#a permanent black mark has been left on my heart from the past 8 years and i get to live the rest of my life knowing my dad helped put it

[spitedemon]

i dont think im ever going to forgive my dad for voting for trump

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain Pt 8 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9

Feyre stared and stared.

Rhys went red and tried to yank his sleeve back down, but Feyre reached out and took a hold of his arm. Turned it over in her hand, inspecting the pop of colour amongst the sharp black lines that lived there. Although she had drawn the design a whole year ago, the swaths of red, orange and green were still intimately familiar.

And then she suddenly remembered signing her name. Flipped his wrist over thinking surely not- but there was her scrawled signature just under his palm.

Rhys pulled his hand back uncomfortably.

"Shit, Feyre," he said. "I'm so sorry." "You... you tattooed my drawings?" "I honestly didn't think I'd see you again. You must think I'm an absolute creep."

Feyre opened and closed her mouth, in shock.

"When?" she asked. "Uh, maybe four months ago?" Rhys guessed. "Not right away. You left, and the drawings faded but I liked them so much I kept tracing them back on. And then I had traced the so many times my hands learned them, so months later I could still remake them from memory.

"One day I had a cancellation and I was sitting there bored, and I just did them on a whim. I hadn't heard from you and I assumed you'd decided you didn't want to be friends after all. But I should have told you, should have asked you first. I'm so sorry." Rhys reached for her hands, and looked at her with pleading eyes.

Feyre's jaw snapped shut.

"That... is... awesome," she said finally. Rhys blinked at her.

"It is?" "That is so cool, I can't believe you did that!" Feyre grabbed his arm back and took another look. His golden-brown skin was satiny beneath her fingers. "You even tattooed my stupid signature!"

Rhys coloured again.

"Yeah well, it was sort of part of the design, and it doesn’t look like a word. I didn't mean to like, stamp your name on me, that's so weird.” "No," Feyre disagreed. "I mean yeah, a little, but also I'm so honoured. And it can't be that weird, because I have your art tattooed on me too." Rhys laughed. "Well I guess that's true."

Feyre held her arm next to his.

"We permanently marked each other," she said in wonder, and then looked up at him, and found him staring back at her. Closer than she realised.

"No wonder we found each other again," Rhys said softly.

A minute or so passed before Feyre noticed they had been kneeling on the concrete, just staring at each other. She pulled her arm back, and Rhys cleared his throat. They stood up, and then moved about collecting their paints.

Like any other day, they loaded everything back into Feyre's car, but after the revelation of Rhys' tattoo, and the completion of the mural, Feyre didn't quite know how to drive away. So instead, she said, "Rhys? Do you... do you want to hang out tonight?"

Rhys put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to one side.

"You're not scared off by my stalker tattoos?"

Feyre shook her head.

"Then yeah. Yeah I do."

Feyre smiled. "Okay," she said nervously. "Should we meet up later?"

Rhys shrugged. "I have no plans. I don't know anyone else in this city, remember?" "Oh yeah," Feyre said. "Well. I don't have any plans either. Do you... want to come home with me?"

Rhys' eyes darkened, and suddenly he looked positively dangerous.

"Are you asking me back to your place?" he asked. Feyre rolled her eyes to hide the fact that her heart was speeding up.

"Okay now I think you're a creep," she said. "Come on." She tossed her head toward the front of the car, then got in the driver's side while Rhys laughed. A second later, Rhys slid into the passenger seat.

He shut the door and the outside world was cut off. The silence was suddenly quite loud. Feyre looked at him, his long frame squished into her tiny car that she could have sworn was bigger this morning. He seemed to fill the space with his legs, with his shoulders. After days of sharing a wide open space, he was suddenly everywhere in this crammed little capsule. She wondered if her breathing sounded as loud to him as it did to her right now.

She looked away, and started the engine. The noise cut into the quiet that had wrapped around them, and felt like it gave them a little more room. She tried not to look at him as she drove, tried to speak but suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say. Rhys started humming under his breath, and Feyre bit her cheek to hide her smile.

Feyre's apartment was not far. It was why she had turned down Tarquin's offer to stay in the hotel where Rhys had been put up. They pulled up at her block, parked, and then each picked up a box of paints to carry up to Feyre's place.

She walked ahead of Rhys, listening to the syncopated rhythm of his footsteps echoing on the stairs behind hers, and felt nervous. Felt silly for feeling nervous, and had to remind herself that they were just going to sit up in her apartment drinking tea, nothing scandalous or nervous-making about it.

Still, it was the first time she had been alone with a man in her house since she and Tamlin had split up.

And for all the times she had scrolled through Rhys’ Instagram, she never thought he’d be here.

"So, this is me," Feyre said, setting her box down on the kitchen counter. Rhys did the same, while Feyre took her coat off and draped it over a chair. "You can take a seat while I make tea, if you want. Sorry about the mess."

Rhys smiled at her and wandered toward the couch, looking around as he did and touching a few leaves on her many houseplants.

"Art supplies everywhere?" he said. "Feels like home, to me."

Once the kettle had boiled, Feyre brought their mugs over and sat next to Rhys. She set the tea on the coffee table, amongst a few scattered pads and palettes, and then, unable to drink it while it was so hot, was at a loss of what to do with her hands.

Rhys was not.

"Okay you've seen my new tattoo," he said. "Let's have a look how yours has healed up."

He picked up Feyre's arm, and ran his thumb over the black pattern. She shuffled closer to give him a better look, folding her legs under herself on the seat.

"Anything you'd change now?" Feyre asked him. Rhys shrugged. "Change? No, of course not. But if you were expanding it I'd have ideas." "Oh yeah?" Feyre picked up a ballpoint pen off the table, and handed it to him. "Go on, then." "Alright," Rhys said, "but don't be all obsessive and get my doodles tattooed or anything." He wagged the pen at her. "Just draw, you self-deprecating weirdo."

Rhys chuckled, then pulled the cap off with his teeth and put the pen tip to her skin. His knee knocked against her thigh.

Unlike the last time Rhys inked her, this time of course did not hurt. So Feyre was so much more conscious of his fingers brushing over her skin. Wasn't trying to distract herself from pain, which just left her to stare at Rhys' face while he focused. Slight frown on his brow. Pen lid still in his mouth. Hand holding hers, as he extended the pattern downward past her wrist. She leaned in to see what he was doing, and when he moved his hair tickled her chin.

"There you go," he said eventually. He stopped drawing, but he didn't let go of her fingers.

"I love it," Feyre said, looking at Rhys' lips instead of her arm. "You have to sign your name too, like I did." Rhys found a gap on the outside edge of her wrist, and obliged.

"Now we match," he murmured. He looked up, his face now just inches away. His violet eyes went on forever. His thumb stroked Feyre's palm, and his fingers felt rough and hot in hers. Their tea cooled on the table.

"Why is it," Feyre asked him softly, "that I like my body better once you've changed it?" Rhys hadn't moved, and she hadn’t meant to get so close to him. But here they were. So close she could see the rise and fall of his chest with his breathing. His fingers trailed up a dark line of her tattoo.

"I think you're always perfect," he whispered. Feyre‘s cheeks heated.

"But if I still want your marks on my skin?" she said. "Then I'm at your service." He leaned in even closer, as he followed the pattern up her elbow. "You'll still tattoo me?" Feyre reached out and traced his tattoos, too. "I'd mark you however you'd let me." "And how else would you mark me?" she asked, the words barely making it out. She stared at her name on his wrist. He brushed a thumb down her jaw, and when she looked up his eyes were lidded and on her mouth.

"Well for one," he said, and then tugged her gently toward him and kissed her with his teeth on her bottom lip.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen

[kyle-valenti]

burnout only feels like burning

2.7k / Summary: kyle valenti doesn't have the same quarantine as his friends; an exploration of kyle's trauma during covid as a doctor. (tw depression & other triggers you’d imagine with this subject)

read & comment/ ao3

A little like the virus itself, Kyle’s relationship with his mask begins with worry, annoyance, and then pain. He’s more than happy to have the proper N-95 mask as they begin to get their first case at Roswell General but then a couple more patients trickle in and within a few days his skin is irritated and itching. Maybe it’s the news, maybe it’s the texts from his friends that he’s increasingly missing, but when the Regiment starts spouting off about how COVID is a joke he thinks it might be affecting his nerves too. By week three his former red mark left by the mask has become a permanent feature to his face and by week five it’s not a mark but a bruise instead. Blisters and cracks in his skin litter his hands from over-washing. His feet become so overused the pads of his feet feel numb and bruised and he wears through an entire pair of shoes.

Positivity has fled from his life by week seven and now he’s inside of a survival mode he’s never experienced. He thought after last year he’d be used to anything the world (or universe, rather, given all these aliens) could throw at him. Now what feels foolish, he had believed that there was nothing that could be worse than the previous pain of losing a patient or finding out his father had experimented on people’s lives. 

When he’s out of ventilators and CPAP machines because Albuquerque needs them more and he has to choose whether or not to save the life of an eighty five year old or a thirty two year old he remembers from high school, he breaks.

 Guilt is one thing, grief is another, but the pure rage he feels knowing that Max Evans is out on the town patrolling as some fucking cop and not someone who could heal most of this hospital makes him want to commit actual murder. Maybe trading the blood of an alien on his hands would feel less heart-wrenching. But no. Max had brought back Rosa and had paid the price. Quelling his anger, he went back to work.

