. The project provides an incredible service to the community, bringing job training, food to the homeless and providing mid-day meals to their workers despite their kitchen facilities being very limited.

Solar Kitchen: Cook + Cool + Charge: Dave Law,Homes on Wheels Alliance, Inc. (HOWA)

Dave Law represents Homes on Wheels Alliance, Inc., a non profit organization that strives to help a significant portion of the American population who are being squeezed between the rapidly rising cost of shelter, stagnant wages or not enough retirement income through no fault of their own and at serious risk of losing their homes. Law and his team plan to use the Solar Kitchen in a recipient in need’s home vehicle.

Solar Kitchen: Cook + Cool + Charge: Cheryl Martin, donating toMedicine Horse Project

Cheryl Martin represents the Medicine Horse Project, an off-grid organization located in the high desert of Nevada that rescues abandoned, neglected or abused horses. These sentient beings provide healing to veterans coping with trauma, TBI, PTSD and re-entry to civilian life, as well as battered women and children. MHP will use the Solar Kitchen to bring warm water to clean horses eyes before medicine is applied, convert refrigeration from gas generators to solar, using solar to pump water to the horses, from the well and holding tanks, cook healthy dishes, make coffee in the morning and keep it hot all day and keep foods refrigerated.

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nanasmanners1 · 1 year ago

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High-Quality Childrens Cutlery Sets - Make Mealtime Fun and Safe

Make mealtime enjoyable and safe with our high-quality Childrens cutlery sets. Designed with durability and safety in mind, our cutlery sets are perfect for little hands learning to eat independently. Shop now and give your child a fun and hassle-free dining experience. Visit here:- https://shorturl.at/izDMV

#toddler cutlery #ergonomic childrens cutlery #parenting hacks #mealtimes with kids #childrens kitchen knives #toddler knife #childrens food #baby food #toddler #baby #children plate #weaning spoon #Cutlery for primary school children #Cutlery for primary school kids

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abcdefghijklmnoalphabet · 5 years ago

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Dear Martha,

We haven’t spoken in a while. 26th February, you hurt me so deeply I didn’t know how to feel about it. After all, you’d spent two years of our friendship building me up and telling me that I should accept better from the world around me (professionally, personally), it never once occurred to me that you might be negatively judging me for the things I’ve been through.

I still don’t understand why you felt it necessary to say the things you said, nor why you were so hell-bent on making sure I knew how shit I am with money, or how terrible my family is for taking the money from me. That’s why I didn’t really back down, and kept trying to explain myself. With Violet backing you up, I can see why you felt empowered to let me know every single fault you saw with my situation, but I don’t understand why you refused to see things from my perspective. After all, you’ve never struck me as the kind of person who just trusts one single source of information - but perhaps I’ve had you wrong all these years.

You told me that domestic abuse, physical and mental, is no reason for me and my mum to be in any kind of financial hardship. In fact, you and Violet were very dismissive of the fact that I opened up about my abusive stepfather, and that hurt more than anything else. You see, at the heart of it, I had a shit childhood. Allow me to explain.

At the age of 2, my mum left my dad because he couldn’t care for me properly. He would sooner see me piss myself in the middle of a shop and blame it on my ‘inability to let him know I needed the toilet’, rather than take me to the toilet himself. He was crippled with fear that people would think he was some kind of paedophile, and so he couldn’t take good care of me. My mum met my stepdad, who was more than happy to take me to the toilet, even asked me if I needed to go if he saw a toilet. No fear from him, and I support her choice.

When I was 6 years old, I lost my granddad. He was a constant in my life, and I’m sad I only got six short years with him. He was more of a father figure to me in those six years, even though he wasn’t my mum’s real dad, nor was he my aunties’ real dad. He was my nan’s last relationship. Yet he stepped up to the plate and took care of me even when he was in the final stages of a very aggressive leukaemia. When he died, I was broken and devastated. It then didn’t help that shortly after, aged 7, I had to attend court hearings because my mother and father were battling for custody of me. My mum ultimately won (and likely against your approval used all of her savings paying for legal representation to keep hold of me), but only because my father reliquished any and all care of me to her just two weeks after he’d won. So my granddad died, my father didn’t want me, and my stepfather was regularly at odds with my mum.

What neither of us knew, as I grew older, was that my stepfather was working to back my mother into a corner financially. He saw a strong woman, manager of a banking branch, manager of a team of 12 people, capable of raising a child on her own effectively, and used her. Used her for money while he studied a postgrad degree in computing, stole her car, charmed her incessantly so she’d feel sorry for him and give into him. My mum isn’t stupid - she’s a giving and generous person, even more so if it’ll benefit her children. When he got a decent job, he was happy to buy a house with her and sign her into a joint account with him. He’d slowly ensnared her, used her for her good credit score, taken money from her and backed her into a corner which she didn’t know she was in. Because that’s what sociopaths and narcissists do, Martha. They lure you in, they gain your trust, they methodically break you down, and then they ruin you properly so you rely 100% on them for everything. They make you, then they break you.

He didn’t stop at money. No. He broke a number of family relationships too - he made it uncomfortable for my family to visit, and so they stopped. He made it clear he wasn’t happy, so my mum stopped inviting them so often. He ruined those relationships... and there was fuck all we could do about it, because he was volatile and aggressive and explosive if he was angry. You try living in that situation. It’s hard.

Growing up, I was usually afraid of him. Every single day I’d run back and to towards the window every time I heard a car pass by to check if he’d come home from work early, so I could start cleaning. He wasn’t happy with me unless he came in to me cooking, or cleaning, or ironing clothes, or anything like that. I couldn’t even do homework - I HAD to do chores. If he came in and I wasn’t, that meant the evening was spent with him and my mother screaming at each other because my mum defended me, and he wanted to break our relationship. He tried. Fuck me, he tried to break our relationship. He tried to get her to hate me, to remove our solidarity. But he only succeeded in making our bond closer,and enviable to other families.

