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cycledelix · 6 months ago

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I’ve been a bike mechanic my whole life. Professionally I started at 17 years old but the reality is that it began at a much younger age bolting paperboy racks to my Schwinn Frontier to head out and deliver the news. Living in Michigan the bike shop became the perfect seasonal work while I was in school. Then I grew up, worked my way through college, and realized I was still a bike mechanic. It’s a good time! Drinking beer on the job, cracking jokes with the boys, rolling up a fatty as soon as the shop closes and heading out for a ride in the city. Summers flew by and then the winter would hit, and the silence would get to me and I’d go stir crazy and leave. Three winters in a row I tried to get away and didn’t land anywhere, rolling back into the bike shop for the next summer.

The last winter running away was the hardest. I chose to work building mountain bike trails on frozen dirt in December. What sounded like a good time in nature felt more like a construction site. As we gave all our energy to the labor, me and a friend sat there at the end of the days and dreamed of using our youthful energy for something better than making a buck.

I quit the trail building job and headed back to work at the bike shop in 2019 with a dream. Figure out how to ride the tour divide. My friends and I had engaged in a variety of shenanigans on loaded bikes, camping around Michigan. I had only dreamed of anything of the magnitude of the divide. Canada to Mexico, countless mountain passes, multiple desert crossings. No small feat on the bicycle, it was going to be the ride of a lifetime. I was willing to do it alone, but I wanted a friend to join and I started to put out the word in January that I wanted to ride it in late summer. I bought the hard copy of the maps from the adventure cycling association and started showing them to everyone who’d listen.

Tyler worked the repair stand next to me at the bike shop and was one of the first to hear my idea. He didn’t say much about it for a few days. After about a week he came in one day and told me while the boss wasn’t listening that he’d talked to his old lady and that he wanted to go too. He’d only been riding bikes a couple years but Tyler isn’t one to half ass anything and he immediately started making a plan to ride the trip singlespeed.

Benson and I had been riding together for years and the divide was something we had talked about before, but never with the intention of actually pulling it off. We were fixie boys, used to cutting traffic at high speed and sprinting against cars. Risking our lives for a <$100 pot at an alley cat, or making deliveries in the day. Our bikes weighed less than a bag of groceries and he certainly wasn’t set up to tour. I knew he wanted to go but he was broke and partying harder than ever. It was gonna be a piece of work to get him out there.

It was May, and Tyler and I were committing to a late July depart. Benson realizes it’s now or never and he quits partying and comes in to the bike shop with a rusty Surly Long Haul Trucker he bought off a friend and tells me he wants to do the big ride. He’s still broke so Tyler and I start raiding the collective parts bin of the shop to get him ready to go. We petitioned our friends at Velocity USA for a set of rims for him and they pulled through with some eyeleted touring rims that Tyler laced up to his XT hubs. We jammed the biggest front tire possible in there and I set him up with my Surly Moloko bars, a crazy but perfect choice to turn the road touring bike into something ready to crest a mountain pass. The rest of us had fancier setups, but Benson’s had so much character and the love of a whole community of hand me down bike parts that were used well and still ready to go the distance. Rim brakes and 9 speed can get you anywhere. New technology be damned.

Jack had only been back from his tour across New Zealand for a few months. He was damn near out of money and just getting back in the swing of his excavation job. Benson was committing though, and he called Jack and Jack said “Not a big deal” and agreed to get ready to go just one month before we were set to leave. He already had a bike and a tent anyways, who can stop him now?

Two weeks before our departure we four were all committed. We sat down on Jacks porch and bought Amtrak tickets for us and the bikes from Grand Rapids to East Glacier. Everything seemed to be in order. The bikes were good to go and a plan to ride up to Banff by way of Calgary to prep ourselves for all the off-road riding back south to Mexico. We had all been riding in our own ways but the four of us had yet to do an overnight together, so some pavement miles were going to be welcome at the start.

But Tyler and I had one more trick up our sleeve that evening.

Santiago and I had done more long rides together than any of the rest. He had wanted to go on the ride from the beginning of me pitching the idea but his immigration status in the USA depended on his job and he was afraid that there was no way he was going to be allowed to go. His famously authoritarian boss would never allow such a thing.

But Tyler and I were lighting the fire anyways. We lit him a joint at his kitchen table and asked “have you asked?”

It was two weeks before departure. The boss was out for medical reasons and the big trade show was freshly wrapped up. Santo asked, and the company graciously allowed him two months leave, unpaid. Keeping his immigration status meant the trip was possible, but now he had two weeks to get ready and he didn’t even own a tent.

To top it off, the sturdiest bike he had ready for the trip was a fat bike! A surly ice cream truck at that, probably one of the heaviest bikes anyone has attempted this route on. He got to packing and bought a flight to Calgary. Meeting us after our first three days of riding up from Glacier.

Those road miles as a foursome went well and we rolled into Calgary just in time to find out bike polo was happening. We went down to the courts, parked our loaded bikes on the walls and started making friends. We managed to play a few games, drink a few beers, and get offered a yard to put our tents up for the night. Bike polo remains one of the best crowds for making friends for the love of a game.

We had two days straight into the worst headwind of my life to get to Banff. We hike-a-biked up a closed road to camp at a place called Bear Hill our first night and landed in Banff the next day wide eyed and ready to take on the trip of a lifetime. Somehow all five of us were doing it together and we were determined to do it right. And by right I mean with smiles on our faces.

When people read these stories and watch the documentaries and see the photo reels they think of bike touring as something glamourous. The highlighted moments of the beauty of the self powered journey hold a romantic appeal that draws many people to the idea of taking on a bike tour.

The reality is often quite the opposite. Grinding up climbs day after day. Carrying everything you need with you, knowing every ounce slows you down. Living in dirt, never having a chair to sit on. Ending every day tired and hungry just to eat another Ramen with another pack of Sunkist Tuna. Waking up and doing it again, and again, and again. The views are captivating. The memories are legendary, but in my experience that’s largely based in the contrast of how hard you work to get there.

It’s a physical journey, but it’s also a mental journey. The difficulty starts with the deciding to go and cutting the ties with the parts of yourself that want to stay home and take it easy and do things how you always did. Then it continues in the choosing to persist in the chasing the dream, even when it gets difficult. Doing the ride with friends changes everything, and as we each went on our individual journeys of frustration and transformation, we had each other’s support keeping spirits up and the attitude light. Jack turned to us all on day one and said something to the effect of “well boys we’re leaving the comfort at home” and he was right.

It’s hard to talk about the ride without writing a whole chapter book, and maybe I’ll get there someday. Up and down and up and down and up and down. Each pass a new day and each day a new mountain pass. Canada was a good week. We got stronger, we got tougher, we got more saddle sores and more beautiful pictures on our cameras. Jack said “Not a big deal” about a bunch more things, one of the most notable was his expensive camera lens smashing on the ground in front of him. He also smashed his rim so hard the bead was folded flat into the rim. I had to pound it out with some of the same rocks that smashed it. No more tubeless after that, but that wheel made it the whole way. Not a big deal.

Side note, Tyler and I built all the wheels that the five of us rode, nobody broke a spoke the whole way. We’re real bike mechanics.

We were a motley looking bunch. Long hair, tattoos, bright colored bikes and clothes. Benson was wearing a swimsuit most days by week 3 and we all had a tan that bordered on a burn except Tyler, who was applying sunscreen dilligently to protect his ginger skin. He was also powering through on his single speed Karate monkey, getting in more miles walking but also somehow moving the fastest of all of us on a daily basis. He had the most minimal setup of all of us. After Santo realized he had too many shirts he gave one to Tyler and Tyler wore it every single day after that. He did the trip in one shirt and on one gear and in bedrock sandals. Benson was our other fastest guy and remember he’s doing it on a ten year old bike with rim brakes. Both were powered by sour patch kids and cheese. Bikes are a great equalizer, your gear is only as fast as you are.

I could bore you with a day by day breakdown of activities, I could give you a list of prime destinations, but what I think our ride offers is not a “how to” for other people to do gear or maps or planning. Other people are far better at that and a few youtube tutorials will give you a better plan than listening to our gear setups. My advice about all that would be don’t bring too much stuff and make sure it’s attached to your bike securely. Make sure to have space for extra snacks.

What I do believe we can bring you is a glimpse into the best side of bike touring - conquering distance with the homies. Everything about this ride felt so impossible, each individual step so massive, so many opportunities to give up and pack it all home. But at every turn between Banff and Albuquerque I had four friends looking at me and encouraging me and suffering alongside me and celebrating every high point and that made every day worth it. Every curse word muttered at a broken bike was balanced by a joke and a laugh and a half eaten snickers bar and a half smoked joint being passed over by a smiling friend. Sometimes the sun and the terrain do their best to break a man, but together we made the worst times into the best ones.