 He slept at the hospital most nights in the height of it. Sure the couch was rough, but it was better than the other on-call doctor beds down the hall. Three twelve hour ER shifts of a usual work week doubled to five days of thirteen hour shifts. Soon there’s a week where he pulls double shifts for an entire week when one of his nurses is urgently hospitalized herself. Hospital directors had left them with no PPE except contaminated masks to reuse. Maria, Isobel, and Rosa are in the forefront of a drive to make and donate masks to his hospital after some social media posts that he doesn’t even see until the cloth masks arrive and his medical assistants give him their handwritten note. It makes him smile, but smiling feels so foreign that he almost wants to break from that.

 Visitors are no longer allowed which means Kyle isn’t allowed to use his bedside manner to comfort the family of patients. He has to facetime mothers, spouses, and children and hold the phone over a patient who can’t breathe without machine assistance and pretend that everything is fine and that there’s still hope despite the hypoxia and lack of rising vitals. Ignore that if the patient goes into cardiac arrest more than once, the kindest thing to do given prognosis is to let the patient pass. Resuscitation and DNR (a patient’s begging request to not be resuscitated) becomes a word he uses in his daily work and not simply for intense surgeries.

 Exhaustion isn’t a deep enough adjective to describe the fugue state he goes into. File to file, room to room, ventilator to next… he isn’t surprised when his body starts to wear down. When he no longer feels hunger and instead feels all too hot and dizzy. Telling himself it’s just because of how much he’s exerting his body while covered in layers and layers of protective clothing doesn’t help the fact that he’s starting to have more trouble breathing as he walks the hallways at a fast pace. When he begins to cough, he does what he promised himself he wouldn’t do and drives out post-shift to the desert cabin of Max Evans.

 Part of him is too desperately tired to knock, but when he arrives on the property with the cop car idle and the house dark and at peace for the night, his fury greets him with the embrace of a long-lost friend. Knuckles pound at the wood and Max answers the door with surprise and a general look of defense, and Kyle tries not to immediately punch him in the face at the fact he looks like he had woken up from a comfortable sleep.

 “Heal me.” Kyle manages to spit out.

 “I—what’s wrong?”

 “Beginning stages of respiratory distress, fever, nausea—what do you fucking think?”

 “Kyle—,” Max starts to say, the hesitation deepening, and that does it.

 “No. I have not asked you for anything in all of this, Evans. Anything!” He shouts, voice hoarse. “Not when people got sick, not when they started dying, not even when we started having to let people die on purpose. And you know what? I wasn’t going to even come and ask you now, but I can’t get sick when I’m the one here fucking saving lives out of the two of us and you’re just cruising the streets handing out goddamn traffic tickets.”

 Max’s face isn’t stony like it usually is when Kyle’s yelling at him; this time it’s crushed and guilty but not nearly enough. “What kind of hours you work this week, Evans? A nice 8 to 4? Did you get facetime with Isobel or your mom, maybe binge through a few books and movies after you’re home? Did you sit down and eat a nice dinner and or go over to drink a few beers with Guerin since you can’t get sick? Even get a nice eight hours of sleep in your own bed in your nice quiet home?”

 No response.

 “I am not asking to sequence your DNA like Liz. All I am asking is for you to let me heal people since you don’t want to.”

 A night breeze is all that makes noise for a moment as Kyle catches his breath and glares at Max, who stands quietly but is staring down at his boots before he finally looks up and nods. Max steps forward then, and Kyle sees that his eyes are actually filled with tears. Temper deflating, but still not subsiding entirely, given that not much else is able to be done; Kyle lets Max place a hand on his shoulder and feels the extremely weird feeling spread throughout his body. Something more electric than anything else, which God knew made a lot more sense concerning his powers and how the body operated with electrical nerve impulses, but that is a train of thought better left for another day. He wants to just walk away, and he almost does, but he still mutters a “thank you” before he does so.

When his nurse dies a few days later and he watches as the staff double bag her body to take to the morgue, he escapes to his office and crashes on his couch with sobs. There’s no one here to support him. He can’t go to his mother’s home and collapse into one of her comforting embraces without risking infecting her. He can’t get wasted at the Wild Pony with Maria when it’s closed. He can’t visit Rosa or Arturo at the Crashdown. Keeping his friends and family safe meant keeping them away from him. Keeping them safe meant he needed to stop pushing his head into his hands to try and control the sound of his crying and get back to work at saving the lives around them.

He gets put on leave by the hospital administrator when he’s almost arrested for decking Wyatt Long in the hospital parking lot as the idiot stood outside with a sign rallying Regiment members to make sure the hospital was told it was killing people on purpose for the election. If Jenna hadn’t been the officer on duty he would have been cuffed and put on record, jeopardizing his license, but there was some self-preserving part of him that desperately wished for his practice to be over anyway. He’s not even sure how Jenna handles it, honestly, all he remembers is her dropping him off at his house from her patrol car like she had been nothing but an uber. No matter how angry and adamant he gets, his boss refuses to bend, saying it’s for his own good given the connections the Long’s have in the town and how Kyle has worked almost 74 of the past 76 days.

Alex is the first to visit him, unannounced. When the doorbell rings Kyle is mindlessly pretending to watch some tv show in his living room that’ll distract him from his consuming thoughts about patients, so he doesn’t get up to answer. He checks his silent phone to see if he was forewarned of a visitor but sees nothing. Unsure if it’s his boss or a patient’s family, he forces himself up onto his sore feet and opens the door after grabbing a regular mask off the coffee table. Black face mask on and standing further out from the door on the porch is Alex, the usual gruff hello turned into something soft. “Hey.”

Kyle heaves a sigh. He had wondered when the pity visits would begin. “Hey. You really shouldn’t be around me, you know.”

“I’m clearly a minimum of eight feet away in an open space while masked.” Alex smarts back. “Either way, I’m worried about you.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Don’t fucking worry about me. Worry about getting sick, because if I have to see another person I care about die, I--,”

“Kyle.” the other says too kindly, the sort of pacifying voice Alex reserved for only the most dire situations. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with in specifics, but my experiences do overlap with yours in some places.”

“And?”

Maybe it came out a little too rude, because Alex raises a brow, but then sighs instead. “And I’m just checking in to make sure you know people care about you.”

“Thanks, Manes.” Kyle huffs in return, managing not to roll his eyes because focusing on being blunt and abrasive was so much easier.

“Just be careful.” Alex interjects before Kyle could close the door and turn back to his show. “Dealing with the trauma of what you’re dealing with gets dark very quickly.”

“Because I punched Wyatt Long?” he spits back sarcastically.

“No, because the suicide rates for healthcare professionals are drastically increasing along with the rates of PTSD diagnoses.” Alex says flatly, ever one to be unfazed by sarcasm. “And I’ve lost more active duty members to suicide than I have combat.”

Kyle pauses, caught. Maybe Alex had known he would be, because there isn’t some way he can give a smile and reassuring wave with him like he could his mother or Liz. While Kyle hadn’t actively thought of a plan, he couldn’t pretend he had noticed signs of depression the second he was alone in his house. 

“The quiet is the worst part, right?” Alex says, all but reading his mind. “Not always because of the flashbacks, although those are horrible, but because if things are quiet then--,”

“--people are dying.” Kyle finishes, his voice raspier by the end of the three words. “Yeah, well, mine still are.”

“They’re going to.” Is what felt like a cold response, but somehow gave Kyle the understanding he’s been craving. “They’re going to die and because of your profession you’re going to be able to save some of them. Which will make you think you’re responsible to save all of them and because you’re a good person you’re going to feel guilty in ways that no one will understand for being human and failing to.”

“Failing is all I do lately.” Kyle replies. “Usually the wins feel higher than the losses as a doctor, but with this-- and no one outside of it cares. They go outside and yell about how this is about a fucking election and when it’s not the patients, it’s the hospital pretending they don’t have enough money to buy us proper protection. Or the government saying this will all go away and that it’s just a light cold.”

Alex gives a small nod. “I know. I also know telling you the same advice that you’d give another doctor of trying not to burn out and instead taking a small rest is useless. So I’m just going to drop off these dvd’s and make you report back to me the difference when you’re done.”

Star Trek and Star Wars. Kyle finds a smile tug on his lips. Alex leaves with one on his as well.

When he gives a response to Alex a few days later on how Star Wars is better not more than a few minutes later Deluca is texting him with recommendations on joining her Buffy the Vampire Slayer rewatch. There’s something sweet about the fact that people have been clearly talking about him, even if definitely borderline creepy with how nosy his circle of friends can be, but he sighs and lets Maria add him to the group chat she has with Rosa and Liz where they review each episode after the fact and even chimes in every now and then. Isobel gets added not long after due to an Instagram story Maria shares and then the group has moved onto Friends after everyone shoots down Liz for suggesting Grey’s Anatomy on behalf of Kyle. Alex is also in there, even if it’s rare he chimes in with an opinion, but once they start Friends his commentary about how much he hates Ross that gets the entire group riled up does tend to make him laugh. Even Kyle agrees with Forest-- whose opinion had been shared by Alex-- that Chandler had all too many queer-coded scenes with Joey.

His mother facetimes him daily, which given how they both don’t exactly go out much starts to become monotonous, until she begins to give in and talk about memories she has of their father. Tidbits she never would have shared with him about their adult life when he was a child or teenager. He in turn facetimes Rosa and shares some of the memories of their father as well, which as much as she tries to pretend she doesn’t want for Arturo’s sake she clearly does with the million questions she asks every single time and the small smile she gives him at the end of their calls.

Liz updates him on her work which is a nice reprieve from everyone’s normalcy and lack of medical jargon sometimes, especially when she gives him inside info on covid vaccine studies not yet published to the general public yet. Everything in him wants this more than anything else in the world right now and he texts her almost every day asking if she’s heard more news even when he knows things take time. She’s a good sport about everything, even when he shares in a very angry rant about Max Evans and how they could have helped so many more people so much more quickly with his DNA-- however selfish that might have been.