He grew physically abusive, too. Borderline with me (he would throw cutlery at me - he once threw a DVD at me because I hadn’t moved it even though it wasn’t mine, it was his). He threw a laptop at my mum during an argument and broke her rib. I was told she’d fallen down the stairs. She was taken to hospital, and she told them she’d fallen down the stairs too. That went on file as possible domestic abuse. I was 8 when that happened. He pushed past her on the stairs one time, too. Lilly saw. Lilly told the school. The school pulled my mum in and asked if they should send social services. He threatened her with knives, too. Always tried to turn it on himself, though - “GO ON THEN, STAB ME! STAB ME, YOU FUCKING BITCH!” he roared one night. That night I had to go get into bed with my sisters and make them laugh and tell them funny stories because they were both shaking in fear. That happened a few times. It happened again when I was 21 and about to leave for Belgium. He roared so hard at my sisters that they clung to me and begged me not to let them get into the car with him. I had to stay between them and a very angry six-foot-tall man. He punched the door downstairs. I had to let them go with him. I was terrified he’d crash with them in the car, he couldn’t calm down. I let them go with him, I nearly threw up. I called him a spineless cunt, and then I did throw up because he came charging back up the stairs and screamed in my face ‘WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!’. I was convinced he was going to punch me, finally. One punch from that man and I’d have been dead. I didn’t want my sisters to go with him, but I was powerless to stop him, and my mum was in work. Do you have any idea how that feels? To be that powerless against someone? To be unable to protect two little lives?

I told you about the bailiff who came to our house. I got my age wrong. I was 12 when that happened, and at the time a 12 year old couldn’t be left in the house on their own. So, if I’d been caught in that house on my own, I’d have been taken into care, as would my sisters. So, when Violet countered that with ‘yes, that’s nothing, our power got turned off for three days’, you can understand why I felt that was a dismissal of something quite serious. See, if I had been taken into care, I wouldn’t be in Brussels. I wouldn’t be okay. My sisters wouldn’t be okay, either. My family would have been torn apart purely because my stepdad got into debt and didn’t tell my mum. That’s not her fault - that’s entirely his fault. He wanted her for himself. One of the things I never mentioned (partly because it’s the darkest thing I’ve ever done to myself), is that aged 13, shortly after the bailiff incident, I grew so tired of the stress that I sat one night, took two full boxes of paracetamol, and wrote out my notes to my few friends and to my mum, explaining that I didn’t want to be a financial burden on them any more. That’s why I want to protect my sisters. I don’t want them to understand things wrong and feel that it’s on them to put things right.

I appreciate that you don’t know how to understand the mentality of a child - you never grew up with two tiny babies in your teenage years, how could you? But I am aware that kids misunderstand things. Ruby, my youngest sister, actively starved herself to fainting in school because she overheard my mum telling me how the child support money barely covered the girls’ school food accounts (while we were planning her financial relief route). She told my mum that her dad was paying for her school food, but in reality she was maybe eating an apple at best. She fainted, Martha, because she was so hungry because she felt bad for spending so much money on her dinner. And no, packed lunches aren’t an option for her - she has to carry everything with her all day, and that equals more than 5kg of stuff in her bag (books, dance class kit, afterschool workout kit, homework books, and a coat). Another load of food would be too much. We know, we’ve thought of it. So you can surely understand why I want to protect my sisters, both of them, from knowing anything about finances. If they want something big for their birthday, we save for it and we get it for them because they ask for nothing all year. They know we have little, and they get very little. But I refuse on principle to refuse my sisters a christmas present that costs a lot.

My stepdad tried to force my mum to abort my youngest sister. He didn’t want kids. He wanted my mum for himself, and he wanted the kids out of the way. He never wanted to spend time with us, and when he did, it always ended in a screaming match.

Stepfather aside, I had no respite at school, either. From the relentless ‘walking on eggshells’ I had daily with my only friend in primary school, to the relentless bullying because I was fat/spotty/weird in high school, I never actually got any respite from stress. I was physically attacked walking home from school, and I was spat on one time for being a fat piece of shit cunt who deserved to die. One day I even had a tennis racquet thrown at my face because I was spotty, and the girl who’d stolen it off me got angry that I had to go home and wanted it back. I was always forgotten, left out, and when I was invited to parties I was the butt of the jokes and left out of the in-jokes. I had things planned in front of me, and when I turned up thinking I was invited, I was told I wasn’t, and made to leave just by being ignored.

My only foray into a relationship was with a guy who strung me along for three weeks to as a dare from his friends (who were mutual between us). I waited 2 hours in town for him to get off the bus for our first date, but he never showed up. When he finally answered my calls, he said his granddad had died, and that he couldn’t come. I supported him, or tried to, but the Monday after, he met up with me in college and told me he couldn’t keep up the pretence any more - he wasn’t with me at all, it was a huge joke, but it wasn’t fair at all because I was too nice. He didn’t expect that, because they’d told him I was a complete weirdo and would probably become obsessed with him. When that didn’t happen, and when I was more grateful that he found me attractive... well, he felt bad. And I felt like the biggest twat walking the planet. Since then, I haven’t had a boyfriend. I’m still a virgin, and I can’t imagine that anyone would want to sleep with me, have sex with me, or even would find me attractive. I can’t see myself holding a child of my own, and I can’t see that anyone would want to spend their free time with me. And furthermore, who would WANT to hang around with me? I’m always the weird one. I always will be the weird one. But it’s because I was never allowed to grow fully.