The ride went mostly like you’d expect, lots of time in the saddle. Most days looked a lot alike (wake up, pedal south). I’ll name just a handful that stood out

Pretty early on we started bathing in creeks and rivers. I think the very first time we all did together was pretty far out in the Canadian Rockies. It had rained overnight and some of our stuff needed to dry, so we parked by the stream and started getting ourselves cleaned up. We hadn’t seen anyone for hours but sure enough as soon as we were all ass naked standing in a creek a group of people on motorcycles pulled up and started asking us for directions. Santo and Tyler obliged and they went on their way. This sort of thing became a pattern on the trip, Santo even. Skinny dippped right upstream from a construction crew making a bridge one day.

We had crossed a few hundred miles of Canadian Rockies since Banff and made it past whitefish Montana where we scored an ounce of weed off a helpful waitress. There had been plenty of climbing and plenty of rocky descents at this point, we felt pretty prepared for anything that might come our way. But then came along one mountain that seemed near impassable, not on the way up but the way down! A couple of the guys were on gravel bikes and wearing clipless pedals down a “road” that hits a 38% grade in one part. We all made it down, jack with the most “roadie” setup came down last kinda pissed off and Tyler just looks at him and holds up a moon pie and starts ripping his clothes off and yells at jack that whoever makes it to a tree a quarter of the way back up the hill gets the moon pie. Jack just strips down to his underwear and starts chasing after Tyler yelling. I forget who got to the tree first but they came back laughing and smiling and shared the moon pie.

On the other end of Montana there’s a lil bar called the Peat. We rolled in hungry and tired from a long day of pedaling and ordered ourselves some food and drink. The owner of the joint was there and we shortly found out it was his birthday and we ended up with some shots on the house and start partying with them. They showed us the building out back that was a crumbling abandoned brothel from a hundred yeas ago and Santo gave us a rendition of his famous “Condom times, good times” talk while Tyler and I climbed in the attic. They got us real drunk and gifted us one of their little hotel rooms that they usually rent out and we all got cleaned up the next morning while we were hungover.

Wyoming went pretty smooth. There hadn’t been a whole lot of other riders who had departed Banff around when we did, but there was this guy named Schwinn (I’m spelling that wrong but this is a bike ride story) we kept seeing and passing back and forth. We ran into him for the last time in the Tetons and he shined us all in the eyes with his headlamp when he said bye, so after that shining someone in the eyes with a headlamp has been called “schwinning.”

The only other riders of note right now were the group of old guys, one of whom was on a recumbent. What the fuck. They all apparently made it down to near the border and then one of them(not recumbent guy) got hit by a car on one of the last days and died. I’ve told people that and they say oh no so sad, but I don’t really think that way. This guy retired and he was doing what he loved when he went down. He got saved from years sitting on a couch reliving exactly what he was currently living. Died with his boots on. Hell yeah.

The big feature of this route in Wyoming is not the Tetons, it’s the great divide basin. 130 miles through the desert with no water or supplies. If it’s muddy it can take a long time, and there’s no protection from the sun or the wind. There’s a tiny little town on the north edge of it called Atlantic City. We were all disjointed rolling in but we made a plan to eat lunch at the bar there before we rode out into the desert. Santo and I were the last ones into the bar and Tyler (who’s a vegetarian), points at an unidentified fried object and tells me to eat it. I bit in and it was chewy and salty and exactly what i figured it was, a Rocky Mountain oyster !

As we were rolling out of town we met a Danish guy named Martin who was riding the divide twice (both directions) that summer and we made friends. We went down to the river on the edge of the desert then and filtered water. Tyler took a very small shit off the side of the bridge. A turd so small he named it Toby. As we were leaving the river we saw an old man walking off into the open desert. As we rode in the same direction he was nowhere to be seen, and then two young hikers seemed to appear from nowhere. Was it a shapeshifter?

When we woke up by the last water on the edge of the desert the next morning Martin was rolling through and Benson took off with him going pretty fast. The rest of us were following but we stuck with the map when they disappeared off the front and we never saw them. We fought headwinds the next few hours and saw more wild horses and antelope than clouds or trees. We got to a turn where the wind was on our side with about 45 miles left to go. Right about then we got a text from benson saying he was at McDonald’s in town on the other side of the desert. He said he got a little lost when he split from Martin but he never ran into a headwind. I’m still convinced he went through a warp in the space time continuum. 45 miles ahead of us!

As you cross the border into Colorado there’s a lovely little lodge called brush mountain and we took our first full day off there. Tyler didn’t want to get too comfortable and he’d seen this “ride bikes naked” sticker on the fridge so he takes off naked up the mountain pass. Little did he know that by doing that it started a chain reaction that ended up with the guy who made this sticker getting his friend who was present to share his acid water with us. The owner of the lodge knew we were taking a day off and she gave us directions to a waterfall that was up the way. As we were getting ready to head to the waterfall and drink the LSD a dude who was riding his bike from Alaska rolled in carrying a full size guitar on his rear rack and a half gallon of peanut butter in his panniers. He came to the waterfall with us and had some of the acid and we were friends immediately. It was a serene day, but with replacement Tyler.

We caught up with Tyler the next day in Steamboat. We had met this older couple named Bill and Debbie somewhere up the road and Bill was a cyclist and had offered us his garage in Steamboat to crash in that night if we needed. We had high hopes of going much further and turned him down. After going to the bike shop and the grocery store in town the sun was getting low and we were starting to regret that choice. We ate some dinner and started making plans to ride 20 miles to the closest dispersed camping when Jack looked up and said “isn’t that Bill and Debbie’s Car?” Sure enough they were just finishing dinner across the street and the first words out of Debbie’s mouth were “do you need a place to stay?”

We took them up on their offer and they brought us to their garage which had three beds and bill’s collection of titanium and carbon fiber bikes. Bill shared some beers with us and we got Debbie to hit the weed after which she got real funny and really into Tyler’s tattoos. She even took me upstairs to show me her jewelry making stuff and on the walk back downstairs she told me “sometimes I think I’m not from here.” Debbie was from Iowa she wasn’t talking about Steamboat, she was talking about earth. Alien Fam.

I was trying to make it down to Breckinridge quickly to meet up with my friend Matt, who was camping north of there. We had already had a big day out of steamboat and I wanted to make it a bunch more miles. Most of the guys were tired but santo agreed to join me in some night riding. We took off next to the colorado river and rode for hours, at one point we hit this downhill that was just a straight line as far as our lights could shine. It just sped up faster and faster with no end in sight, we were screaming laughing into the void speeding up an up and up. We missed some awesome views I guess but that was one of the most surreal experiences of the whole ride. We rode til 4 AM or so and woke up and got to Breck to eat Matt’s car camping dinner which was awesome compared to our bike dinners.

The very last day we all rode together we were making our own route in from Cuba New Mexico into Albuquerque. We didn’t want to ride the highway so we chose a route through the desert that looked like it would work on a map. We camped by a rock that looks like a boob with a nipple and started our last day off into the sand.

The goat heads hit hard and early. Flats were happening left and right and I was the only one who still had sealant in my tires. The tone of frustration was getting higher and rougher and then the fences in the road started showing up. We hopped a couple and then I rolled up on all four guys looking at a 20 foot tall fence with barbed wire at the top and the desert was driving them all mad and they wanted to find a way through it. We found a way around that and made it to a road but at this point Tyler has patched his tube like 12 times and he keeps getting more flats. Jack got another and after we get inside the city a little they tell us to go ahead to the single hotel room we have reserved for the five of us. We oblige and get all checked in and cleaned up before we hear anything from Jack and Tyler. We finally five them a call and it turns out they’re right around the corner sloppy drunk off peppermint schnapps sitting on a curb in the Denny’s parking lot. Both tires on both their bikes still flat, they had walked across Albuquerque getting wasted! We all ate at dennys and then went back to the hotel where Jack shaved a racing stripe down his chest. We spent the next day bombing around Albuquerque ignoring traffic laws and we all said goodbye at the train station the following morning.

They were all headed home by various means and I had a plan to finish the ride to mexico, though not by the official tour divide route. It was all desert and pavement now so I made the call to do long rides in the night to avoid the sun and the traffic. I stopped with some friends in Ruidoso and then took off on the last stretch into El Paso. Somewhere outside Alamogordo as the sun was going down I put a handful of mushrooms in my mouth and rode off into the desert. I pedaled all night long, at some point in my headlight an African Oryx popped up in front of me and I thought I was losing it! Turns out there’s a bunch of them out there. I continued, tripping, until I took a nap between the highway and the railroad tracks and then made it into El Paso for a breakfast burrito as the sun was rising. The Amtrak carried me off later that afternoon and that was that. (Sort of)

The ride contained so many more moments than these, bonding experiences both good and bad, rough days and great ones. Mountain Vistas and beautiful rocks and streams and trees, and Saddle sores and sore hands and sore legs and sore everything else. Afterwards we all made big life changes towards what we truly wanted out of life whether it was professional or romantic, or anything else important. When you have the time to think, it counts.