When he goes back to work, he feels refreshed, even when it makes things hit like a freight train once more. Lost in a sea of inadequacy, his feelings extend past the pandemic. Even when things return to a level of normalcy and the cases subside he gets alien medical drama thrown in his face once more, and he starts to wonder if he’ll ever recover. If he was wrong to choose this calling. If the fact he can’t help Max or Maria is a sign from above or his father that it’s time to make some career move or change location like his mother and Liz. But, like he tells Michael Guerin. He can’t think he can face his future children and say he walked away from this. Or let people die by quitting, just like Rosa warns. And so he stays and tries to heal both other people and himself.

[hatsukeii]

Hiii do you have any relationship Hc's for goshiki

Hmmm this is gonna take a bit, but I have some ideas in mind:D

Our weird bowl cut boy lol

He’s gonna be Shiratorizawa’s ace... someday.

I’m gonna split this to two parts, because I write long hcs and I wanna write out how you guys dealt with your feelings before actually dating.

👾Goshiki👾

✨Confession✨

- Really clueless at first.

- By really clueless I mean REALLY CLUELESS.

- When you joined the volleyball team as manager, he definitely tried to talk big, trying to give you a good impression of who is and why you “shouldn’t mess with him.”

- He refused to get close to you, despite your efforts in trying to get him to loosen up.

- “You’re just gonna be a distraction.”

- “I’m here to beat Ushijima and become the ace of Shiratorizawa, not make friends.”

- Ah yes, the typical no bullshit shounen anime protagonist that ends up somehow becoming the little brother of the team.

- And also ends up as a tiny crush for a certain someone.

- You don’t really know when you started noticing him that much. He was kinda just... there.

- But alas, seeing how determined he is to get to the top? Mad respect.

- Maybe with time that respect slowly became admiration and attraction.

- You wanna know how determined he is? Think Kageyama, but times ten.

- This bitch waits for everyone to leave the gym after practise, then continues to train his ass off for hours. I’m talking 4-5 extra hours of training.

- You only know this because you stay behind in the gym to clean up the equipment, and he doesn’t leave the gym when you do, which is about an hour or two after practice ends.

- Whenever you ask him when he’s leaving, he just waves you off halfheartedly, usually muttering a casual “I’ll be leaving soon, don’t worry.”

- And if you think that’s it? Oh nononono.

- There has been one instance where you saw him passed out.

- Like Goshiki trained so hard he just blacked out due to exhaustion.

- How you found him?

- Well,

- Your dumbass left your textbooks in the gym, so you had to go back and retrieve it.

- It was like what, 8 in the evening, but the lights and air conditioning were still on.

- You were already weirded out, so you decided to be extra careful. You know how high schoolers are these days, who knows what they’re doing behind closed doors sometimes.

- You creak the doors open just a bit, taking a peep.

- And your eyes land on a motionless Goshiki just laying on the gym floor.

- That scene scared the shit out of you.

- You checked his pulse, and his breathing. To your relief, his pulse was still there, although it wasn’t as strong as it should be. However, his breathing was definitely shallower than usual.

- Thank god for that emergency treatment course you enrolled for last year. You knew how to treat Goshiki almost immediately, raising his legs and keeping them up with a stool you found. What you didn’t expect, was for him to not wake up even after 5 whole minutes of you checking on him.

- That time you literally called an ambulance.

- Needless to say you definitely scolded him when he woke up, before forcing him to eat and drink something.

- Turns out for the past months or so, he’s been training for an extra 4-5 hours a day, without enough food or water to replenish himself.

- It would be about 9-10pm when he got home, where he had to finish his homework and finally get some food in his system, mostly leftovers. When he’s done with homework, it would be around 1am, which would be when he actually cleans up and hauls his ass to bed.

- He has to wake up at 5am for morning practise.

- You were about to punch him when he told the doctor all that.

- Since that worrying experience, you’ve forced Goshiki to leave the gym after a maximum of two hours.

- You walked him to the bus station after every single practise, just to make sure he doesn’t pass out.

- (And also to stare at him while he listens to music and tosses the ball occasionally, but he doesn’t need to know that.)

- Goshiki honestly appreciates the walks to the bus stop and the casual conversations you guys can hold.

- And to be honest, he was pretty surprised you’d actually go along with what you said in the hospital and “Walk him home every single day until he’s done with volleyball in highschool.”

- These days you patiently wait for him to finish his extra practise, and set an alarm for 2 hours. Once those 2 hours are up, you’re dragging his ass out of the gym with his stuff all packed neatly. No buts, nope, don’t wanna hear it.

- Maybe it was the determination you had to make sure he was safe and healthy, or the dumb conversations you had every single day about mermaids getting laid and unicorns getting horny.

- Because with time, Goshiki eventually succumbed to his feelings and admitted to himself.

- He had fallen for you. Hard.

- And there was nothing he could do about it.

- Except,

- Avoid you as much as he could.

- Poor little Goshiki was so clueless that he thought avoiding you would eventually cause his feelings to just disappear like how my dad went to get the milk.

- Whenever he saw you in the hallways, he’d just blush and walk the other way, even if it was the opposite direction of where he was supposed to be going.

- Nope, no fist bump, hi five, nothing.

- Alas, he couldn’t avoid you much anyways, since you were the manager for the volleyball team, and you also persisted on walking him to the bus stop every single god damned day.

- All he could do was try and muster up the driest possible responses to anything you said.

- “So, how was practice? You feeling anywhere near as powerful as Ushiwaka yet?”

- “Eh, it was okay.”

- “You want something to eat or drink? We can go to that boba store around the corner from last week and get something.”

- “Nah, I’m good.”

- You were weirded out, to say the least.

- Since when did Goshiki pass on boba?

- “Oi, Tsutomu, are you feeling okay? You’re acting a bit odd.”

- You raised your hand to his forehead, feeling the warmth on your palm as Goshiki flared 50 different shades of red.

- “U-uh, my stop’s there, I’ll see you tomorrow bye-” he rambled, stuttering over his words before zooming towards the wrong station.

- “What just happened?”

- All Goshiki could do was get home as quick as possible, finish all his work, eat up, clean himself, and just scream into his pillow.

- “I’ve been avoiding her for so long, why is she still stuck in there?”

- He was being so blatantly obvious with avoiding you that the volleyball team eventually had to speak up.

- That went terribly.

- “Goshiki, why aren’t you focusing these days? Is there something troubling you?” -Shirabu

- “Plus, you haven’t even spared a glance at y/n, let alone talked to her. Aren’t you guys like best friends?” -Tendou

- “Goshiki do you like her?” -Ushijima

- Goshiki almost choked on his water.

- No, not almost. He definitely choked on his water.

- “What? ME? PLEASE! OF COURSE NOT!” -Goshiki, in denial, blushing

- “Seems like you do to us.” -Ushijima, as blunt as usual

- “Well then, you should’ve just told me Goshiki. I never knew you disliked me.” 

- Oh shi-

- Well isn’t it convenient? You were standing right there with volleyballs in hand when he decided to belt out that statement.

- For the next few weeks, you both avoided each other as much as you can. You even stopped walking him to the bus stop.

- Until the day before their match against Karasuno.

- At this point, Goshiki had had enough.

- This was troubling him to an extent already, and he also had the match to worry about.

- At the end of practice, he waited until all the members of the team (especially Tendou) left the gym, before harshly pulling you into the storage room, pulling you down to sit next to him on the floor.

- “What do you want Goshiki-”

- “I like you. That’s it.”

- What the hell.

- Your mouth hung open, you face and neck feeling hot, as he made his way back into the gym, practising yet again. All you could do was sit in the storage room, still not comprehending what had just happened.

- Not knowing how to deal with this, you grabbed your stuff, and made your way home as quick as you can, not wanting to deal with the situation at hand yet. You flop onto your bed once you reach your room, and scream into the pillow out of frustration.

- “Why did I do that? That was my chance, I blew it! I’m so stupid oh my god.”

- Goshiki was also being extra aggressive with the volleyballs too. By the time he had finished his extra practise, his palms were scathed and sore, red marks scattered all over.

- During the match agaisnt Karasuno, he was extra nervous, not wanting to screw up.

- But at the same time, the events of yesterday replayed in his mind like a broken record. The way you stared at him in shock, not even making a sound. How you left the gym as quick as it happened, not sparing even a glance at him. It made him regret ever befriending you in the first place. He should’ve known that this was bound to happen.

- This led to him being extra aggressive during the match. Both teams were shocked and quite frankly, a bit intimidated too.

- Goshiki was fueled by all his pent up rage against himself, a seemingly dark aura radiating off of him on the court. He was stupid. An absolute imbecile. A moron. An idiot that put his heart on his sleeve, not once thinking about the consequences it could bring.

- When coach Washijo decided to scream “if you’re gonna stare, at least stare at a damn girl” at him, he sneered so hard at him his face was about to become permanently contorted. Even his own coach, the spawn of satan, was taken aback.

- The fact that Shiratorizawa ended up losing did not help. At all. All that did was make his day even shittier.

- Until you finally told him you reciprocated his feelings.

- Not long after the loss, the team all went their own way home, feeling miserable about the game.

- Goshiki had his earphones in, walking towards the bus station, head hung low as he silently sobbed, feeling like absolute shit.

- You caught up to him, before basically engulfing him in a huge hug from behind, nuzzling your head into his shoulder, refusing to let go.