When I moved to university, my first choice was far, far away. I applied to Scottish universities that took at least 4 hours to drive to. My reasoning was firstly to get away from him, but then secondly to get somewhere where my mum and the girls could escape to if he got really bad and they needed to. I lived financially independent of them because I knew my mum would need any and all cash she could get to get out of there if she had to. I had depression at Uni, I was terrified of going out, I couldn’t form good friendships either. I wasn’t a normal human because I’d only ever known stress since I was 2 years old. Obtaining a degree and having minor success as a rower was therefore a huge achievement for me.

So. I understand that you have your way of saving and using your finances, but I have my way too. I have a demand on me to keep my family together. There are so many variables which rely on money for my mum to keep her job and custody of my sisters, and even if that means I have to adjust my own way of life, I will ALWAYS put my family first, because we’ve been through hell and back together. If my mum loses her car, for example, which I pay some towards, then she cannot get to work. She loses her job. Or, she takes a two-hour long busride to work, and leaves my sisters alone in the mornings before school, and in the evenings after school. She would be out of the house for longer than 12 hours. If the school was made aware of that, she’d lose her job. If she loses her job, she can’t pay rent. No rent, no house. No house, the girls have to go and live with their abusive father who has gotten A LOT worse since he lost control of my mum. I don’t think I could live with myself if that happens, so I’d be moving back to the UK to take the first job I could find, and I’d be caring full time for two young children, six months of emergency money or not. My family is my priority. Your family isn’t. I have never judged you for that, and I never would, because I don’t know enough about your life or your background, and it’s not my place to judge. But I will not accept you dismissing my abused past. It’s affected me far more than you could ever know.

In conclusion, I’ve done well to get to where I am. I need to seek therapy for everything that’s happened, but I’ve learned one thing. You don’t care about the things you said to me. You don’t care about the things it triggered within me. You don’t care about the effect it had on me, nor do you care that my response to what you said was to harm myself, to pick at my body and bleed to feel better. I have complex PTSD from years of stress, and I have OCD which is responsible for my picking and my obsessive ‘weird’ nature. You triggered an episode of PTSD in me so bad that I actually reached out and rang for therapy. Poor me, though; I didn’t get a chance to see anyone because the lockdown ruined it all. So, I’ve had to learn to let it go by myself. You’ll always live by your own standards, and in a way I feel sorry for you that you can’t see things from my point of view, more so that you clearly don’t have the level of closeness that I have with my own family. But I don’t judge you for it, because I don’t know them and I don’t really know you that well.

I forgive you for the short-sighted view you have. I think you’re lucky to have gotten far in life without suffering abuse at the hands of family or friends. But I also think you have a lot to learn in the way of being more open-minded and accepting of those who have only known stress and suffering. And I realise now that spending so much time and anger hurting over what you’ve said to me when I trusted you is only hurting me - you don’t care. You’ll continue to live your life as you do, and you won’t change anything whether I hate you or not.

But know that I will never forget what you said to me on the 26th February, and I’ll never forget how it felt. I’ll never forget it, and I likely won’t let you forget it, either.

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gyrlversion · 6 years ago

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Primary school hires nappy changer for children who cant use toilet

Councillor slams parents for failing to toilet train their children as he claims an infant school has been forced to hire a professional ‘nappy changer’ to deal with problem

School in Walsall, West Midlands, reportedly hired a nappy changer for pupils

Report claims that some children there are unable to hold a pen properly

Others are said to struggle turning pages or washing their hands and faces

By Sebastian Murphy-bates For Mailonline

Published: 09:32 EDT, 10 April 2019 | Updated: 12:35 EDT, 10 April 2019

A primary school has hired a professional nappy changer because too many of its pupils are not yet toilet trained, a councillor has claimed.

Claims about the unnamed school in Walsall has led to letters being sent to parents listing the skills children should have before they start.

Many youngsters are three years behind according to Chris Towe, the council’s portfolio holder for education, who reported to colleagues on Monday.

The school has hired a professional nappy changer for children who are not yet toilet trained (file photo)

Pupils at the West Midlands school are unable to hold a pen properly, with some also struggling with cutlery, Birmingham Live reports.

Some supposedly can’t wash their hands and faces properly and other areas in which the children struggle include turning pages, going to the toilet and still wearing nappies.

Councillor Towe’s report also highlighted issues surrounding holding conversations with adults and wearing nappies.

He said that children up to the age of five are still wearing nappies at one infant school.

‘This can’t go on and I have had total support from schools and nurseries over this,’ he said.

‘The letter will give advice on what they can do or where they can get help but this is a first step to try to engage with parents so they understand their responsibilities.’

The report heard at Walsall Council (pictured) has revealed that some pupils are even incapable of holding a pen properly

His Labour colleague Diana Coughlan blamed the scrapping of Sure Start Centres and says that it leaves vulnerable families behind.

The NHS website says that by the age of four children are expected to use the toilet during the day, though some may wet the bed at night.

Skills that children of that age are expected to have include being able to brush their teeth as well as dress and undress.

Holding books correctly and turning pages are also expected of pupils that age, as is the ability to draw simple shapes.

Guidelines say the youngsters should be able to use scissors, string beads, listen to details, retell stories and recognise their own names.

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altertonative · 6 years ago

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ALTERNATIVELY THROUGH POLAND: ARENDEL – NORWEGIAN VILLAGE IN THE HEART OF POLAND

The history of Arendel's creation is really a movie screenplay: after traveling to Norway, two students: Agata and Aleksander fell in love with this country so much that they decided to recreate the magical atmosphere of a Scandinavian village in Poland. Instead of investing in an overpriced apartment in Poznan, the current couple bought a piece of land with a pine forest near Konin and built an original guest huts on it. The idea played an important role here and thanks to it, the place quickly gained popularity. Arendel is only two years old, it is still being expanded, but it’s already one of the most interesting places to stay in Poland at the moment. Despite this, you don’t have to come here overnight to see the work of the Dyczek family. The Norwegian village offers a lot of attractions, and in its area, in addition to two houses for guests and farm buildings, there is a renovated barn, adapted to organize various types of festivities, a place for feasting and grilling by an outdoor fire, a farm with Shetland ponies and a farm with reindeers! These last attractions are often visited by children from kindergartens and primary schools, so even in the middle of the week it can be crowded, busy and cheerful. Arendel is open all year round for guests of all ages: individual guests as well as organized groups.