Is the divide for everybody? No. Was it for us? Yes. Can you smoke a joint at the top of every mountain pass? I’m not sure, but I did my best to and it worked. Bikepacking is only as fun as you make it. Get out there and enjoy yourself.

#cycling #tourdivide #bikepacking

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yaphankwines · 10 months ago

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cinimon01 · 11 months ago

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Another Mothers Day without a mother or children.

Sunday May 12th 2024

Mothers day is always hard now we are older. We miss our mums in heaven and miss our children in Australia. But thanks to the technology of Star link, we are able to all catch up via video link and have a family catch up face to face. All of our fruit cakes looked wonderful and I just want to hug them all. I wish I could have a link up to my mum as well. There is so much I would like to tell her.😢

In the morning as we still had the car we drove to Opua to do some washing and we went to brunch.

On this day we decided to get the things done to the boat that were bothering us most. Mainly the batteries. Our batteries are AGM and 4 years old. They do not provide enough energy for our boat any longer and some days if there is not much sun to power up with solar, we have to start the generator to get things going. So that was one thing, then we thought about the freezer situation and decided to replace the inefficient Engel freezer and get a larger, quieter draw freezer. So these things decided we felt better about staying on the boat in New Zealand for the next 10 months.

Sun rise on mothers day.

13th May 2024.

We were keeping the car for a few days as Neil our long time friend from Shell was coming to stay so we had to get to Whangarei airport to pick him up. So we drove the Opua and left the car there and walked, yes walked 2 hours back around the coast track to Paihia. It was beautiful, a bit challenging but a lovely walk. I tried out my new knee guard and it worked a treat. I made the distance up hill and down without as much pain.

14th May 2024.

This was always going to be a big day. First tidy and clean the boat as we were having a visitor. Then motor to Opua and dock in berth H10. Time for a quick shower and jump in the car and rive to Whangarei. Went to Pack and Save to provision for the week, as its the best and cheapest supermarket I have found in NZ, then off to collect Neil. We arrived back to the boat at 9.45pm, had a few welcome aboard Mai Tai's and chat before we went to sleep.

15th May 2024,

Today Neil and David fixed a few things and we sorted a few problems that needed a third opinion. Then in the evening we were invited to Olliy's boat. A 60meter cat he works on and is about to sail to Tonga. We went aboard as they were provisioning and I couldnt believe the amount of food for 5 people needed for a two week passage. But I was told that they were planning 4 weeks before actually going to a shop. So the amount of beer may last?

17th May 2024

Yoga in the morning with the lovely ladies in Opua, then out into the bay where we managed to get the sails up for an hour or so before the wind died completely. Motored back to Russell for Davids stitches to be removed and I needed an afternoon nap, or as Neil calls it a SCAN. (Senior Citizens Afternoon Nap).

18th May 2024

Off into the bay, we sailed for a while then found a great fishing spot. (Same spot I caught the snapper). I caught a king fish and Neil caught 2 snapper. Just legal length. Yummy dinner and stayed in Te Hue Bay overnight.

19th May 2024

Neil had to fly home from Whangarei on Thursday the 23rd, so we thought we would sail there and stay in the Marina for a few days and see what it was like. We were told it was a lovely friendly Marina and the shops were just across the road. The weather checked in Ok but not great and we thought it would be good experience for us. So we started out with a man over board drill and practiced a figure of 8 to pick up Wilson, our orange fender. We picked him up each time but I think he had hypothermia by the end of it. The we started towards the hole in the rock which is open to the sea and on the way to Whangarei. As soon as we turned the corner to round the rock we were hit with 2m waves and a huge swell. Neil said it wasn't that bad, but we were travelling against the wind and the boat was shaking and rolling all over the place. It was a messy ocean with waves and swell mashing together. Not a comfortable ride at all. After about 3 hours of wave bashing we pulled into Bland Bay for the night. I was not as protected from the southerly as we thought so we rocked all night. I cooked a quick spaghetti bolognaise for dinner and we were all exhausted.

20th May 2024.

A decision was made to go back to The Bay of Islands as the weather was worse than yesterday. So we again faced the huge seas up the coast toward the hole in the rock, but this time the wind was behind us and we surfed most of the way. There was a rouge wave that hit our starboard windows and shook the boat, toppling a few things, but other than that it was better than yesterday. We pulled into Opunga Cove and all was quiet and calm. So I cooked the lamb roast we planned for last night and it was delicious. There is a unique feeling of cooking and eating something so yummy and soothing after a rough day, in the middle of now where, surrounded by water and not a sole in sight that makes this a special moment. And then appeared a rainbow.

21st May 2024,

Went sailing again this morning. Neil imparting some knowledge on trimming sails and getting a feeling for the wind has been soooo valuable. Pulled into Motuarohia Island where I walked to the top of the hill, fantastic look out and then had a picnic on the beach. Finished the day with some fishing and met Colin the Cormorant. He stole my bait and then Neils bait. So we motored away from him to another sport, but he followed us for quite a distance. It was quite funny. Then back to Russell where we went ashore for a pub feed and then back to the boat for a sleep.

22nd May 2024,

Caught the ferry to Paihia then drove to Whangarei. After some house keeping, Bunnings, plumbing shop, Warehouse and ordering of some Mai Tai shirts, we had the best Thai meal and said farewell to Neil who stayed at the Grand Hotel for the night before his 6am flight. Then David and I drove back to Russell where I saw our first kiwi on the road between the car ferry and the town. He scooted across the road so fast. There are quite a few signs announcing that the live in the area and I'm always worried I would hit one.

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kentavewine · 1 year ago

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Top-Shelf Spirits: Looking for a specific spirit for a unique cocktail or a special occasion? Their knowledgeable staff can guide you through their extensive collection of premium liquors, ensuring you find the perfect ingredient for your next masterpiece.

Your Guide to Brooklyn's Beverage Bounty

Kent Wines and Liquors goes beyond just offering a great selection:

Knowledgeable Staff: Their friendly and passionate staff is well-versed in both local and international beverages. Don't hesitate to ask for recommendations on Brooklyn Wineries favorites or seek help navigating their extensive global selection.

Local Events and Tastings: Keep an eye out for special events hosted by Kent Wines and Liquors, featuring meet-and-greets with local Brooklyn brewers and winemakers. These are perfect opportunities to learn about the local scene and discover new hidden gems.

Supporting Local, Savoring Quality

Choosing Brooklyn-made beverages from Kent Wines and Liquors isn't just about enjoying a delicious drink; it's about supporting the heart and soul of Brooklyn's growing craft beverage industry. With their curated selection, focus on local producers, and commitment to fostering a welcoming atmosphere, Kent Wines and Liquors is your gateway to experiencing the best that Brooklyn – and the world – has to offer. So, raise a glass to local flavor and embark on a delightful journey through Brooklyn's craft beverage scene at Kent Wines and Liquors!

For More Details Kentavewines

☎️ Phone: (929) 337–6363 📬 Mail: [email protected] 💻 Website: kentavewines.com 📍 Address: 420 Kent Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11249

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offthefieldsmau · 2 years ago

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⚽ 2.135

“It’s a bicycle kick,” Pete smirks as the camera zooms in on the players celebrating the goal, “and it’s a move championed by none other than—”

“Blackbeard scores again, with New Zealand taking the lead 2-1!” The announcer over the phone’s dingy speaker screams.

“Edward Teach.” Pete keeps his phone up to watch the replay. The self-satisfied feeling at the audible gasps around them was sweet enough, but the utter horror and shock on Stede’s face at the big reveal was sweet, priceless icing, “Which is the exact reason why you should let him coach Alma the way he was today because he was trying to set her up—”

“For a bicycle kick?” Stede finished the sentence quietly, taking another small gulp of beer.

If Pete were a weaker man, he’d have eased off the gas pedal and put on the kid gloves with Stede. But he knew, after many years of friendship, that sometimes Stede needed that firm push back into reality.

However, Pete got it to an extent — Stede was supposed to be Team Dad and he couldn’t even tell what was going on in the game half the time. Wanting to support your kids in all the things that excited them could be daunting, especially when their interests weren’t something you were familiar with.

This is why Lucius took Abby to see musicals and Pete took Benny rock collecting.

“For the bicycle kick.” Pete confirmed, he put his phone back into his pocket. Turning to Stede, his demeanor gentled to an energy not half as intense as before, “He is trying to get this team into shape. Did I expect to see Alma try a professional move in game one? No, but that just goes to show that Ed is—”

“Still putting them in danger? You saw the way he fell straight onto his back there, Pete, he could have—”

“Stede!” Pete’s tone was harsh, “If there was a threat to the kids’ safety, don’t you think we would have brought something up to you? We weren’t worried about their safety—”

“You—” Stede shook his head slightly, “you weren’t worried? Meaning…”

General murmurs to the tune of “oh fuck” surrounded the huddled up group.