- He was flustered, to say the least. Frozen in place, tears continued to stream down his face in steady streaks.

- “I’m sorry for your loss today, and for yesterday too.”

- His eyes widened at your apology as he furiously wiped the hot tears, his eyes still slightly puffy and his nose still red.

- At this moment, Goshiki needed someone. Desperately. In one swift motion, he had turned around and held you with an iron grip, a hand pushing your head into his chest, his back hunched with his head in the crook of your neck as he cried, this time letting the sobs and whimpers become audible. His salty tears met your skin, rolling down to your collarbone.

- “So the reason why you’ve been avoiding me was because you liked me?”

- Goshiki nodded into your neck, still crying.

- “Well I’ve liked you since the start of the school year too, so don’t worry. I’m here for you.”

- Hearing that, he detached himself from your neck, staring at you, surprised at how calm you were and how dense he had been.

- “Wait for real?”

- You were in a hurry, since you promised to run some errands, so you did the first thing that popped into your mind.

- On your tiptoes, you gave his lips a quick peck, before running away, your face completely red.

- “For the record Tsutomu, we’re dating now I guess.”

✨Dating✨

- What a sweetie.

- At first, he’s super secretive with the relationship, not wanting people to find out.

- Especially not his parents. He would have hell personally sent to him in a cute little death package if they ever found out he was dating someone.

- He tried his best not to show any trace of him being in a relationship during practice.

- But alas, Tendou once sneaked up on you two holding hands at school and instantly knew.

- This redhead announced it to the whole team that you two were dating and you almost beat him up.

- Now, he’s opened up a lot more about this than when it first started.

- No, his parents still don’t know about you two.

- But his friends knew not to hit on you, and the volleyball team would constantly tease him when you walked by, making kissy noises and over the top fake moans. Tendou once shoved two balls up his chest just to imitate you. You looked over to see your third year senior with an ahegao face, two volleyballs unevenly shoved into his shirt as he skipped around. You stared in disgust, giving him a slight scowl before turning around and continuing with your shit.

- Needless to say his other balls were absolutely wrecked by Goshiki.

- Will spoil you so badly like damn.

- Occasional gifts from lil bowl cut is something you should definitely expect.

- Sometimes you’ll just randomly find a new pair of earrings or a new phone case on your desk with a note from him, while your classmates stare in awe and lowkey envy you from afar.

- Very, very frequent dates.

- I’m talking like every weekend, and sometimes even after school on friday.

- Dates planned by Goshiki aren’t ever extravagant or anything, but god damn do they make you feel blessed. Usually it’s just to a cute cafe, maybe a carnival, or a movie date.

- Dates planned by you though? Ohohohoho he was in for so much fun. I’m talking trampoline parks, amusement parks, gaming cafes, volleyball dates, all that fun shit.

- You would let him teach you how to play volleyball, and end up laughing your ass off at how incredibly bad you were while he kinda just gives up on teaching you and goofs around.

- Your hands running through his hair is literally the best thing he has ever felt no cap.

- Likes to cup your cheeks a lot, just to make you flustered.

- (Secretly loves it so much when he’s able to make you all blushy because oh my god you look so cute.)

- You’re not allowed to sleepover at his, nor is he allowed to sleepover at yours because strict parents!

- The rare times when your parents allow you to go “help your friend Goshiki study,” you guys actually do serious studying.

- Then right after that comes the cuddling.

- Okay let’s be real, Goshiki would probably be really awkward at the start.

- He’d probably try make sure you were comfortable, so his body would be twisted into some weird position.

- But he eventually found his favourite way to cuddle with you, in a way where both of you could just lay in peace comfortably without breaking your backs.

- Most times, he would lie sideways on his bed facing you. He’d snake one hand around your lower back, the other to your head as he pulls you in close, resting you against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, which sped up every time you nuzzled against him.

- Cute.

- Will give you pecks on the lips every single morning when he first sees you, wherever he is.

- It do not matter to him how many people are watching, he do not care. At all.

- Holds your hand e v e r y w h e r e .

- He’s also very fond of forehead kisses.

- He just finds them so heartwarming and intimate in a non sexual way.

- Every time something was bothering you, or you were just breaking down because of how shitty life was, he knows exactly what to do.

- He’d pull you into a tight hug, kissing the top of your head while drawing circles on your back with his fingers.

- If it was worse and you were crying, he likes to wipe your tears for you, kissing the stains on your cheeks, before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

- Loves it when you wear his hoodies.

- They’re oversized on you and oh my god sweater paws are the death of him. 

- You’re honestly relieved he’s not looking for anything sexual. 

- He’s too pure for that shit, keep his innocence.

- You made a promise to cheer for him wearing his jersey whenever he played in matches, and you’ve never broken it.

- PDA.

- SO MUCH PDA.

- This boy. He loves showing you off to his teammates so much.

- “I may not be as good as Ushijima at volleyball yet, but at least I’m not a crusty single bitch.” -Goshiki to some rando that insulted his skills and personality

- “You guys go look for your own plus ones to the school dance, I’m keeping y/n.” -Goshiki to his friends

- “Stop imitating her Tendou-san, it’s insulting to her. You’re too odd to get even close to imitating her accurately.” -Goshiki to Tendou who had volleyballs in his shirt and pants

- Please just protect him at all costs, he’s so precious.

Love how the request was for relationship hcs and I ended up writing more backstory lmaoo

Still hope you liked it though I worked on this for days xx🥺🥰

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

HPHM Profile - Luca Fawley

This template was posted by  @Hogwartsmysterystory and it looks pretty awesome. I might just go ahead and use it for the whole damn Fawley family. But let’s start with Luca. I’ll try to stay true to canon while still respecting the “Remembrance” timeline’s ideas.

(That eye color edit looks so bad omg) 

Identity

Name: Luca Jude Fawley

Gender: A-Gendered.

Age: 17 as of Year 6.

Birth Date: December 26th, 1972

Species: (Human, Lycanthrope, Metamorphmagus, Vampire, etc) Human, Wizard. 

Blood Status: Pureblood.

Sexuality: Panromantic, Asexual.

Alignment: Neutral Good.

Ethnicity: Biracial, half Scottish and half Iranian.

Nationality: British. 

Residence: The Black Sand Apothecary, in a place called Dulcimer Beach.

Myer Briggs Personality Type: INFP. 

The Mage

1st Wand:Hazel and Unicorn Hair, 10 1/4 Inches, Swishy. This wand was owned by Nina, Luca’s mother. It was given to them after Jacob’s disappearance rendered Nina unable to use her magic anymore. It was just before Luca went to Hogwarts, where they used Nina’s wand until it was broken by Rakepick. 

2nd Wand:Cedar and Unicorn Hair, 11 3/4 Inches, Pliant. This wand was fashioned by Rowan before they came to Hogwarts, but it never “chose” them. It did choose Luca though, in fifth year, just in time for Luca to need another. Rowan could not be happier at this turn of events, and Luca feels as though it’s an honor they don’t deserve. 

Animagus: Black Cat.

Misc Magical Abilities: (Legilimen, Seer, Parselmouth, Obscurial, etc) Luca has extreme proficiency in all types of mental magic - Legilimency, Occlumency, Memory Charms, etc - due to a Dark Curse they inherited. A Curse that has plagued the Fawley family for generations. They also have a magical eye, similar to Moody’s, that replaced their left eye at age thirteen. 

Boggart Form: For Years 1-5 it was Jacob, embodying all of Luca’s subconscious uncertainties about him. Post-Portrait Vault, it became Merula getting tortured. 

Riddikulus Form: Usually nothing. Luca struggles to find humor in their anxieties, and they don’t stand much chance facing a Boggart alone.

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Luca’s hair has a distinctly cinnamon-like scent, so probably that. 

Amortentia: (What do they smell?) Cat fur, Pine Trees, and Cloves. 

Patronus: Cat. Specifically, it takes the form of Luca’s cat, Mitten.

Patronus Memory: Either the Celestial Ball, or the time they reconciled with Rowan after a feud about Ben, and cuddled them in cat-form. 

Mirror of Erised: After Chapter 18, I’ll give you one guess. They want their best friend back. They want to take back what happened in the forest. 

Specialized/Favorite Spells:The Patronus Charm, the Tickling Charm, and the shrinking Charm. 

Appearance

Faceclaim: Keanu Reeves. 

Game Appearance:

This is pretty much their mood half the time. 

Height: 5′8.

Weight:141 lbs.

Physique: Very skinny and small, overall scrawny. 

Eye Colour: Naturally dark brown, but their left eye is a bright blue prosthetic.

Hair Colour: Dark brown. 

Skin Tone: Olive skin.

Body Modifications: The Magical Eye replace their left eye, and their right hand has a birthmark of a black star, known as the Mark of Despair. A byproduct of the curse placed on the Fawleys. 

Scarring: They still have a few faint pockmark scars on their neck and shoulders from when The Fawleys all caught dragon pox in Luca’s childhood. But these can only be seen under the light.

Inventory: (what do they carry on them?) Luca has a tendency to travel light, but they’re also an emotional sap. They carry their wand, the clothes on their back, and “Beatrice Jr.” the puffskein that Beatrice made for them. After the events of the forbidden forest, they also start carrying Rowan’s cracked glasses. 

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff.

Ilvermorny House: Pukwudgie.

Affiliations/Organizations: Hufflepuff Quidditch Team, Curse-Breaking Apprentices, The Circle of Khanna

Professions: I see Luca eventually becoming a teacher at Hogwarts, as the permanent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Can also see Talbott and Penny working alongside them in Transfiguration and Potions, respectively. 