ARENDEL – WHERE IS IT?

The easiest way to reach the Norwegian village is by using the navigation (Google Maps). Arendel is located between the villages of Drzewce, Włodzimirów and Zagórów, south of Słupca, south-west of Konin. The village borders with single farms, several meters away, so there is no fear that neighbors will be disturbed by even the most enjoyable party! A few kilometers further north is the Nadwarciński National Park. From Warsaw, you will reach Arendel in 2.5 hours, and from the nearest Poznań in just one hour.

NORWAY AT YOUR FINGERTIPS

Arendel is an unusual agritourism, whose stylistics in each smallest detail refer to Scandinavia. The whole idea was carefully thought out; nothing is accidental here, from the restored barn, to the breadbox or even...garbage bins! Arendel offers a holiday in the bosom of nature, away from the city noise. Perfect for a few days of relaxation for the whole family, but also for those who prefer active rest, such as cycling trips or canoeing on the Warta River. In the recreational barn, which is a social center of the village, there is a banquet room, ideal for organizing special events; and a mezzanine with a pool table, a place to read (eg Scandinavian detective stories) and playing board games.

HYTTE HUTS

Arendel offers accommodation in houses created on the model of wooden hytte huts, popular in Scandinavia. At the moment there are two of them: red and blue available to guests, and another one is being finished soon: gray. The cottages are small but cozy, adapted to two, maximum four people, but to be honest, four adults would be cramped here. Equipped with one double bed and two mattresses, which can optionally be spread on the floor, while giving up any passage through the room. Next to the bed there is a small table with two folding chairs, and two additional ones are hung on the wall. The kitchenette allows you to prepare smaller meals, also hot ones with an electric oven. A big advantage of the house is the terrace, where you can sit back and enjoy coffee in the bosom of nature when the weather is good. In winter, you don’t have to worry about frost, because the cabins warm up quickly.

HOUSE AMENITIES

electric heating,

electric oven,

bread toaster,

kettle,

coffee percolator,

coffee, tea, sugar,

salt & pepper,

kitchen accessories: mugs, plates, cutlery, pots, pans, etc.,

glasses,

shower,

towels (small and large),

aloe vera soap and washing gel,

bed sheets and blankets,

radio.

BATH IN A TUB

An additional attraction in Arendel for adults is an outdoor bath in a wooden tub, holding a maximum of 8 people. The bath price is 150 PLN for the first hour and 50 PLN for the next ones (max 3 hours). The reservation must be made at least 24h before bathing so that the owners can prepare it well. Baths are possible throughout the year unless the air temperature is below -5 degrees. You can read more about the bath HERE.

HOW TO BOOK ARENDEL?

Arendel can be booked through the official website of agrotourism HERE. During the reservation you can check the availability of houses and the prices. As part of the booking confirmation, you must pay a non-returnable 20% of the final amount.

Prices vary depending on the length of stay up to max. PLN 300 for a house per night (when booking for one night only).

The breakfast costs an additional PLN 25 per person and is served as a buffet in the barn.

FEW FACTS

+ Arendel owners bought this land at the age of 24! Most of the construction work was done by themselves, and now they show entrepreneur skills by running business on their own.

+ Arendel is a pet-friendly place - you can bring your pet here for free.

+ In Arenel, you can try real Scandinavian delicacies - at breakfast, ask about Norwegian cheese with an unusual caramel flavor.

- In winter, it happens that the water in the shower drains very slowly because the pipes freeze.

- In our house there was no sponge for washing dishes nor a towel to dry them.

- It is cold in the barn, because such a large building heats up slowly, so it’s worth wearing warm clothes for breakfast.

ATTRACTIONS IN THE AREA

NADWARCIAŃSKI LANDSCAPE PARK - an ideal place for kayaking or bird watching. In the area you can see, among others, the Cistercian abbey in Lądek and the palace in Ciążeń. More information about the park and nearby attractions can be found HERE.

MARINA ŚLESIN - a marina with a beach. It is a tourist place, but you can take a bath or rent a boat or cruise. More information can be found HERE.

UNOBVIOUS MAP OF KONIN - good to ask the owners of Arendel about it, because it abounds in interesting places and events, such as the Lisewo Vineyard or the Festival of Fire. More information can be found HERE.

THE AZURE LAKE - this is not a typical tourist attraction, because the whole coastline of this artificial water reservoir is fenced, and the bathing in the lake is forbidden. Turquoise waters (due to the calcium carbonate content) can be admired from a specially created vantage point. The lake is a landfill for incineration from a nearby power plant such as ash and slag. You can read more about the lake HERE.

IS IT WORTH VISITING ARENDEL?

Yes! I definitely agree on that although the village offers the most attractions for families with children. The cottages are so far apart from each other that guests will not be disturbed. Be sure to book a minimum of one night to feel the Scandinavian climate! Morning coffee on the terrace overlooking the homestead with reindeer will no doubt take you to the land of the Vikings. In the surrounding forest you will feel real peace and unity with nature, and perhaps you will fall in love with this place enough to invite your friends or family to a unique feast in the barn? Oh, and remember that this is the only such place in Europe, that is why try to spread the message beyond Polish borders!