“...you knew. That he was coaching like that. You knew the whole time?” Stede started to rev the engine of an outburst and Pete wanted to immediately run away, lest he be the target of such an attack.

Lucky for him, his husband was nearby, “Stede, honey, listen to me—” Lucius tried to placate him.

“You knew that he was coaching like that and yet you didn’t tell me?” Accused Stede. He looked like a flame catching, like the kindling could be any single word that would set him ablaze and everyone in the four walls of the pizza place would catch fire.

“It was only until we could explain!” Lucius moved closer, like he was approaching a wild animal, “We were going to tell you—”

“When?!” Stede’s voice, thankfully, lowered to an angry hiss, “When were you going to tell me!? After the season is over?!”

“During book club!” Pete exclaimed, exasperated, “We needed to buy some time!”

The only sound in their immediate vicinity was the jingle of the door and the sound of the arcade games. Their fellowship fell deadly silent.

Looking at the faces of each of his friends, Stede felt five individual pops of reality hit him one-by-one (the realization inflating and inflating, only to explode when it finally connected in his brain) as the expressions changed: from Lucius to Jim, all the way around the circle until his eyes landed back on Pete’s look of embarrassment. The worst possible conclusion dawned on him.

“You— you—” Stede stammered, “let me— let me get this straight,” he exhaled, “you planned a book club to keep me from watching my daughter's soccer practice because you thought I was, well— I was, what, going to lose my shit!?”

“Well, you did.” Jim mumbled behind Stede. “Well, whatever you planned to avoid that,” he spat, “didn’t work, now did it!?” He whirled back around to Lucius, standing in frustration, “You lied to me for weeks to protect someone you barely knew!? Instead of talking to me!?”

#off the field #off the field smau #otf smau #ofmd smau #chapter two #prose

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years ago

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Jay White and ELP remind me of mean but playful frat brothers so could I request something with the both of them and the reader playing dirty truth or dare, ending in them sharing the reader? Love your writing, thank youuu😁

Let’s consider this a “Warm up to Halloweek” Part 2 😏. Thank you so much for the compliment and you’re welcome, love 😘💋

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @starwithaheart, @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @blaquekittycat

Sigma Kappa Lambda was the biggest and most popular fraternity of your university. Every guy wished to be a “brother” and every girl desired to date one of its members.

They were known for their good looks, amazing parties and enormous collection of trophies and medals. They won everything, from sports competition to the biggest fundraiser in the history of the university.

Their chaotic Halloween party always hosted hundreds of people and sometimes even a few professors could be seen sneaking inside the party every year.

You were sure you were the only one who never stepped a foot inside Sigma Kappa to enjoy a party until today.

To be honest you always preferred the company of books over people, but the earlier events pushed you to stand where you are right now, which is playing truth or dare with the two most desired athletes of Sigma: Jay and Riley.

You don't remember how you ended up in this position, you just know that they were the first ones to greet you when you came in and they haven’t left your side since then.

“C’mon geeky, it’s your turn” Riley pointed to the empty beer bottle on Jay’s bedroom floor.

You twisted the bottle and it stopped on Jay who smirked “Dare”

You thought for a while and came up with the first dumb idea that crossed your mind “I dare you to… lick the sole of my shoe”

“Really?” Jay chuckled “How old are we? Twelve?”

“What? Is a good dare”

“Of course it is! What will you dare us to do next? Drink toilet water?” Riley teased before taking a sip of his beer.

“So what do you want me to do? Make an 18+ kind of dare?” You teased back, already waiting for them to laugh along with you.

When they only stared at you with knowing smirks, the laugh died on your throat “I was joking, you know”

“But that’s a wonderful idea, nerdy” Jay crawled towards you until his face was mere inches apart from yours “I was kind of expecting that Riley would make such an offer not you, but you know what? Something tells me you’ll be a wonderful little surprise”

You gulped hard and instantly darted your tongue out to lick your dry lips. Jay’s gray eyes followed your tongue as it wetted the supple meat of your bottom lip before he asked in a whisper “Give me my dare, honeybee”

“I…I dare you to kiss me”

“That will be by far the easiest dare I’ve ever had” Was the last thing Jay said before his lips tasted yours in a deep, slow, sensual kiss that seemed to last forever until Riley spoke:

“Alright, it’s my turn now” His voice was an octave lower, with a hint of lust and envy in its timbre.

He didn’t even mind to twist the bottle, he simply smirked “I dare you to kiss me”

An unfamiliar courage took over you and you suddenly saw yourself kneeling in front of him. Since Riley was still sitting on the floor, that gave you a few inches of advantage and you decided to use that to straddle his hips.

Your hands cupped his bearded cheeks, feeling the soft beard caress your skin. Riley’s hands came to rest on your ass, kneading and stroking your clothed flesh.

Looking into the sky blue eyes, you darted your tongue out to give soft kitten licks on his bottom and upper lips.

Riley groaned and pulled you closer to his body “Stop teasing me, bunny”

“You look like the kind that enjoys some teasing” You smirked confidently

“Not when my cock is rock hard though”

Your lips immediately covered his in a burning kiss that made you lose control over yourself. A light tug on your scalp made you break the kiss to soon have your back pressed against Jay’s torso.

“You’re something else, aren’t you, little bee?” His hand tugged harder on your hair, making a soft moan escape your lips

“Looking so innocent and naïve but that’s just a façade, isn’t it? Because deep down, there’s not even an ounce of innocence in you” One of Riley’s hands cupped your breast as the other closed around your throat “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be offering yourself like a cheap slut for us”

“What’s the matter? I thought you two liked a cheap slut. Isn’t that what you’re used to after all?” You teased, which earned you a hard hair tug from Jay and a slap on the ass from Riley.

“And I thought that pretty little mouth was only good to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I see that I was wrong” Jay whispered in your ear making you cackle “You have no idea of what this mouth can do”

“Oh really?” Riley smirked, “Why don’t you show us then, bunny?” His fingers caressed your bottom lip “Show us what that mouth and pussy can do”

The loud laugh that left your lips was wicked and didn’t resemble you at all as you dared both men “Make me”

#jay white fanfiction #jay white imagine #jay white x reader #switchblade jay white #jay white #el phantasmo x reader #elp fanfiction #elp imagine #elp x reader #el phantasmo imagine #masochist writes #masochist headcanons #njpw wrestling #njpw smut #njpw imagine

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patrickian · 4 years ago

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I got tagged for this so...

Nickname: Patch. It’s short for Patrick and I simply cannot stand anyone calling me Pat, so I forced this one on my friends.

Zodiac: Virgo. My mom is super into this stuff and could give you a full run down but it’s not my bag so this is all I remember.

Height: 5’3” Not short… compact.

Last movie I saw: Gunpowder Milkshake. I thought it was a fairly basic shoot ‘em up with the only twist being that it starred a bunch of women rather than a bunch of men. Nice visuals and threadbare plot.

Last thing I googled: not counting work related stuff (something about limitation periods & COVID) was something related to NHL contracts because I was trying to argue that a certain player was over paid.

Favourite Musician: Don’t have one. Not really at least.

Song stuck in my head: Deutschland by Rammstein. It’s the part thats kinda like call and response. Anyways… stuck like fucking glue for a few days now.

Other blogs: Nope. I do have a twitter… which I try to keep more professional.

Blogs following: Many. Surprising, not all Terror related.

Amount of sleep: 6 hrs give or take. Climb into bed around 9pm, go to sleep around 11, wake up around 5. Get out of bed around 7.

Lucky number: doesn’t matter

What am I wearing: today is work from home day so: grey t-shirt, khaki shorts. No socks. Yesterday I wore my navy suit, white shirt with grey check pattern and decided to skip the tie since I wasn’t meeting any clients.

Dream job: I wish my current job paid more. I work for a legal clinic that handles civil matters for low income people. For me that stuff like landlord/tenant issues, debt collectors, wills & estates, etc. I’m leaving it for a “regular firm” where I’ll handle divorces where people will argue over who gets the four fucking snowmobiles. It will pay the bills and more but at what price to my soul?

Dream trip: New Zealand. Because I want to be one of those (annoying) LOTR tourists.

Favourite food: Pretty much anything salmon.

Play an instrument: I tried to learn how to play the drums when I was like… 10 or something. I sucked at it and gave up.

Languages: English. I have a reading knowledge of German, which means I can muddle through with a good dictionary. I know a handful of Cree words & phrases. I try to read/speak French with a terrible American accent just to annoy my husband who is functionally bilingual like the good Canadian he is.

Favourite Songs: None. Sometimes I relive my ill-spent youth and put on some sort of “top Alt-Rock Hits of the 2000s”. Does that count?