Hogwarts Information

Class Proficiencies: (OWL Grade or ★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆)

Astronomy: Poor.

Charms: Outstanding.

DADA: Exceeds Expectations.

Flying:(N/A. I refuse to accept that Flying has an O.W.L exam.) 

Herbology: Poor.

History of Magic: Acceptable. 

Potions: Acceptable.

Transfiguration:Acceptable. 

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding.

Ancient Runes: Acceptable.

Quidditch: Chaser. 

Extra Curricular: Luca tutored students in Charms, and spent a lot of time doing volunteer work in the Creature Reserve.

Favourite Professors: Flitwick, Mcgonagall, and at one point, Rakepick.

Least Favourite Professors: Dumbledore, Snape, Sprout

Relationships

Brother: Jacob. Luca’s favorite person in the entire world. As Luca grew up, Jacob’s disappearance and the subsequent investigation of his actions led to a serious re-evaluation of their relationship. But ultimately, Jacob was always fighting to protect his sibling.

Misc Siblings: Gail, Luca’s twin sister. Depending on which AU we’re talking about, a lot of different things could have happened to her. She could be still-born. She could be raised apart from Luca. She could grow up beside them. She could take their place as the HPHM protagonist. Take heed, anyone writing twin OCS...all these different paths are going to confuse the hell out of you.

Father: Eric Fawley, who died of a Dragon Pox fever when Luca was seven. Though they were still very young when they lost him, Luca and their father had a positive relationship and Eric’s temperament is probably the closest to Luca’s out of anyone else in the family.

Mother: Nina Fawley, formerly Nina Greengrass. She and Luca always had a positive relationship as they were growing up. For the most part, Nina usually appeared to be a pleasant person. However, she also had skeletons in her closet, and as the years went by her mask began to slip. 

Love Interest: Canonically? It’s very likely going to wind up being Merula. She hasn’t been cut from the dating quests yet and I’m an absolute sucker for their dynamic. Merula is lashing out because she’s in pain, but Luca is Healer...otherwise, I really like Luca/Tulip, as well as a poly-ship between those three characters called the Trouble Trio. A small sliver of my heart has also started shipping Luca with Skye as well. Basically, I’m an indecisive bean - but since I’m keeping this as close to canon as possible, let’s say Merula.

Best Friends: By the end of their first Hogwarts term, Luca had formed a true squad with Rowan, Penny, Chiara, and Tonks. The four of them teamed up to trade off sleeping beside Luca each night, to help soothe Luca’s night terrors and insomnia. Luca also saw Ben as a little brother from a young age.

Rival: Ironically enough, it wasn’t Merula. Their rivalry with her was always one-sided. Luca saw far too much of Jacob in Merula, to ever have in them to sincerely dislike her. The only person Luca felt a legitimate rivalry with growing up was Diego. Their personalities just did not click well, and it wasn’t until the N.E.W.T. years that they were able to get past it and find common ground.

Enemy: R of course, has become the deadly enemy that Luca does not understand, but knows they must be defeated. If you were to ask though, Luca’s immediate answer would be Rakepick. There was a time when Luca saw her as a mother figure. But now...after everything she’s done...she needs to die. 

Dorm-mates: (Who’s in your MC’s dorm with them?) Rowan, Murphy, Diego. Though Luca also frequently sleeps in the Girl’s Dormitory with Penny, Skye, Tonks, and Chiara. 

Pets:Mitten the snowy cat. Merula also has a black cat of her own called Bitten. 

Closest Canon Friends: Rowan, Penny, Tonks, Chiara, Ben, Jae. 

Closest MC Friends: This one always makes me shy, because I don’t want to be presumptuous, but some of my favorite MC’s that I’ve seen that I bet Luca would get along with are @missnight0wl​ @thewasp1995​ @back-on-my-tulula-shiz​ @dat-silvers-girl​  @salaofthenight​ and @weirdcursedvaultkid​

Background/History

Luca was the child of two Healers that met at St. Mungo’s before starting an Apothecary together. Luca saw a lot of their grandparents on Eric’s side, but never met Nina’s family as she was estranged from them. 

Luca knew Jae when they were very young - Jae was friends with Jacob prior to his disappearance. Jacob and Jae would combine their efforts to make mischief, and Luca would never approve. They had a falling out with Jae not long before Jacob vanished, and they maintained an uneasy distance until fifth year, where the kitchen detentions saw a reconciliation between the two of them. 

The Fawley family was notoriously unlucky, and known for madness. Alice Fawley, Luca’s aunt, went insane after she was tortured by Bellatrix. In the last two years of his life, Eric had a breakdown and cut off his own hand in an attempt to remove the curse. But the Mark of Despair simply reappeared on his remaining hand. 

After Jacob disappeared, Luca had a mental breakdown and for years, they could not recall the day that their brother vanished. In the years to come, Flitwick would give them a Pensieve to help them sift through all the turmoil in their head. Luca would eventually learn that their inability to recall the day Jacob disappeared was due to a memory charm placed on them by an unknown entity, perhaps Jacob himself. 

Personality

In some ways, Luca is healthier than most people because they are quite emotionally open and not afraid to express their feelings, but know how to do so in an appropriate fashion. They’re also empathetic and able to show kindness and listen when another person needs to express feelings.

In other ways, Luca is a mess. They’re extremely depressed and this interferes with their productivity and relationships. They’re prone to having breakdowns of crying at any emotional shift. They have low self-esteem and tend to believe that they are worthless or a burden. 

That said, they appreciate their friends and loved ones more than they can ever convey. To a fault, even. Not only is Luca loyal, but they are highly forgiving of a person’s flaws if it is someone they care about. One could call it enabling, as they are rarely bothered by offenses that such people commit against them. 

Luca also has a very merciful attitude. Day one, even though they knew it was Merula who blew up their cauldron, they said nothing and simply took the fall, apologizing to Snape. However, once Luca has been pushed to a breaking point, they can show a surprising amount of backbone. It just takes a lot to get this out of them. 

Luca has a nurturing nature and a tendency to reach out to underdogs, to care for those in need. This is what drew them to Ben, Merula, Orion, and Beatrice. Though Luca never holds anger in their heart, the quickest way to see them get angry is to hurt or abuse one of these outcasts that Luca cares for. Part of the reason they become so disillusioned with Dumbledore is because he is in a position of educational power, and the longer Luca attends Hogwarts, the less it seems to them that Dumbledore has any interest in doing his job with integrity. 

Misc

Not going to get too much into Fawley family head-canons, since I’ll save that for a different post. But I think Luca was raised Jewish. 

They’re lactose intolerant. 

Their favorite flower is the chamomille, which is the type of tea they prefer.

They’ve always been Pro-Muggle, though they don’t know the first thing about muggle culture. 

Luca never truly wanted to be a Curse-Breaker. It just seemed like a necessary skill-set to learn to find Jacob, and break the Fawley curse.

They’ve known they were trans for as long as they could remember. 

They have exceptional abysmal unique skills at naming. Examples include “Barnaby Jr” the Bowtruckle and “Penny Jr” the Abraxan. 

They are ambidextrous. 

Despite being a mellow person, Luca is oddly drawn to people who are trouble. If a person is problematic, chaos-aligned, or just an overall disaster of a human being, there’s a greater chance that Luca will find them attractive. 

They suspected Rowan of being R for a while, much to their own guilt. It led to a feud, but they made up and were closer than ever.

On the other hand, they never suspected Ben, not even when he was unmasked as the Red Cloak. Luca just had a gut feeling that it was too easy, that it was a setup. But Rakepick saving their life cemented her as an ally in Luca’s eyes...that did not end well. 

Luca never wanted to be a Prefect, but Rowan and Flitwick talked them into it. 

They vastly prefer Wizard’s Chess to Gobstones, something they have in common with Murphy. 

They have an unfortunate tendency to unconsciously project familial roles onto people. Bill and Orion were substitutes for Jacob,  Flitwick was a substitute father figure, and for a time, Rakepick substituted for Luca’s absentee mother. 

Did I miss anything? Hope you guys like it! Should I post others for the Fawley family? 

[stevetervet]

How do I love thee? England, let me count the ways.

There are moments in everyone’s life which you can look back on and remember exactly where you were and what you were doing. It only takes one sound, one image or even the mere thought and you are transported back in an instant.

For me, this happens every two years. It is called supporting England in a major international football tournament.

In 1996, I was only allowed to stay up for the first half of the semi-final against Germany. I went to bed having seen Stefan Kuntz cancel out Alan Shearer’s early goal but only found out the result on the following morning’s news bulletin.

Two years later, Richard Pugh and I were the lucky students in our Year 8 Art class to be sat near enough the radio so as to be able to follow the commentary of the group game against Tunisia. When Paul Scholes curled in the clincher, we passed messages down the line to our class-mates with silent fist pumps and the international sign language for ‘2-0.’

Michael Owen’s historic goal against Argentina and David Beckham’s subsequent dismissal, which preceded the dreaded penalties, had me listening through headphones on the bottom bunk - the full game this time. We deserved to go through and there were tears when David Batty became the latest to suffer infamy from 12 yards.

Fast forward to the World Cup in 2006 and I was stood in a giant fan park in Gelsenkirchen among 50,000 sunburnt Englishmen (seriously, Rachel would have been in a minority of less than 1% females). Many fans were so drunk they had passed out and didn’t witness any of the quarter-final against Portugal. The party atmosphere turned ugly the second Cristiano Ronaldo fired in the winning penalty and we realised the dream was over. Bus windows were smashed and we were lucky to make it back to the train station. Rooney’s stamp on Carvalho, Ronaldo’s wink as he was sent off... it was like red rag to a bull in that sun-baked German field.