#Arendel #alternative Polish trips #alternatively through Poland #norwegian village #best spots in Poland #best places to visit in Poland #weekend trips #hidden places in Poland #places for families #ideal for kids #Polish guesthouse #holiday in Poland #cheap holiday #hytte #scandinavian

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tortuga-aak · 7 years ago

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I went to an etiquette class for modern millennials at the Plaza Hotel in New York — where they teach you to wear full-body suits, how to exit a cab, and dating-app faux pas

Thrillist's Eliza Dumais attended the Plaza's etiquette course tailored to modern New York millennials.

The instructor recommended wearing full body suits instead of underwear, and never carrying more than one bag at a time.

She also taught a "swivel and pop" move for exiting cabs.

The course did not discuss Instagramming food at the table, or how to hold a dinner party in New York-sized apartments.

As it turns out, I am a monster.

Not only did I arrive at the Plaza for Myka Meier's social and dining etiquette course five minutes late (I blame the R train), but I was also wearing a T-shirt, which, in a room of adults dressed in suitable prom attire, felt on par with arriving completely naked.

I sat too close to the table (you should be 4 inches away, apparently) for easier access to the spread of hummus and cheese, which I learned I was not to consume until after I had placed it on the correct section of my plate (bottom right is for spreads and top left is for refuse like pits and cheese rinds).

I dropped an olive, sliced the Gruyere at the wrong angle, and nearly knocked over my water glass while taking furious notes. Clearly, my upbringing in a cereal-for-dinner sort of household had not prepared me for this.

That's where Myka Meier comes in.

Meier is the founder and director of Beaumont Etiquette, a contemporary finishing school stationed within Midtown's Plaza Hotel, where she serves as the primary instructor at the helm of the program's courses. And while it's only natural to associate "etiquette" with ‘50s debutantes and Julie Andrews in The Princess Diaries, according to Meier, her curriculum is "not your grandmother's etiquette."

In spite of her prestigious studies in Switzerland, and later in London as a mentee under a former member of The Royal Household of Her Majesty the Queen, her course is a little nuanced: It's modern etiquette tailored to urban millennials — New York millennials, in particular.

In short, it's intended to serve as something of a guiding light for those who dare to wear sweatpants to brunch, photograph their Smorgasburg snacks before consuming them, and claim an extra seat on the subway for their Strand totes.

Adeline Ramos/You Look Lovely Photography

I had enrolled myself in the course in an effort to determine whether or not I really could be saved from my millennial self by way of finishing school (which, as a 20-something native New Yorker, was allegedly catered specifically to me). If all went according to plan, by the end of the session, I would be the sort of poised New York woman who doesn't send a text saying "I'm three blocks away!" while still pantsless in my apartment.

The choice of venue was obvious given the subject matter: In the grand scheme of New York, The Plaza is high-society manifest. But for all its stately clout, the Midtown venue — which offers a $75 spread of tea sandwiches — does not exactly cater to young folk.

We convened for the course at 7pm in the famed condo/hotel's Palm Court, at which point the restaurant's hostess promptly ushered us to a series of tables to the left of the round trellised bar. Each was set with cloth napkins, silverware, and cardstock itineraries outlining the evening's proceedings in bullet points ("How to be the most charming person in the room," for example).

Once the wine had been poured, we made our perfunctory introductions around the table. I shook hands with the girl to my left, who was dressed in a neat black cocktail dress and seemed to delicately hold my hand for a brief moment rather than actually shake it. She went on to mention casually that she was in New York to assist Meier with her upcoming course in children's etiquette.

The woman to my right, who quickly motioned to the waiter for a wine refill, told me that she was a mother, hoping to pass some of Meier's wisdom along to her own millennial daughter — who had apparently opted out of attending the course first-hand. "Your mother must be so proud you're here!" she exclaimed, reaching for her newly filled glass. I nodded courteously, envisioning my own mother, who was most likely at home in Brooklyn, eating Chinese takeout directly from the container.

Adeline Ramos/You Look Lovely Photography

Shouting above the chatter in the restaurant, a woman on the opposite end of the table explained that she and her grandmother, seated beside her, were here on vacation from the UK — they'd always dreamed of high tea at the plaza (why they hadn't just stopped by for a simple cup of tea was not made clear).

And the last of the remaining pupils, seated next to the British duo, was a woman dressed in a tailored gray pantsuit, who didn't bother to introduce herself at all — the only real potential New Yorker of the bunch. I watched, intrigued, as the mystery woman took a sip of her wine, leaving her glass curiously unmarked in spite of the dark red lipstick she wore.

Like the plaza itself, the patrons were stiff-backed, well-polished, and subdued. But here's what they were not: millennial New Yorkers.

The only real uniting factor amongst the 24 of us, it seemed, was the fact that we'd each paid $125 for two hours of intensive etiquette instruction.

Dressed in a black pencil skirt and a feather-collared pink blouse, the infinitely poised Meier began her lesson with a lecture on personal presentation: She recommended that we wear a full body suit in place of undergarments to "keep everything packed in" (my own underwear had come in a five-for-$27 package deal at Victoria's Secret) and that we never carry more than one bag at a time (I was carrying two tote bags and a purse). She then proceeded to address everything from app dating faux pas to proper "ethnic food consumption" (which amounted to proper spaghetti-twirling) in a way that seemed to walk the line between classic Emily Post-style instruction and a Cosmo dating column. The mother to my right delighted in the spaghetti lesson, waving her fork around in a wand-like fashion in an attempt to mimic Meier.

Adeline Ramos/You Look Lovely Photography

Still, I found myself wondering where the lesson was on sitting through dinner without disrupting an entire restaurant while you photograph every dish on the table (and occasionally other people's tables) for your not-so-viral food Instagram (arguably one of the greatest millennial offenses of our time).