Random fact: You can sue a manufacturer because some lady found a snail in her ginger beer.

Describe yourself as aesthetic things: Ikea catalogue with it’s casual yet carefully curated put together look. It looks very middle-class if a bit rundown. Then you open the drawers & cupboards to find all sorts of weird shit just stuffed in there randomly. Faded pictures of university aged kids in budget shopping LARP costumes and bad pencil drawings of some beefy welsh guy who needs a better agent. A peek into the armoire reveals a collection that would make DI Felix Kane really excited. Under the bed are boxes of random papers and books on everything from knot tying to how to make pivot tables in Excel to goat farming.

Tags: (just going to do a few since many mutuals have already been tagged) just in case you want to :)

@astro-gnome, @keybladeofsteel, @gullbones, @corpyburd, @tsvete, @kittydesade, @seacollectsrivers, @houseocats, @orchiddingme

#slow work day #probably tmi #who cares

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hesloaded · 4 years ago

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roleplay/fake. krp oc. n/sfw. tw: dark and mature themes. all profile information remains undisclosed unless plotted otherwise. faceclaim: ㅋㅏㅇㅣ written by rae.

code name: BULLET. birth name: 김 지 원 / kim jiwon. birthdate: 1994.12.21. birth place: seoul, south korea. korean age: 28. zodiac: sagittarius sun.

occupation: independent hitman, sniper. skillset: tactical shooting & combat (experienced with carbines, shot/handguns, sniper/rifles, machines under extreme circumstances. & hand-to-hand), boxing, krav maga, filipino stick/knife fighting. first aid.

weight: 76kg. height: 182cm. physique: fit. lean overall. languages: fluent korean, english. conversational japanese, mandarin, russian. religion: none. hails from a christian background. tattoos: example > arm sleeves, chest, back, and on his left hip to thigh. description of some pieces below;

nunc illas promite vires (now put forth that strength, in latin), in thick font, a vertical line on the left of his side, stops above the hipbone.

Buddha on the inner bicep of his left arm sleeve.

a gun on his right hip.

a large dagger on his left upper-wrist, the tip of it’s blade reaching for his middle finger.

‘i deeply belong to myself’, horizontally arcing down his left hipbone.

other mods: pierced ears, all basic holes and hooped silver rings. main earring holes are both gauged at 3mm, though he doesn’t wear them often anymore as he currently prefers earrings. sexual orientation: n/a.

Jiwon had been born with a well polished silver spoon in his mouth, which had remained wedged there until the day he’d personally witnessed his father’s murder. Their wealth had been abundant, but abundance did not always equal lawful, and Jiwon so happened to learn that the hard way. His father had been dabbling with the underworld for many years, and thus put him and his family’s life on the line since the very first contract he’d ever signed with the dons, the chiefs and the clans. After crossing certain boundaries of such dangerous people, as consequence, the father’s life had been taken away from him right in front of his only son, and the son had since been left in abandon while growing up with that gruesome memory, which never seemed to leave room for other nightmares in the night.

Quickly, the silver spoon grew rusted. Their family name had plummeted below the surface of the social class, and Jiwon had been forced into the other end of the spectrum without much time to grieve, or to adjust to his reality. They were suddenly dirt poor, as everything they once had was taken away from them upon the findings of his father’s illegal dwellings, and there was nothing they could say, or do about it. Jiwon, 15, and his younger sister, 7, getting by alongside their sickly mother on scraps and pity. Before they knew it, the hospital bills began to pile up in the drawers, court debt left behind by the father too much to handle, as well as basic expenses like food, education and rent.

At 17, Jiwon had voluntarily dropped out of school and decided he’d simply leave home, never to return again until he’d found a job that allowed him stable income. Enough cash to at least sustain his mother, and his younger sister. But there was also something else carried in the back of his mind, something poisonous that lead him astray along the way. He’d started with simple jobs in convenience stores, food delivery, the odd job here and there that could add at least an extra won for the month. But the greedier he got, the odder did the jobs as well. As if this was a sort of calling in his blood, he'd ended up at the edge of an industry where his late father had once been before. Maybe out of grief, and surely for revenge.

He knew he could never go back to the day after he had come across a certain individual he knows nothing of in present, who’d introduced him to a variety of "temp" jobs; mostly hands off at first, to prove he were trusty enough, before he’d graduated into the hands on part of the lifestyle where he’d learn how to fight, throw a knife, and shoot a gun. Professionally groomed by a veteran towards serious temporary positions and better money, by sparring until he were caked in bruises and blood, and shooting empty beer cans by the beach waves (trained in Jeju). And sooner than he'd thought, beer cans became human beings.

His initial aim was never to fall too deeply into dangerous affairs that had gotten his father killed in the first place, but there was something about it that was much too seductive to ignore, much too thrilling to escape- and so by the age of 19, Jiwon was engrossed. And he was really good.

He began working with the man who’d basically recruited him after seeing the talent and hunger for something dark in his eyes, and through him discovered some parts to the puzzle of what had lead his father to such a cruel fate some years ago. Then after reaching a certain point in his investigation and a number of paychecks (which he often sent home to his family rather than keeping all to himself), and with the (forced) help of a mysterious woman he’d met named Kim Yuna, Jiwon had disappeared. Gone to lay low (and train more/hone other skills) in Auckland, New Zealand, and had come back shortly after turning 22, to put his research and skillset into practice.

This is when he had come to surpass his father’s footsteps; solidified his place in the underworld, established as an independent hitman after finally reaching and murdering his father’s killer. Spilling the rage and thirst for blood that had slowly welled up inside him over the years. Known as Bullet, and despite his young age, wanted and feared simultaneously.

location: established in seoul, south korea; works worldwide. direct address: undisclosed. license: LvL 1, general korean license. drives a harley davidson motorcycle, his car a revamped vintage ford mustang. pets: none. takes care of stray cats in his neighborhood. relationship status: n/a. family: mother (alive), younger sister (alive), father (deceased). had severed ties with them and doesn’t talk about them.

hobbies: cooking. reading. sports (lifting, boxing). watching movies. gaming. optimist or pessimist?: neutral. introvert or extrovert?: introverted extrovert. "describe yourself": well-rounded. intelligent. versatile. worthy. surprising. creative. best-shot. "describe jiwon": precise. observant. intimidating. unpredictable. humorous. aggressive. cross. dreams/goals: learn how to properly wield a japanese sword, going drifting with his car in tokyo, sandboarding in the desert dunes, visiting the stray cats in italy.

— being an independent assassin would mean that his business exists sans any form of contract to whatever company or illegal organization at all. a lot of these do exist both in South Korea and overseas, but Jiwon is strict about steering very clear from all attempts of recruitment made his way. signing his life away with blood is something he never plans to do, unlike his father had.

— the underworld's presence also lingers within certain hotels, bars, offices and theatres; as well as underground establishments like boxing ranges and clubs of all natures. simply because people like him are everywhere, though only few of them could ever compete.

— his associates range broadly from Triad bosses to ballerinas, and everything else in between. police chiefs, escorts, seasoned veterans, boxers, racers, butchers, hotel managers. all associates of his, and the below surface's, of course.

— he values taking care of himself very highly, as it contributes to his work at times it matters. when he'd first gotten into working within the industry as a rookie, he could be often found doing small missions like escorting, as he'd been recognized to be visually appealing, and taught to wield it as though he were holding a sharp blade.

— he'd lived and trained in a secluded countryside farm in Jeju island for nearly four years, before packings his bags and disappearing to Auckland in the midst of night.

— owns too many pairs of sneakers, belts, button ups and turtlenecks. he's an expressive dresser; usually loves wearing pieces that stand out or glitter. his closets consist mainly of blacks, reds and whites, some greys, blues, purples, and plaid. when it comes to accessories, he will try it all but prefers simple rings and thick necklaces. finally, his cologne selection ranges broadly of fresh, pine and woody scents.

— surprisingly loves babies and kids. might or might not suffer from perpetual baby fever.

— believes in consequential punishment, global warming, ghosts or spirits, and aliens. the usual.

— not very keen on haircuts. enjoys dyeing his hair. sometimes find his many tattoos burdensome as he regularly has to cover up for the casual public (though he doesn’t try much anymore, really).

— he absolutely despises being lied to, have his skills doubted, being suspected, accused unjustly and seeing entitled pride in other people. it might sound obvious, but it’s all particular triggers for anger and hostility in him.

— can’t keep promises. a bit lackluster when it comes to romance. prefers relationships without titles, and sometimes emotions. but when he does fall, he falls hard enough to break bones.

— he wants to look into going to live in japan for a while in the future, to study kenjutsu, and acquiring a japanese katana of his own.

— he has a habit of getting new tattoos whenever he’s out of the country. or when he’s stressed—he refuses to destress with smoking.