By the time 2010 came around, we were married and had moved to Kent. An appalling performance against Algeria in the group saw England booed off by the many thousands who had paid good money to fly to South Africa. This time, Rooney criticised the fans live on air as he walked off the field. It was a new low under Fabio Capello and Germany easily sorted us out in the knockout stages.

Following Euro 2012 during our (first) year in Australia was almost impossible due to the time difference between Ukraine and Melbourne - but more of this later. Still, we sat through yet more penalty pain as the two Ashleys - Young and Cole - came up short against the Italians in another quarter-final which proved one step too far.

Heartbreak turned to anger in the following years as we were knocked out before even completing the group stage in Brazil 2014 and then somehow managed to plunge even more miserable depths by going out to Iceland - Iceland! - in the next Euros. By now we had stumbled upon the combination of watching the TV coverage but immediately switching to Radio 5 Live on the final whistle. Not only was the analysis more honest and insightful but you were kept abreast of developments in the stadium after the final whistle, for instance the terrifying scenes caused by charging Russian hooligans after we’d draw with them in Marseille. Mark Chapman’s anchorage and Chris Waddle’s rants would go on to become our regular soundtrack, especially on the nights England went out.

Ivy was three when Gareth Southgate led us to the World Cup semi-finals in 2018. Rachel was away the night we played Colombia and finally managed to win a penalty shootout. The match kicked off at 6pm, from memory, so most of my day was spent working to a strict schedule that had Ivy in bed and virtually asleep by 5.45 - much earlier than normal - so I could be in position downstairs from the national anthems. I managed to stifle my yells of delight when the shootout went our way but did remove my shirt, such was the shock. Ivy watched the highlights of Jordan Pickford’s heroics over breakfast the next morning and declared that was wanted to be a ‘lady goalkeeper’ when she grew up.

But, if truth be told, she didn’t really enjoy the experience of watching games in my company. My tendancy to leap around and shout at the key moments scared her - it’s pretty out of character, in fairness - and I had not even spoken to her about Euro 2020 in the build-up to the tournament which, once again, found us battling the time zones from Australia, now our permanent residence.

However, the last few weeks have been a shared experience unlike any other, and I’m sure millions up and down the UK - and many more ex-pats around the world, for a variety of reasons - could say the same.

The majority of England’s games kicked off at 5am (2000 BST); I set an early alarm, Rachel got up too and there was Ivy alongside us, wrapped in a dressing-gown, blanket or whatever she had dragged from her room at that hour of the night. She knew none of the players at the start of the tournament but was soon querying why Phil Foden had been left on the bench against Scotland. She was asking for Three Lions to be played after the Germany game, decided Harry Kane was her favourite player after his brace against Ukraine in Rome and chastised Declan Rice and Kalvin Phillips at times during the semi-final triumph over Denmark back at Wembley. All the time in her pyjamas with the sun still some way from rising over New South Wales.

As we approached the final, she knew the entire starting XI and wanted to know if Bukayo Saka would retain his place on the right against Italy. News of Foden’s injury did not go down well.

And so it was, in the wee small hours of my 36th birthday, I found myself behind the wheel of the only car on the streets of Albury at a 24-hour McDonald’s drive-through for breakfast supplies and extra strong coffee with 5 Live once again bringing the Wembley build-up to the far side of the world. At times like this, in moments like this, that vast distance back to London is evident more than ever, yet we felt very much connected to the team nurtured by Southgate and which conducts itself in a way which makes me proud to be English. It is the dignity and integrity of the players, as much as their performances, which has been heart-warming this past month.

What a ride it has been. I have looked forward so much to every early start, never wanted the journey to end, always wanted one more game, one more celebration, one more rendition of Sweet Caroline. A staggering 30 million people watched the final on the BBC and ITV combined; there are few sports teams around the globe that have such power to bring a nation together. The All Blacks and India’s cricket team, perhaps. Because, in these moments, as Luke Shaw sent us leaping off the sofa in the second minute, roaring and punching the air, as Leonardo Bonucci bundled in the equaliser which punctured the balloon of optimism, as we shuffled nearer the edge of our seats during extra-time but barely uttered a word to each other, we are not customers, we are not spectators, we are not even fans. We are England. This is us, and what happens in these moments is etched into our identity.

Not penalties, we agonised, not again. Ivy kept smiling and clapping during the final coin toss and stood holding her Euro 2020 colouring sheet as encourgament to the takers, pointing at the trophy. “I want Kane to have this,” she whispered.

But the script which has become so familiar in our lifetime was played out yet again; Rashford, Sancho and Saka the unfortunate three to miss their penalties. Why does it always have to end like this? Ivy cried too. Welcome to the club. This is England.

Because like all those tournaments listed above, we will never forget where we were on 12 July 2021, when England played in their first final for 55 years. It will be the next trip through that Macca’s drive-through, memories of setting Ivy’s ‘Gro Clock’ to wake her at 4.30am, the haunting images of a distraught Saka being comforted by Southgate which bring it flooding back.

Shame on those who racially abused the penalty missers in the hours after the game; so much unifying work done by Southgate and the squad felt like it had been undone. But when Ivy’s prayer at bedtime was for ‘Rashford, Sancho and Saka as they return to their families’ it brought a different sort of tear to the eye: absolute pride in the young men whose tenacity and humility on the biggest stage has inspired my little girl and so many others like her.

Following England is often gut-wrenching, occasionally exhilarating, always utterly unforgettable.

Football’s Coming Home? The feeling never went away.

[inyournightmares97]

GOT7 MASTERLIST

This is a masterlist for just GOT7! You can find other groups on my Miscellaneous Masterlist here! 

Completed (stories that are fully uploaded! No, there will not be a sequel. Kindly don’t ask.)

Mark

✿ Forever Young: [Fluff,  Angst, Female OC!]

“In which Mark recalls old mistakes and how stupid it is to trust Jackson with anything important.”

✿ Firework Series (Mark Ver) : Face: [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, College!au]

“Yeojung’s high school fling with Mark Tuan meant nothing. She was young and stupid, and they weren’t good together. But life reunites them and they have a chance to explore the mistakes they made in the past.

They say your first love will always have a special place in your heart.”

✿ Thirsty Days Series: (Mark) The Passionate Discourse: [Fluff, Smut, Angst, Female Reader!]

“ A difference of opinion leads to a healthy debate between you and the sexy Professor Mark Tuan… and just maybe, a little something more.”

✿ A Conversation: [Fluff, Female Reader!]  

“A strange conversation, with a strange man. At the end of the day, aren’t we all a little strange and lonely on the inside?”

Jaebum

✿ Mine: [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, Highschool!au]

“ In which Jaebum’s possessive side comes out.”

✿ Firework Series (Jaebum Ver): Dreamin’:[Fluff,Angst, Female OC! Collegeau]

“Park Miran thought that a long-distance relationship with Im Jaebum would work out. They only had to bear with it for a while, until she got her career in place. But when Miran finally comes home to spend New Year with Jaebum, he has something to tell her that she may not like.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but how much distance can destroy a relationship?

✿ Mafia Series: (Jaebum): The Innocent Criminal  Part 2  Part 3 [Angst, Female Reader!, Violence]

“Im Jaebum, the infamous leader of GotSeven has committed murder, stolen money, tortured people and broken all sorts of laws. But most importantly, he destroyed your heart. You once decided never to become a criminal lawyer if it meant defending men like him.

But years later, when it appears that Jaebum is going to be locked away for the one crime he didn’t actually commit, you’re forced to make a decision. Where does one draw the line between innocent and guilty?”

✿ The Leading Lady: [Fluff, Female Reader!, College!au]

“ Im Jaebum wants to make a short film, and you end up as his leading lady.”

✿ Chocolate Eyes  [Angst, Female Reader!, Violence]

“You return home to find that the man you once loved has become a violent criminal, your mother is sick and your beloved little brother hates you. It’s hard to decide what is right and wrong. But at the end of day, we’re all just trying to protect the people we love.” 

Jackson

✿ Home Run [Fluff, Female OC, Highschool!au]

“In which Jackson Wang is a baseball player and his home run goes crashing through the wrong (or right) window.”  

✿ Dawn Of Us [Fluff, Female Reader]

“ In which Jackson surprises you with a tropical vacation.”

✿  Firework Series (Jackson Ver): Out [Fluff, Angst, Female OC, College!au]

“Jackson Wang is a young, rich heir who parties hard and spends money harder. He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world, until the appearance of Lee Haeun forces him to face one of his darkest secrets. Jackson has to deal with his worst fear: that everyone would see right through him.

They say once you reach the top, the only way left to go is down.”

✿ Mafia Series: (Jackson): The Truth Evasion Part 2 [Angst, Fluff, Female Reader!, Violence, Sensitive Subjects]

“Jackson Wang, GotSeven’s ace hitman and local strip club owner, has had his eye on the girl who helps the gang stash away their dirty money for years now. He wants to know why you won’t give him a chance, but you’re fairly certain that Jackson can’t handle the truth of your past.

There are some obstacles that mere sexual attraction and a good fuck aren’t enough to overcome”

✿ Unsolicited Part 2 Part 3 [Fluff, Female Reader!, Adult Subjects]

“ Jackson Wang is a perfect gentleman and he thinks it’s extremely vital that you understand… that is not his penis.”

✿ Love Languages [Fluff, Female Reader]

“Sometimes, it’s hard to understand the person you love.” 

Jinyoung

✿ Retrospection  Part 2  Part 3 [Fluff, Angst, Female OC, College!au]

“ In which Park Jinyoung had a crush on Jaebum’s girlfriend in high school, and he’s never quite gotten over it.”