After scrawling a note about "full-body-underwear" illegibly on my notepad, I looked up to find the pantsuit clad woman, who had not so much as lifted her fork for the sake of practice, glancing disapprovingly around the table. I tried to meet her gaze for the sake of solidarity — as if to say this is all a little absurd, isn't it — but she had already returned her attention dutifully to Meier, who resembled an operatic conductor as she continued to wave her cutlery through the air at the front of the room.

Meier went on to demonstrate her "swivel and pop" move — a surefire bend-and-snap-esque method for exiting cabs without flashing the general public, in addition to her quick-change tips for swapping sneakers out for heels. She also had several pieces of advice that were applicable to millennials all over — like the fact that group photos on dating apps are futile and confusing, and that ghosting is an entirely unacceptable method of shutting anyone down, no matter how many times they reference their frat or their 401K during dinner.

Just barely perceptible above the sound of clinking glass and mellow chatter, I heard the pantsuit woman stifle a small giggle — proof that she, too, recognized some measure of irony here. Once again I tried to catch her eye, but it seemed she was too polite to avert her gaze from our gracious instructor.

Amidst all her counsel on social cues, Meier placed particular emphasis on learning how to "get ahead" in a city as cut-throat as New York. "In this city," she noted, "almost everyone is highly motivated, educated, well-dressed, and professional." Surely there is no lack of competition. But as Meier sees it, professional business etiquette is what counts when it comes to measurable success.

She claimed that many decisions in high-volume HR departments are contingent on the most qualified candidates with the best business etiquette — that is to say, knowing proper handshake convention (two pumps means business, three pumps indicate social interaction) could be an indirect line to a six-figure salary. She did not, however, manage to address the significance of proper Slack etiquette (tactful gif selection is an art form), which in today's professional world is arguably a better skill set for "getting ahead" than a strong two-pump handshake.

The majority of the Plaza's etiquette classes (one to two a month) sell out completely — so, the question isn't whether or not there is a market for contemporary etiquette, but rather, who the market consists of.

Meier's rendition of social grace is a much-needed update to the Emily Post classics, but for the most part, I would argue that the millennial New Yorker does not, in fact, need to perfect their pasta-twirling methods.

New York does demand an etiquette all its own, but in place of Meier's course, we might be better off with a lecture on proper subway decorum, UberPool small talk, or how best to host a dinner party when your apartment is the size equivalent of a walk-in closet.

As I filed out of the Plaza's enormous entryway, proudly donning my several bags, I found myself standing across 5th Avenue from the pantsuit woman, cradling a street-vendor hot dog in her left hand and pulling flip-flops out of an enormous black satchel with her right. In spite of her newfound sense of Beaumont polish, she remained an immodest New Yorker, Sabrett hot dog and all — a small victory for the city.

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davis-sampson · 8 years ago

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From the Wreckage Build a Home

Synopsis: Only silence met his announcement, and after several moments, he finally chanced to look back up at his parent’s faces. His father’s face was as stoic and unreadable as ever, but his mother’s had taken on a pinched quality Davis would have found humorous were he not somewhat terrified of what it could mean.

Trigger Warnings: Alcoholism, Abortion

His mother did a terrible job at hiding her surprise when Davis called out of the blue requesting to come over to dinner, though it was nothing compared to the smug satisfaction that came out shortly after when he explained he wanted to discuss something with them. ‘Oh, Davis, darling, I knew something must have been the matter. We haven’t seen or heard from you since the Christmas Gala, and you were looking awfully surly that night. Are you eating enough? Oh, nevermind, I’ll have Moira make all your favorites, and some extras that you can take home with you. Like I always say, there’s nothing better than a good, home-cooked meal...’ (Davis didn’t see fit to argue that he had never in his life heard his mother say that before, nor that it hardly counted as ‘home cooked’ when your ‘home kitchen’ included a gourmet chef...) But he suffered through the phone call all the same - a full 35 minutes just to agree to dinner that Thursday night.

‘Your father will be so thrilled to see you. We’ve both been terribly worried.’ (He sincerely doubted that, but he just grunted noncommittally and hung up the phone.)

So that was how he ended up stood on the doorstep of his childhood home, in a shirt he’d - for once - put the effort into neatly pressing, an expensive bottle of wine held in hand like it was won in a vicious battle. (It was. It had taken every inch of his self-control to leave the liquor store with only that.) The front door loomed ahead of him like some monstrous, formidable foe - like it hadn’t once been home - and while he’d never been able to properly articulate the feelings before, he realized now that the idea of 20 foot, wrought iron, oak-backed double doors was just as ridiculous and cartoonish in practice as in theory.

It was his mother who answered, and Davis convinced himself it was only his previous thoughts that caused him to imagine she looked just a little bit winded as she heaved the door open.

“Davis!” her bright, hostess smile overtook her face, as she ushered him inside and placed a quick kiss on each cheek.

“Hello, Mother,” Davis greeted in return, his tone and manner downright placid in comparison to her far more manic energy. “I brought you this,” he announced, brandishing the wine bottle, because his mother looked ready to start fussing, and Davis wasn’t sure he had the nerve to handle that today.

“Oh, Darling, you shouldn’t have,” she simpered, though it didn’t stop her from taking the bottle expectantly and begin inspecting the label.

“The guy at the store said it was a good one,” he shrugged, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly the way he used to in high school. Something about being here, in his old home, with his parents, it never failed to set him on edge. Like he was trying to step back into a dead man’s shoes...

His mother looked up slightly startled at his words, as though embarrassed she’d just been caught scrutinizing her only son’s gift. “Well then I’m sure it will be,” she said, hesitating just a moment before coming forward to place a brief, affectionate pat on his cheek.