— despite his job and the occasional requirement to travel overseas to rigorous tasks and obscure locations, or stay in Seoul apartments; living off scrap for months in both predicaments, he’s still a homebody. Appreciates when he can return home and sleep with a corn-chip in his mouth.

— his home is prepared for any kind of assault at any hour of the day, carrying hidden weapons hiding in plain sight.

— collects silencers/suppressors simply because he enjoys using them on his firearms.

#ㄱㅈㅇ

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nicholas-salzano · 4 years ago

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Nicholas Salzano - Best Beaches in the World

Nicholas Salzano is a well-known travel blogger. Nicholas Salzano writes regularly on travel tips and his travel experiences. Get Nicholas Salzano's latest content.

What makes a great beach is up to the travelers. Some people like wide sandy beaches with lots of activities and crowds to watch, while others like deserted shores and calm waters.

US News has determined this and other factors such as unique landscapes, beach quality, and general accessibility to determine the best beaches in the world. (Note: Some of the destinations below may be affected by the corona virus outbreak. Please consult CDC and the U.S. State Department before traveling.)

Nicholas Salzano - Fiji

Fiji has turquoise waters, sparkling beaches and luxurious resorts, similar to many other tropical resorts. Similarly, an island composed of 333 islands is suitable for all kinds of love birds. In addition, explorers such as surfers and divers appreciate the quality of the waves and the coral reefs of the archipelago. But Fiji has different supernatural characteristics from other island destinations. Fiji is more than 1,300 miles from the North Island of New Zealand in the South Pacific, providing you with a pleasant feeling of isolation.

When you drink Fijian sour beer and watch the sun set on the horizon, you will be as far away from reality as possible. Fijian style will also make you feel a million miles away too: have you tried the dazzling cava? Or have seen people braving fire and walking on hot stones without burning their feet? If not, it is time to do it.

Nicholas Salzano - Bora Bora

Bora Bora (about 6 miles long and just over 2 miles wide) is full of beauty. A dormant volcano rises at its center and expands into the dense jungle before overflowing into the Aquamarine Lagoon. In fact, the author James Michener who wrote "The Story of the South Pacific" called Bora Bora "the most beautiful island in the world." In the 18th century, British explorer James Cook even hailed it as the "Pearl of the Pacific." As the definition of a tropical resort, the wonderful Bora Bora has luxury resorts, clear skies, warm waters and friendly people.

In short, go to Bora Bora to enjoy the natural beauty, to relax completely, if you have the money, go.

Salzano - Maldives

You've seen photos of the Maldives before: the perfect private villa suspended in the stunning blue waters, alabaster white sand beaches and a spectacular sunset jumping into the horizon. The beauty of the Maldives is worth seeing and can only be understood by visiting the scene.

The island nation of Maldives is extremely popular with honeymooners seeking hermitage and adventurers looking to explore the depths of the ocean through snorkeling and diving. Tourists who want to relax can relax in the spa on the island, and all tourists should spend a day exploring Male’, the capital of the Maldives. The hotels in the area are breathtaking, from underwater hotels to private overwater bungalows to stunningly beautiful resorts.

However, getting to and staying in this tropical paradise requires patience (there are no direct flights from the US) and enough cash. The Maldives is located between the Arabian Sea and the Cardiff Sea, about 500 miles southwest of Sri Lanka, as isolated from the world as possible; this is just another of its many charms.

Nicholas - Tahiti

Miles of coastline, dozens of resorts, mouth-watering French cuisine-Tahiti has all the conditions for a honeymoon destination. But beach bums often cross the sands of Tahiti and head to the Ivory Coast of Bora Bora. Despite its idyllic reputation and convenient transportation, Tahiti is not so much a romantic holiday destination as a place off the beaten track. However, this does not mean that Tahiti should be ignored.

The wooded forest is next to the beach, and the French crepes are served with Tahitian poisson cru (raw fish). If there is one place that can embody the beautiful duality of French Polynesia, it is Tahiti. Here, the quirky and often chaotic atmosphere of Papeete, the island’s capital, complements the unspoiled natural beauty.

In fact, Tahiti, the largest of the 118 islands in French Polynesia, is often referred to as two separate islands, although they are connected by a small land bridge.

Tahiti Nui is the largest northern area where Papeete is located. Tahiti Iti (the smaller half) is not easily accessible, although many tourists hike here to experience the isolation. Keep in mind that spending a week anywhere in Tahiti will cost you a hefty price. But travelers agree that the warm waters, dense jungles, and luxurious resorts are worth it.

Nicholas Salzano - Maui

Maui isn't as big as the Big Island, it's not as small as Lanai, as vibrant as Oahu, and not as quiet as Kauai. For many visitors vacationing in Hawaii, Maui is the perfect place, from its majestic wildlife to fascinating history and culture; it offers all the flavors that Aloha has to offer. Visit here to swing with a professional hula dancer,play golf on the coastal streets, zip around, snorkel with five different types of turtles, or just go on some of the most famous beaches in Hawaii rest.

Maui, one of the archipelago's most popular tourist attractions, lies between the Big Island and the small Molokai (you can explore it by signing up for one of the best tours on Maui). Maui is divided into five different regions. Many visitors settle on the sandy beaches of South Maui (where the famous Wailea Beach is located) or the coast of West Maui, the sandy beach of Kaanapali Beach and the music home of the old Lahaina Augrand. But the rest of the island cannot be overlooked.

Travel along the Road to Hana, experience the scenic east coast of Maui, explore Haleakala, the largest dormant volcano in the inland world, and explore the ancient tribal battlefields of Iao Valley State Park in central Maui. If you want a panoramic view of all of this, book one of the best helicopter tours in Maui.

Nicholas Salzano - Whitsunday Islands

The Whitsunday Islands are located off the northeast coast of Australia and it feels like a whole different world. The archipelago is adjacent to the Great Barrier Reef and has an extremely unique but fragile ecosystem. Some of the best beaches in this collection of 74 islands include Betty Beach, Whitehaven Beach, and Chalkis Beach, but there are plenty of amazing attractions to choose from as well. When you're not sunbathing on pearl-white beaches or snorkeling in turquoise waters, you can relax in luxurious or eco-friendly bungalows on Hamilton Island or Long Island.

Nicholas Salzano - Mauritius

Located in the east of Madagascar, this picturesque African island has a number of beaches that deserve priority. According to visitor reviews, the west coast of the island has some of the best, such as Flic En Flac and Le Morne, There are beautiful white sand beaches and the perfect viewpoint to watch the sunset. Beachgoers near amenities prefer the northern coastal beaches like Granbe, while those looking for a more remote beach experience prefer to visit the eastern and southern coastal beaches like Tu Island and Blue Bay.

Nicholas Salzano - St. Lucia

Lush and unspoiled Saint Lucia has a growing fan base. Some of its vacationers are music lovers, chilling out at the St. Lucia Art and Jazz Festival in the spring, or adrenaline junkies, climbing The Pitons or zip-lining in the Chasin area rainforest to test their limits. Others are honeymooners relaxing on the island's chalky beach or hiding out in a secluded resort.

But what if any of these categories are not suitable for you? Do not worry: Saint Lucia refuses to be classified like any "kind" of Caribbean vacation. In addition, you don’t have to spend a lot of money (its reputation as a luxury hideaway is reasonable to some extent). To discover some of the indescribable charms of the island, you must visit it yourself. Wake up in the morning and admire the orange sunrise over Soufrière, and then "jump" (or dance) along the Gros Islet in the evening to end the afternoon.

Nicholas Salzano - Railay Beach

Railay Beach (also known as Rai Leh) is located in Krabi, Thailand, next to the Andaman Sea. The area is made up of four main beaches, with soft sands, clear waters, stunning but climbable (for experienced climbers) cliffs and dense tropical rain forests. For a truly breathtaking beach experience, head to Phra Nang Beach, where you can explore caves, islands and coral reefs. Another Railay Beach coastline that you must visit is the beautiful West Coast of Railay, just steps from a plethora of shops, restaurants, bars, and resorts.

Also check this video of Nicholas Salzano on topic: I traveled Syria Before War, and It was Heaven

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#Nicholas Salzano #NicholasSalzano

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years ago

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Taste of Home (Indruck)

Prompt for the 13th was: strange harvest

Most days, Duck isn’t too worried about the dirt on his hands or the bits of leaves that stick to his clothes. Most days, he’s not about to meet with a reclusive, wealthy donor to the Kepler Botanical Gardens who has specifically requested Duck be present.

When he enters the meeting room, Thacker is waiting for him along with a tall, pale-haired man sporting red glasses.

“Ah, here’s Duck now.” Thacker smiles.

“Sorry, uh, thought we weren’t meeting until-”

“-One. You’re correct, I have a habit of getting a bit, ah, ahead of things t times.” The man offers a wide smile that’s polite but also gives Duck the heebie-jeebies.

“Duck, this here is Mr. Cold. He’s one of the garden’s longest standin supporters. He’s got a project for us, and asked that you be the one in charge of it.”