✿ Firework Series (Jinyoung Ver): Remember You [Fluff, Angst, Female OC, College!au]

“Park Jinyoung is attracted to smart, mature women, not little girls like Cho Hee who follow him around everywhere. He forgets that every girl blossoms into a woman at some point in her life.

They say changing yourself changes everything.”

✿ Tomorrow, Today Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 [Angst, Fluff, Female Reader! Sensitive Subjects]

“A road trip to your hometown results in a number of unexpected setbacks. Hopes and fears are revealed, while Jinyoung and Jaebum help you understand that life is difficult for everyone, and nobody ever really knows what they’re doing.”

✿ Mafia Series: (Jinyoung) The Friendly Hostage (M) [Fluff, Smut, Female Reader! Also, tumblr banned this so the link takes you to my AFF account]    

“ Park Jinyoung is the strategist and a core member of GotSeven, the dangerous gang that practically owns all the other gangs in your locality. When he is kidnapped and you are put in charge of his care, you find that your hostage has other ideas on his mind, and keeping him happy is not easy.”

✿ A Whole New World [Fluff, Female Reader!, Hogwarts!au]

“ Park Jinyoung takes you on an unforgettable ride.”

✿ Thirsty Days Series: (Jinyoung): Unholy (M) [Smut, Angst, Female Reader! Stripper!Jinyoung]

“ You never imagined that one impulsive night with Park Jinyoung could become both the highest and lowest point in your life.”

✿ If I Drink This…  [Fluff, Female Reader!, Office!au]

“ In which Park Jinyoung turns out to have more flaws than you originally imagined.”

✿ The Savage King [Angst, Fluff, Female Reader!, Historical!au, Sensitive Subjects]

“The whispers heard through the grapevine say that King Jinyoung is a savage. But perhaps a man who is feared by all, still has many fears of his own.”

✿ The Studded Pants [Fluff, Crack, Female Reader!]

“ You’re a professional photographer, so you’ll work with whatever you have. Even if all you have is Park Jinyoung.” 

✿ Unwritten [Fluff, Female!Reader]

“A chance encounter with a stranger on a rainy night shows you that it doesn’t have to matter who you are or what you’ve done until now… your story can always begin today.” 

✿ Ultimatum Part 2 Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 (final)  [Angst, Fluff, Female!reader, Office!au]

Park Jinyoung is a master negotiator. He’s used to preying on people’s weaknesses and manipulating them to get his way. So he can’t understand you; a lawyer who sees the world in black and white, as either good or bad. Conflict is inevitable.

But if the two of you can just set aside your differences, perhaps you can perform miracles together

Youngjae

✿ My Reaction  [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!]

“ In which Choi Youngjae finds out that the cold, sexy popular girls aren’t always what they seem.”

✿ Firework Series (Youngjae Ver): She’s a Monster [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, College!au]

“Choi Youngjae falls in love at first sight, with the girl of his dreams. But Lee Iseul doesn’t believe in things like that, nor she does she care much for people who do.

They say timing is the most important thing in love.”

✿  Thirsty Days Series: (Youngjae) The Seventh Wedding [Fluff, Female Reader]

“ It took Choi Youngjae seven weddings to fall in love with you.”

✿ Behind the Laugh [Fluff, Angst, Female Reader]

“ For Youngjae, laughter wasn’t beautiful. That was until the day he saw yours.” 

Bambam

✿ No Jam [Fluff, Female OC!, College!au]

“ In which Bambam likes parties, but only when a certain person is around.”

✿  How to Be a Heartbreaker [Angst, Female Reader]

“Four simple rules to follow to break a persons’ heart. Should be easy enough, shouldn’t it? After all, it’s much easier to be a heart-breaker yourself than to have your heart broken.”

✿ Mafia Series: (Bambam) The Selfish Conscience Part 2 [Fluff, Angst, Female Reader, Sensitive Subjects]

“Bambam has always been reckless, impulsive and let his heart guide him instead of his brain. That was how he got involved with the mafia, that was how he rescued you from a human trafficking racket. Despite his vast criminal record and skewed sense of morality, he’s always been clear about one thing:

Keeping the ones you love safe is more important than vague notions of justice or freedom.”

✿ If You’re Handsome [Fluff, Female Reader]

“In which you learn that maybe there’s more to Bambam than just expensive suits and a life of luxury.”  

✿ My Baby [Fluff, Female Reader!]

“ Bambam reassures you that no matter how much time passes, you’ll always be his baby.”

Yugyeom

✿ Mafia Series: (Yugyeom):  The Rescue Operation [Fluff, Angst, Female Reader]

“Kim Yugyeom is the cute, silly boy who sits next to you in class, the one you’re secretly harboring a crush on. When he and his friend get on the wrong side of some dangerous people, it’s up to you to make sure he gets out alive.”

✿ Why We Need Friends:  Prologue,  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11 [Fluff, Angst, Female OC!, College!au. Jeon Jungkook and other 97-line idols from different groups feature heavily in this. Yugyeom ends up with the OC but he’s not the main character if that makes sense?]

“ Lee Mirae is Jeon Jungkook’s annoying childhood neighbour; that one girl he just couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried. Except when Mirae falls head-over-heels for Jungkook’s only best friend, she implants herself more permanently into his life, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.”

✿ Thursday; [Fluff, Female Reader, College!au]

“Confessing your feelings to the guy you like is easy… right?”

Ongoing/Incomplete (stories that I am currently working on! Kindly don’t ask when I’ll update. When it’s ready I’ll post.)

✿ My Youth: (Jinyoung)  Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 [Angst, Fluff, Female reader!]

“Broken and miserable, Park Jinyoung returns to his hometown to learn that no matter how hard he falls, there are still people who think he’s a hero.”

Drabbles/Reactions (shorter stuff that doesn’t deserve a description or a title because whatever)

✿ GOT7 Reactions Masterlist [A separate Masterlist of reactions written for Got7!]

✿ Drabble Challenge Masterlist [A dialogue drabble prompt list I once did]

✿  ‘LOOK’ Drabble Series: The House Party (1/7)  The Bridge (2/7) The Woods (3/7) The Art Gallery (4/7) The Old House (5/7) The Garden (6/7) The Record Store (7/7)  

Mark

friendstolovers!au + Mark

sugardaddy!au + Mark

fuckboy!au + Mark

Introvert!reader + Mark

friendswithbenefits!au + Jaebum

soulmate!au +Jaebum

Jaebum

ceo!au + jaebum

Hybrid!au + Jaebum

ArrangedMarriage!au + Jaebum

High School Jock!au + Jaebum

Jinyoung

Prince!au + Jinyoung

Playboy!au + Jinyoung

Yandere!au + Jinyoung

BestFriendstoEnemies!au + Jinyoung

CEO!au + Jinyoung

Bambam

Delinquent!au + Bambam

Carnival Date! + Bambam

Yugyeom

BeachDay!au + Yugyeom (Let Me songfic)

Barista!Yugyeom

Abandoned/Indefinite Hiatus (stories that are unlikely to ever be updated but will stay up because I don’t want to delete them yet. Don’t ask me anything about these stories. At all. Seriously. I will lose my shit.)

✿ Noblesse Oblige Series: (Mark) Felix Culpa  (Part 1) (Part 2)  (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) [Angst, Fluff, Female OC]

Crown Prince Mark never desired to rule. It was too much of a burden, too much effort to make for people who showed such little gratitude. When he is sent to the neighboring kingdom of Castellum, he meets a woman who would sacrifice her life for her kingdom and wonders: what is it that truly motivates men? Is it power? Or love? Perhaps neither.

✿ Antipathy Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“ In which Park Jinyoung, a slightly murderous cat hybrid, makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.”

[existentialkendall-blog]

Sharpie Soulmates (Soulmate AU)

Pairing: Kickthestickz Wordcount: 2.3k Rating: bad language, but nothing to cry about

Request/Prompt: Whatever you write on yourself appears on your soulmate but disappears from your skin. Pj is always covered in horrible pick up lines and crudely drawn dicks. While Chris is covered in doodles and gets an occasional 'fuck you' or 'you're a dick' on himself from pj. Eventually they meet when Chris writes 'I have a small dick' on his forehead and sees pj.

A/N: Request a fic here, click a like down there. This isn’t youtube people, you guys aren’t stupid enough to need to be told what to do

At first, PJ doesn't notice the harsh black lines on his skin. Usually flecks of paint adorn his skin, and consumed with work, he doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about himself. It's always the next idea, the following project, the bigger picture. When it first happens he doesn't see it until it's almost faded. On his right ankle, the small crude pen drawing of a dick, moving whenever he flexed his foot. It's repulsive, and for the first few seconds he's confused. Then he grabs the closest sharpie, and traces the image hoping it will go away. Since it's on his skin, a replica over the top might send the drawing back to it's owner. It doesn't, and now he's marred someone else with pornography. He throws the pen down in frustration and licks his finger, rubbing at the spot. It doesn't do anything. When he's in the shower, some 8 minutes later, he has an epiphany of sorts. He's just made contact with his soulmate, and the first interaction they had was matching ankle dicks. PJ groans, head falling back against the shower wall in annoyance.