With that short display of maternal affection over, Davis could practically see the gears turn over in her head as she returned to her primary role of consummate hostess. “Your father’s in the lounge. Why don’t you go fetch him and I’ll give this to Moira to serve with dinner.” With that, she left in such a flurry, Davis didn’t even have time to object or inform her of his current sobriety. He was left suddenly, startlingly, alone in the great, big, echoey hall that had once been home...

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, reminding himself - not for the first time - of why it was he was doing this. Hazel. His children. They made this all worth it. And with one last deep breath, he made his way towards the lounge.

※※※※※※※※※

His father was precisely where he thought he’d be - sitting in his wing-backed chair by the window, nursing a tumbler of scotch in one hand and some old tome in the other, every bit the dignified, authoritarian Police Chief he no longer was. Davis often wondered how many times his father had had to repeat he’d retired voluntarily before people believed him; he assumed not many, as Daniel Sampson had always been the kind of man people listened to when he spoke.

Davis had spent most of his childhood terrified of his father, trying in equal measure to avoid his harsh, discerning eye and to garner his every praise and affection. Looking back now, he knew he’d succeeded more in the former than the latter and in the exposing light of adulthood, and his own impending fatherhood, he couldn’t help but resent the man all the more for it.

“Hello, Father,” Davis announced his presence from the doorway, hands clasped behind his back as though he were a soldier being presented for inspection. Despite his every resentment, he was here in some attempt to make peace, and he would show his father the respect he thought he deserved.

Daniel Sampson, for his part, was slow - almost languid - in returning the greeting. He was deliberate in placing his book on the side table, careful in slipping off his reading glasses from the bridge of his nose and putting them in the front pocket of his Oxford shirt. And the way he walked across the room towards his son could almost be described as meandering, were it not for the fact that a man such as him could never be seen as anything but purposeful.

“Davis,” his father finally deigned to say once he was stood in front of his son, eyes already scanning his form as if looking for some kind of fault. Though if he found one, he kept it to himself. “Your mother informed me you’d be joining us for dinner. She was getting rather worried you’d forgotten all about our existence again...”

They had never formally discussed Davis’ six years of radio silence, but that didn’t stop his father from making comments about it from time to time. As always, Davis decided to let it slip past.

“I’ve just been busy, sir,” he explained, his voice tighter than he would have liked, making a point not to apologize for it.

“Busy.” Skepticism dripped from the word. “You got a job, then?”

Davis’ jaw tightened imperceptibly as he mentally cursed himself for giving his father that upper hand. The man was well connected in this town, and Davis didn’t doubt he knew everything about his recent dealings. Davis’ unemployment was nothing if not a mark of shame on the Sampson family.

“Working on it, sir.” And it wasn’t even technically a lie. His sessions with Grace had been helping him formulate a plan for what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He’d liked what she said about finding new lives to save, and while it was still just the inkling of a plan, he was slowly warming to the idea of going back to school to become a case worker for at-risk teens. Right now, it just felt silly, and the kind of thing his father would absolutely hate, but then Davis would imagine telling Hazel, and the way her eyes would light up at the idea, and he’d hold unto it just a little bit longer...

“Well, if you’re interested in work at the station, I can always make a call to Rothschild,” his father offered. And while to most it would seem like a generous offer of a father helping his son, Davis knew it was rather yet another of his father’s attempts to assert his authority.

“That won’t be necessary,” he shook his head.

“The offer still stands.”

It was at that moment that his mother, blessedly, chose to interrupt, completely oblivious to the mounting tension, announcing that dinner was ready.

※※※※※※※※※

The wine was already poured into crystal goblets when Davis entered the dining room. And it only took five minutes into the meal for his mother to point out he hadn’t had a sip of it.

“I’ve given up drinking,” he gave simply by way of explanation.

“Oh, have you?” his mother asked with mild interest. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking about doing the same. I read an article in Women’s Magazine last week about how alcohol is just full of empty calories, and there are women who have lost 15, sometimes 20 pounds just by giving up alcohol alone.”

Davis’ tolerance for his mother’s insipid ramblings was at an all time low, and despite his tightened grip on his salad fork, he found he couldn’t stop himself from biting out:

“Yes, well, it’s not really a diet thing, mother. It’s more of an alcoholism thing.”

That shut her up.

He hadn’t intended on revealing that particular part of his life to his parents. Not that his drinking had ever been much of a secret, just that he doubted they paid enough attention to recognize it as a problem or care that it had a name. But there was just something about his mother prattling on about alcohol as a dietary restriction that had Davis’ blood boiling.

A tense, awkward silence descended over the table, and Davis pointedly refused to look up from his arugula and artichoke salad. For several minutes, all that could be heard was the scrape and quiet tings of cutlery. It was his mother, of course, in her typical fashion, who finally broke the silence.

“I think we’re ready for the main course, don’t you? Davis, I had Moira make your favorite. Filet Mignon and pasta with vodka cream sauce,” she announced proudly, as if she had slaved away in the kitchen herself. Davis looked up just in time to see the smile slide off her face, her thoughts painfully obvious as he knew she’d just replayed the words in her head, and was suddenly wondering whether vodka was such a good idea.

“That sounds great. Thank you,” he said, offering her a small smile as reassurance, suddenly feeling sorry for his mother in a way he so seldom did. She was trying, at the very least - he had to give her that. Maybe it was never very good; maybe it was never enough; but Davis knew enough about that, and he couldn’t fault her for trying.

Bolstered by his words and his tiny show of affection, she met him with a beaming smile of her own. “Excellent. I’ll go get her...”