“I was quite impressed with your work on the native plant section, and I’m told you headed the transplant and maintenance of the tree specimens in the New Zealand section, which is no mean feat.”

“Thanks, I’m real proud of both. What do you have in mind? Is it an exhibit?”

“A private collection. Come, let me show you.” Mr. Cold unrolls a set of plans as Duck shoots a glance at Thacker.

“Didn’t know we did that sort thing.”

“We do for Mr.Cold. Whelp, I gotta go lead a tour. Mr. Cold, I leave you in Duck’s capable hands.”

He joins the taller man in front of the plans; they’re for a garden within a greenhouse, the structure as angular and distinct as the man requesting it. He knows the greenhouse hs Cold’s name above it, is usually used as a teaching space

“I imagine you think me rather selfish for requesting to use your space in such a way.” Mr. Cold doesn’t look up from where he’s making final notes on the paper, as if the answer is a foregone conclusion.

“Think it’s kinda strange, but I ain’t about to rule on it bein selfish until you tell me what I’m actually doin.”

“I have several species of trees, flowers, and shrubs that I need grown. They are, ah, rather difficult to cultivate anywhere other than their native home, and I am not a skilled gardener at the best of times. Hence my seeking out someone who, I presume, has not killed multiple succulents in the last two months.” The man looks a little ashamed, then clears his throat, “the plants I am asking you to grow are the only specimens of their kind on earth.”

“How’d you get them, then?” Duck tries to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but this feels more and more like some rich guy made an impulse purchase of something that should be in a seed bank or species ark somewhere.

“I brought small specimens over from my home, which is where they grow. But I couldn’t keep them alive, and they were already rare. Last I heard they were all wiped out by an, ah, an illness. I stored seeds from my specimens in hopes of one day regrowing them.”

Duck looks at the diagram closely; the plant’s are actually sketched in, not just noted by name and the number of eraser marks suggest Mr. Cold spent a long time planning out exactly where each one went.

“You’re askin us to do all this because you’re homesick?”

“Yes. I have been away from home for a long, long time. The Kepler gardens have been a refuge for me. Lately I’ve been drawn to the woodland and prairie type sections.”

“I helped with a lot of those.”

Mr. Cold turns to him with a smile, “I know. That is another reason I requested you. But, before we go any further, I must make something clear; these specimens they mean...they are so, so precious to me. And secrecy is a must, for reasons I can only half explain. They would be solely under your care and protection. If that is not a responsibility you wish to take, I understand entirely.”

Behind the red glasses, Duck can just see a glint of hope.

“Think I’m up to the challenge.”

“Wonderful” Mr. Cold claps his hands together, “in that case, there is not a moment to lose. Here, this is everything you need.” He produces a briefcase, inside which sits ten packets of seeds and three pits, bout the size of an avocado pit.”

“All the information I have on ideal growing conditions is in the attached notebook, and the seeds are labeled. If you have any questions, ny at all, my phone number is in there s well.”

He pauses, smiles, and murmurs to himself, “it's been awhile since I gave anyone my phone number.”

Duck opts to ignore the stealthy glance at his arms and carefully takes the case, “Thanks, this’ll all be real helpful.

------------

He doesn’t see his new patron (as Juno calls Mr. Cold) for a week. When he does, he’s on his belly, checking for any sign of sprouts in the greenhouse.

“How goes the growing?” Mr. Cold asks from the direction of Duck’s feet.

The gardener rolls over and sits up, “Not much to report, just trying to keep an eye on ‘em so I don’t miss anythin important.”

Mr. Cold offers his hand, helping Duck up, “I appreciate the care you’re taking, Duck. I hope it isn’t cutting into your other work too badly.”

“Had to move somethings around, but that's just the nature of this kind of work.”

Mr. Cold chuckles, “Pun intended?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“Oh. Your, h, your lunch time is coming up right? I was wondering if you would let me take you to lunch as an, ah, extra thank you?” He’s spinning a small ring on his finger, the shyness almost charming, and Duck felt neutral at best about the sandwich he brought today.

“Sure, thanks.”

Mr. Cold grins, “Oh good. Where would you like to go? I hear the crystal palace has a lovely lunch.”

“The fancy Japanese place? Pretty sure they got a dress code.”

“Brush off the dirt and you look completely respectable.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, “I was talkin about you.”

They both stare down at the classy but still very clear pajama pants Mr. Cold is wearing.

“Fair point. How do you feel about Indian food?”

---------------------------------

Duck’s stepped into some sort of painting. And here he thought he was just wandering into the birch grove.

Indrid (“”I really prefer that name”) is laying on his back on a bench. Sun streams between the branches, falling across his face, making it all angle and shadow in ways Duck wants to sit and study. His silver hair is ruffling in the breeze, and his glasses are pushed up his forehead. Eyes shut and hands folded on his stomach, he reminds Duck of the paintings in fairytales of someone waiting for true loves kiss.

He’s worried he might be the one to give it.

They’re having lunch once a week at least now, the awkwardness of the first time melting away as Duck got going on a tangent about dandelions only to find Indrid, elbows on the table and chin in his hands, listening to him so intently he blushed on reflex. Then he was giggling as Indrid pulled a custom-made curly straw out of a small tin in order to drink his Mango lassi. And then Indrid had laughed at his laugh and it all fell into place, the conversation so easy it’s as if they’d know each other for years.

Then there were the frequent visits by Indrid to the greenhouse to check on the progress. Which, if Duck does say so himself, if pretty fucking good. The plants are thriving, reaching for the light, and the trees are already flowering in deep blue stars, the speed with which they reached adulthood fascinating to him. Sometimes Indrid just comes to see the gardens, but always seeks Duck out to say hello and smile that increasingly charming smile at him.

But the biggest change has come with Indrid asking if Duck would be interested in designing a small garden for him

“Something very simple and manageable. Hardy too.”

“Any plant preferences?”

“No, I trust your judgement entirely, though you may have to help me with their maintenance the first few weeks, if that is alright.”

Duck would have done it even if Indrid wasn't paying him. He liked sitting in the living room, surrounded by strange art and crumpled papers, showing Indrid how to tend houseplants. And when they sit on the back porch, each dirt-smudged and grass stained, Indrid sipping soda while Duck nursed a single beer, the other man kept beaming at the new, small patch of garden, Duck’s heart wanted to burst from his chest and flutter around.

Last night, he stayed late for dinner, and as he was checking over the houseplants…

“I’m fond of this one. It’s sturdy and makes me smile, much like you.” Indrid murmurs as he steps beside him.

Duck slides a smile his way “Dunno, partial to this snake plant we chose; unique and kinda tall, just like you.”

It’s the worlds weakest flirtation, but as Indrid steps away his fingers tease Duck’s lower back, “I wonder if they can cross-pollinate.”

All of this is why Duck decides to leave Indrid be. Because playing prince charming to one of the gardens donors could backfire and shatter his whole career if he reads things wrong.

The path takes him past Indrid, and he steps lightly. But just as he passes Indrid's head, cool fingers find his own.

“How is my favorite flora expert today?” Indrid purrs, eyes still shut.

“Good. Uh. Yeah, good. How’d you know-”

“It was you? I have my ways.” Indrid grins, squeezing his hand once before letting go, “are we still on for lunch tomorrow? I can bring you that soup you like.”

“That’d be great.” Duck hesitates, reaches down and ruffles Indrid’s hair. The other man sighs, rubs his face against Ducks palm.

“I can't wait.”

------------------------------------------

It takes him until ten pm to remember he left his phone in the greenhouse. Which would not be a problem, except he’s supposed to take a call early tomorrow from Jane, the first time in months they’ve been able to talk.

Plus, he’s been having an excellent text conversation with Indrid until his last rounds, sending him pictures of the plants in the greenhouse, which all look ready to bloom in the next day, and the strange fruit on the trees; speckled gold and white, and smelling faintly of marshmallow. Indrid’s reply texts were filled with excitement (and a great deal of praise, which Duck is thoroughly enjoying). He wants to keep that going as soon as he can.

He finds his phone on the workbench, looks up just in time to see glowing red eyes reflected in the glass.

Something’s in the greenhouse with him. Which should be impossible, because only two people have the keys.

Turning, he scans the plants and spots a large, dark shape holding very still behind the trees. Which would work better if said trees were not so thin.

“I am aware this is not a good hiding place.”

Duck gasps, not expecting it to talk, then steps back when the creature emerges. It towers over him, antennae twitching and wings rustling slightly. His mind puts all the pieces together, and he understands only half of them.

“Why the fuck is the mothman breakin into my greenhouse.”

The antenna flatten slightly, “I am not breaking in. Do you see any broken glass?”

“No, but I got one key, and the only other person with one ain’t here. And put those down, they ain’t yours.” Duck reaches for the two fruits, each clasped between a pair of clawed hands, only for Mothman to raise his arms.