※※※※※※※※※

The rest of dinner passed uneventfully. His father remained characteristically quiet, and while his mother had always been more than adept at filling in any silence, Davis could feel the man’s heavy, disapproving gaze at several points throughout the meal. It felt oddly like his senior year of high school all over again, when the father and son pair had gotten into one of their rare, but epic spats when Sampson Senior had expressed his disapproval of Hazel, and Sampson Junior had had the guts to call him a fucking hypocrite with his not-so-secret North End whores. The willful silence that followed was oppressive and lasted for weeks before Davis finally caved and apologized. But he was older now, and would not make the same mistake again...

After dinner, they retired back to the lounge for coffee. It was one of those posh things his mother always insisted upon, and while usually Davis would put up more of a fight about it, right now he was just supremely grateful. Because while his father’s silent disapproval still sat like a physical presence in the room, everything else felt softer and quieter, with the flames quietly licking in the fireplace and his mother’s frantic energy dulled into the quiet contentment of another successfully orchestrated meal.

But he knew she was still curious as to why he’d suggested dinner in the first place, and even as the small family spoke with forced casualness about various inane topics, he could not ignore the expectant looks she kept giving him. He knew he was procrastinating now; the plan had always been to tell them after dinner, and yet the minutes still ticked by...

Finally, the conversation hit a lull he could not deny, and Davis cleared his throat awkwardly before changing the subject. “I’m sure you’re both wondering why I requested to come to dinner tonight, and the truth is, I have some rather big news I thought was better told in person...” Oh god, he didn’t even know why he was so nervous. He reminded himself how little these people’s opinions mattered to him, and yet he could still feel his heart beating in his throat. He looked down at his coffee mug before continuing.

“I’m sure you both remember Hazel Boyd. From high school. She, uh - She came back into town several months ago. Her father’s sick, and I offered to help out. Some things happened, and... Long story short, Hazel’s pregnant. I’m the father.”

Only silence met his announcement, and after several moments, he finally chanced to look back up at his parent’s faces. His father’s face was as stoic and unreadable as ever, but his mother’s had taken on a pinched quality Davis would have found humorous were he not somewhat terrified of what it could mean.

“Well,” his mother finally said after several minutes, her voice cracking on the word being the only thing to give away that she was anything less than as calm and composed as usual. “It is short notice, but I’ve done more with less time before... I suppose that white is completely out of the question, but luckily champagne is having something of a moment.”

“Mother - what are you talking about?” Davis asked, interrupting his mother’s nonsensical musings.

“Your wedding, of course!” she replied, as though it were obvious.

“Hazel and I aren’t getting married,” he corrected, impatient in the fact that she had already assumed and inserted herself into his life again. “Never mind the fact that she is currently married to someone else, I had a hard enough time just convincing her to have th-” Davis would have continued explaining, were it not for two things that happened concurrently.

1. His mother opened her mouth to being to protest, and,

2. His father finally sprung into action, his first reaction being to take his coffee mug and throw it against the wall.

It shattered into a thousand pieces, and suddenly silence.

Suddenly, only silence...

And when Daniel Sampson finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but intense in a way that demanded attention and, quite frankly, fear. “After everything we have given you - every advantage, every opportunity - this is how you end up?” Davis willed himself to maintain eye contact, but he knew that if looks could kill, he’d be dead by his father’s hand ten times over... “Unemployed. Alcoholic. And now you have some North End bitch who-”

“Watch it,” Davis warned, knowing he could handle his father’s harassment, but not if it was directed at Hazel. “That is the woman that I love and the mother of my childr-”

“That you love?” his father cut back in, his voice raising in volume as distain dripped from every word. “You’re even more of a fool than I thought! That girl - her whole family - have been looking for years for a way to dig their claws into-”

“They have been more of a family to me than you ever have!”

“-And you finally gave them their perfect excuse to suck you dry, and when they’re done, they’ll find the next dupe to fall for a pretty face.”

“They are not like that!” Davis insisted, his features twisted with fury, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Hazel is not like that!”

“Oh please, I could smell the desperation coming off of her since she was 17! I bet she had this all planned out. Her and her desperate, pathetic family-”

Davis was seeing red. He could not abide by this father dragging Hazel and the Boyds through the mud. He was about ready to go over and knock his father senseless, when his mother - ever the peacemaker - cut into with her hands outstretched in a gentling manner.

“Daniel! Davis! Please! Let’s discuss this rationally, like adults.”

Davis huffed out a breath or two, attempting to calm himself down and he could see his father doing the same. His mother kept glancing between the two of them nervously, seeming to think things over and waiting until the two men were sufficiently calm before speaking.

“Davis,” she finally said, her tone even and steady and deliberate. She looked back towards her husband just once as though she could communicate her intentions through a look alone. “... How about 300,000? And we make all of this go away?”

For a moment, all Davis could do was blink, struck dumb by the words coming out of his mother’s mouth. And then came anger. And disbelief.

“Are you serious? A bribe? Mother, these are my children - yes, two of them - and I want them! I’ve wanted them since I was 18 years old and Hazel was pregnant for the first time... Yeah, that’s right,” he scoffed bitterly, seeing the way surprise overtook his mother’s face a second time, and that not even his father could hide a similar emotion overtaking his. “She was pregnant before but she got rid of it because she didn’t want to ‘hold me back.’ How’s that for entrapping me, Father? You know nothing about Hazel. You don’t really know anything about me either. I have loved her since I was 17 years old, and I will love her, and our children, until the day I die. I wanted to tell you two out of courtesy, but I don’t know why I even bothered...” He got up from couch, maintaining as much dignity as he despite the fact his legs were wobbly with rage and fear. “Congratulations on being grandparents. If you ever come near my children or their mother, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands...”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, ignoring his mother’s protestations and his father’s threats of disownment as he went...

#monologues #plots #muse #[father dearest]#sp: from the wreckage build a home #//this is officially the longest self para i have ever written #i loved mrs. sampson right up until the end and was already plotting her redemption arc but then she fucking blew it...#alcoholism tw #abortion tw

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