“They are, in fact, mine. If you would stop trying to knock me over I can explain.”

“Uh uh, first you gotta put down Indrid’s things, then you can explain.”

The creature chirrs, annoyed, and points at its neck, “His things? Such as this key perhaps?”

Duck stops moving, staring at the key before rising his gaze to the mothmans face and meeting his eyes for the first time.

“What the fuck? Indrid, what the fuck?”

A sheepish chirp, “There was not a good way to tell you I am a famous cryptid. At least, I did not feel there was one. I was worried you would be afraid of me if you knew.”

“Feelin a little too confused to be afraid. Did, did I just grow a mothman garden instead of a butterfly garden?”

The laugh is unmistakably Indrid, “In a way. I was telling the truth when I said these were from my home, but my need for them went beyond homesickness. Every twenty five years, my kind are compelled to eat these. It is not fatal if we don’t, but we suffer a very unpleasant illness for several weeks if we do not. I resigned myself to that sickness until I began visiting these gardens, and saw there were people who might be able to help me. My own powers, including foresight, cannot replace a green thumb. Your green thumb went beyond anything I could ever have hoped for. This” he gestures to the trees with their glittering fruit, the flowers blooming in a rainbow of glowing star-shapes, “Duck I, I haven't seen a sight like this in close to a hundred years.”

Duck holds his breath as Indrid steps towards him, bending to rest his downy forehead against Ducks.

“Thank you, Duck Newton. Thank you for giving me a taste of home.”

The human reaches up to touch a black, fuzzy cheek, “Does this mean you gotta leave or somethin, now that I know your secret identity?”

“Not unless you are planning to tell everyone you’ve been acting as the Mothman’s personal gardener.”

“Nah, rather tell ‘em about the cute fella I’m takin to dinner tomorrow.”

Indrid blinks, “You...you do not find this alarming?”

“I mean, you’re big and a little terrifyin, but you’re still Indrid. And it means a lot that you actually stayed and told me who you were, instead of just flyin off.”

There’s a deep purr as Indrid says, “In that case, may I invite you to dinner at my house, Duck Newton? I can even share some of this strange harvest with you.”

Duck grins, drawing his fingers long Indrids arm, “That your way of tellin me they’re an aphrodisiac?”

Indrid nuzzles his cheek and pulls him close, “I guess we’ll find out.”

#indruck #promptober #indrid cold/duck newton #awkward flirting

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absentsdream · 4 years ago

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* you know rina benton-moa, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, their whole life on and off? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to reinvent by phoebe green like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fury encased by the reflection of daylight in the eyes; lines etched into skin from lifetimes over of squinting into midsummer skies, odd trinkets lined carelessly along a mantlepiece shrouded by aged dust, a split in the lip lancing keenly as the tongue darts out to wet it thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is july 15th, so they’re a cancer, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

hi i’m cee .. u all know me...... regrettably gone for a cutla weeks but now i’m back ready n waiting to finally write rina (rip to their intro i never wrote last time around) kisses u all so tenderly let us plot shall we.......

AESTHETICS.

a weather-worn baseball cap ( jacksonville jazz festival 1983 ) adorned with dried sweat akin to the rings of saturn that collects dust on the back seat of a car, neglected piles of unopened government letters spilling from a haphazard tower onto the floor, a moth-eaten cotton shirt, johnny cash at four a.m. on the jukebox hits radio station, hand me down trainers marred by crowsfoot grass stains, dollar store candy older than your own existence, blinking grocery store fluorescent lights, the acrid scent of tyres set aflame.

CHARA INSPO.

frankie ( animal kingdom ), theo ( catherine house ), libby bray ( dark places ), frances ( conversations with friends ), ruth ( ozark ), tommy ( never let me go )

BACKGROUND.

lilac ridge’s newest, unwelcome baby for 1997. rina’s mother is gone before they have the chance to memorise a voice, the touch of a hand on their fever-ridden forehead. she forever remains in old polaroids - their parents look happy here, sun-blushed and clutching amber bottles of schlitz. their dad tries and tries, often in a futile effort, to be the parent an unruly rina needs. that old woman in the trailer next to them hates the saturday morning cartoons that they play too loud: she says the catdog theme loops in her sleep, now.

TW NEGLECT despite the one or two friends rina manages to keep, school isn’t lonely. it’s lilac ridge that’s hollow, an ugly reflection of the way their father returns wordlessly to the chair found on hard rubbish collection day once, gesturing for a drink and waving them out of the trailer as he lights a cigarette. he doesn’t say he’s lonely. they’re too young to understand, or too foolhardy, and spends the afternoon fashioning bracelets from creek reeds until the cicadas quiet and the evening sky turns imperial violet, led back by constellations. some nights, rina isn’t there but in the alien comfort of a tentative friend’s trundle bed, eyes fixed on the owl nightlight and stereo that emits a soft tick as it reaches the end of a 4kids cd. TW END

the trailer is often empty without warning. rina’s in fernandina beach, florida one month. the next two, it is macon, georgia. the louisiana dirge for a friend of a friend of a friend’s funeral holds their attention better than any maths teacher can. to make friends is hard, but money is money and it puts food on the table. rina becomes used to tucking away their life in a tattered rucksack. prized possessions are rare. when they find one, it makes a home at the very bottom of their bag, cushioned by old newspaper and a spare pair of socks.

one tepid night, rina wakes to a clear desert sky wheeling above them. in the front seat, knees cramped under a too-thin blanket, their father is nowhere to be found in the street emptied by midnight. without keys the radio doesn’t start. for hours, they wait in silence for him to return. he does, eventually, fifty dollars short and reeking of beer.

TW DEATH live and let die — an eighty-cent find from a gas station in texas that exists permanently under a layer of dust some time in the nineties, the garish yellow sticker stubbornly remains on the back window of her father’s car. it’s not a day after his funeral that she peels it off. cirrhosis and failing lungs, they say. the more stubborn parts of the sticker come away easily by the blade of a pocket knife and sat on the bottom cinder block step to the now-empty trailer back at lilac ridge, rina sets it alight. the sticker melts and warps above the flame. heat stings the pad of their thumb that grips to the top of it for as long as they can bear it and the melted bits stick to the hem of the navy dress the old lady next door lent them for the day. she asks if they need anything else. they say no. TW END

at sixteen, nobody has impeccable financing. rina doesn’t leave irving until after graduating high school, sustenance made off cup noodles that they microwave despite the label saying not to, a quick buck made to sit the SAT for that quarterback who thinks he’s hot shit, yale material, for the mousy girl who likes literature written by dead people exclusively and scrunches her nose up at rina’s rates, upfront, but pushes across the seventy bucks anyway. the school’s careers counsellor catches them eventually - you could make it into an ivy league if you applied yourself a bit more. rina’s brow quirks. their grades are fine, more than fine. what else do they need to do?

on blind faith alone — a rarity, perhaps something rina let free after the hideous, lonely last two years — hands that never quiver submit college applications. pre-med at dartmouth awaits, but two years in the structure and demand wigs them out. lilac ridge is the glue trap dangling from the ceiling and rina is the fly, buzzing relentlessly. they are nothing, just as they suspected.

TRAITS & QUIRKS.

dumbass sun, fuckwit moon, muppet rising

unofficial mensa member with zero motivation. self-help books won’t work, neither will a stern word from an exasperated mentor

at their core, all seems numb. rina is nowhere close to understanding themselves. really, there’s a stubbornness that makes them reliable, even at the worst of times. a warmth, too, not a raging flame but embers that never go cold. hands which caress despite the bruised knuckles and nail bitten fingertips. outwardly, rina’s personality depends on whichever standout film or book antihero has their attention at the time.

petty criminal and relegated to dead-end jobs because of it. it’s rare for a boss to re-hire them, simply because their habit of up and leaving town without warning is too expensive and too frustrating

refused bail once for being a flight risk on account of their propensity to disappear into a louisiana bayou

although rina has never breathed a word of it to anyone, they’re desperate to scrape together enough money to leave for new zealand and track down their mother’s family, if only for the prospect of a better life than thier father’s derelict trailer, the only inheritance received from him

absolute parasite :/

julian assange apologist. took up skateboarding after the infamous ecuadorian embassy footage came on the news one evening

on that note, rina hacks for a spot of extra money. cites their resume for it, so they’re reliable. it consists of them hacking into the irving mayor’s website once and photoshopping che guevara onto the face of every councillor

WANTED PLOTS.

ummmmm

a childhood friend, particularly one whose house rina ended up staying at far longer than planned on account of concerned parents

rina’s natural enemy whose own rigid academics competed against their disorganisation and confounding, cherry red a+’s. bonus: debate club rivals

literally anything. i’ll take it. gimme

#irvingintro #:P #tw alcoholism -#tw death -#tw neglect -

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