___

It's strange, but paint doesn't transfer or leave his skin. It's only pen, ink. So when he's painting a cardboard box white, because he found a stash of the boxes yesterday, he's almost disappointed that he can't stay clean. "Is this for a new video?" Jamie asks, bent over his shoulder and watching the paint transform the conventional brown to a clinical white. Could be an office, a space station, a hospital. Most of the time he sticks with the brown, but for some reason he was in the mood for painting a calming white. PJ nods, still thinking about a video idea, "Yeah. I've got something in mind." "Cool, let me know when you've figured everything out," PJ nods again, "Also... What the hell is that?" Alert due to the shift in Jamie's voice, he turns and looks at his friend confused, then his eyes trail down and he sees it. 'Stop, drop, and roll, baby. You are on fire' Written on his arm in chicken scratch font, thick because it'd been gone over several times with the pen. "I..." He trails off, "I. I think that is my soulmate."Jamie pats him on the back in congratulations. "Well done."As soon as Jamie's retreating back leaves the room PJ scribbles on his arm 'You're a real dick' It doesn't take long for the message to receive a reply, and when it does PJ's irritated groan is possibly louder than yesterdays. 'I do have a real dick! Did you like the preview I sent you yesterday? Judging from your eager response I'd say yes' He bites his lip while writing, lower down then before so the words flow like a conversation on the other persons skin, smiling because even though the person on the other end is annoying the crap out of him, his soulmate is a boy. A man. He's never been with a guy before, and it's exciting yet nerve wracking to know he will be. 'Oh so that was a scale copy? I'm so sorry that you didn't grow during puberty like the rest of us' PJ reads the next piece of writing, grinning even more, then goes back to painting. When Sophie asks him later why he has 'YOU HAVE A BIG COCK???' taking up three quarters of his forearm, he flushes a pretty pink and laughs awkwardly.

___

On the second day he nervously asks 'What's your name?' The pen flips restlessly in his hand, patting against his black jeaned thigh until the name appears on his other arm, because as PJ quickly learnt, the love of his eternity is left handed. 'Chris' Huh. Chris. With the pad of his index finger, he traces each letter tentatively. When he reaches the end he repeats the motion, hovering over the capital C that seems so much more magnetic than the other letters. 'And yours' PJ's eyes soften and his mouth turns up at the corners. Yours. His. Mine. And then he understands the question and uses his green fine liner to trace 'PJ' adding several layers of ink so it's bold and bright and him.

___

The problem is, PJ's a doodler. One trait that's been fluid since he was a child is that he loves to doodle. Especially on his skin. In fact, some of his best drawings were conceived that way during school; too tired to care about the subjects and too unprepared to bring extra paper. Skin was there for him when paper was not. He couldn't kick the habit when he entered University, and he sure as hell can't kick it now when he's a year in. Frequently he finds himself sitting with a pack of felt tipped Crayolas, or no name fineliners, drawing small, and large, designs on his left arm. For the past week it's been no different. What's annoying is he liked seeing the efforts of his creative process on his arm, wearing it like a tattoo, a badge of honour. But it disappears quickly, and he has to start again. Chris leaves him a critique one day running across the centre of his wrist. 'You're an incredible artist' It takes PJ by surprise. He's used to waking up and finding thickly inked penises on various locations on his body, or cheesy chat up lines that have PJ rolling his eyes but smiling fondly. Several of his favourites include; 'There are a lot of fish in the sea, but you’re the only one I’d like to mount' 'Oh no, I’m choking! I need mouth to mouth, quick!' 'I’m on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?' Needless to say, every written sentence and poorly thought out line, no matter how disturbing or rude, is both irritating and endearing.

___

That is, until the guy buys a six pack of sharpies. Beforehand it was ballpoint pens, stuff he was able to wash off easily. Not now. When he steps into the shower one morning, eyes blearily searching for the shampoo to wash the sleep out of his frenzied hair, he thinks everything is fine. There aren't any markings, and to be honest, that's a relief because they're a bitch to wash off every morning. It's when he's out of the shower and in front of the mirror, towelling down to get rid of the individual water droplets that trail down his chest, that he catches the black in the corner of his eye. 'My hand belongs here' PJ's jaw drops and he's stuck still for a few fleeting seconds. "What the fuck." It's on his neck. Not on a small scale, but like the Joker's writing, jagged and uneven. Backwards in the mirror, but PJ has magicked up enough mirror demons to read reversed. Almost blinded by rage and incredulousness, he's about to charge out of his tiny bathroom and write something way more offensive on his own body for Chris to have scar his skin for the days it takes for Sharpie to wash off. But then he spots 'Wanna go for a test drive?' on his hipbone as he's turning to leave. And then, 'Insert finger here' complete with an arrow pointing down to his asshole. It's almost illegible, how he managed to contort his body enough to scribble it on is beyond him. Amazed at Chris's audacity and carelessness he dashes out to his desk and plucks a bright blue permanent marker up. As he's writing a long list of complaints on his leg, and then rising up to his chest, he feels the similarities to writing film reviews on IMBd or letters of complaint that his parents used to do. Except, this is to the guy he's destined to be with, and he knows the complaining won't do jack shit to change his behaviour. ___

It's relatively peaceful for a while. PJ it still littered with pick up lines daily, the 'My bedroom has an interesting ceiling, I could take you on a guided tour' and the 'When are you expected back at Heaven?', and PJ still absently doodles on the curve of his wrist and palm of his hand, forgetting that Chris will see it until it's already sent. During this time he's been uploading more to YouTube. It's still in it's early stages, but he's grateful for the site because he's getting much more experience. Due to work, and YouTube, and constant creating, he hasn't really thought about meeting Chris. Although they're talked (if you can call it that) every day, they haven't discussed personal details, or their future together. Because if they're soulmates, they have to be together, there's no way they can be with anyone else.

___

PJ wakes up stupidly early, the sun hasn't fully risen yet and the sky is a dusty grey, illuminated by yellowing streetlights. He forces himself to get up, and leave the house before 6:00am. The train to London leaves at 7:00am, and he wants to get coffee from the station before the journey. He pulls on his favourite green sleeved t-shirt slowly, bones cracking at the movements, and when he slides his socks on the fading purple dick on the base of his foot makes his smirk. Fully dressed and he's in the bathroom, tiredly dragging a toothbrush and staring at the sink with half closed eyes. He's out for the whole day, all four of his 'team' are. It's both research for a short film they're making for his Uni course, and a golden opportunity to meet with some sponsors that might fund his next big personal project. Until. "FUCK!" PJ yells, toothbrush falling from his open hands and eyes wide. "No! No, no, no," He wets a flannel and starts rubbing at his forehead, shaking with anxious frustration. The pen won't come off. 'I've got a small dick' is going to be permanently tattooed on his face in all the colours of the rainbow for the entire day. He adds soap and tries again, heart pounding uncomfortably. He can't meet sponsors with that filth tainting him. "Chris, you fucking asshole, I'm going to fucking kill you," PJ mutters, giving up, leaving his skin a red mess. He shoves a beanie on, and leaves the house with a scowl firmly fixed onto his face. His travelling companions don't say a word, even though they heard his angry explosion of profanities earlier. They get to London and shoot some footage in Hyde Park, brown boots hitting grey pavement as the scenery begins to change and the crowds grow thicker. He's actually forgotten that he's mad at Chris, too busy laughing at the stupid faces his friends are pulling, and running along the grass for various nature sequences. After a few hours they stop, and decide to head to a café. It's a warm spring day, and he peels off his beanie to stop his head from overheating. From where he's stood in the queue, he can see his friends take the leather sofas at the end of the shop, claiming it for their group only. One persons order is fulfilled, one step forward, the queue gets smaller. He can feel his fringe sticking to his forehead and he wipes it aside, grimacing at the damp strands that he knows will be several shades darker then the rest of his hair. At first, he doesn't notice the guy staring at him next to the floor to ceiling windows. He's wearing a baby blue striped t-shirt, coupled with raised eyebrows and messy hair. On the high table next to him is an abandoned coffee, keeping warm under the beating sun from outside. He's still there when they leave, PJ's hat clutched between his fingers because it's too freakin hot to put it back on. His camera bag is slouched across his body, and he's grinning at something Sophie says, when a hand clamps his shoulder and he turns around. The stranger that had been watching him is gaping open mouthed at PJ's forehead. That's when he remembers what Chris wrote, and he's going to explain, he swears he is, but the guy is hot. His floppy brown hair is messy above green flecked hazel eyes, and his mouth is practically begging to be... put to use. "I can explain," He finally breathes out, making an effort to stop staring at the stranger. The guy quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, as if to say go ahead, I've got all day. "See, this thing, y'know-""Let me stop you right there," He smirks, interrupting PJ's garbled rambling. From his pocket he pulls out a thin marker and in sloped, disjointed text, writes something on his palm. Then he takes PJ's slender wrist in his hand, circling it with his fingers, and turns it around, his thumb drifting idly down his wrist and resting over PJ's pulse point.

you're PJ what's on your forehead is a work of art just like your face I'm fated to love you

"Do I get a hello kiss or do you not put out on the first date?" Chris smiles wide and his other hand, the one not sliding into his own palm and curling around his fingers so they entwine, is reaching around his waist. PJ blushes and manages a "Public," Before slipping out of his grasp. "Oh c'mon honey, it's gonna happen sometime," Chris whines, high pitched and strung out. PJ shakes his head, and walks away from Chris. He follows him, long legs catching up quickly. He throws an arm around PJ's shoulders casually and leans down, pressing a wet open mouthed kiss on the side of his cheek. "You and me Peej, we're gonna fuck away the world." PJ rolls his eyes, brain automatically lending the words dick, and you're a. But he rejects his instinct and goes for a muttered "You should feel so lucky." "Oh I will. Later." It's natural, seamless, right. Chris is his. He is Chris's.

Part 2 

[jakub-beralski]

Q & A

Oh jeez; I’ve never done one of these before. But here goes, I suppose. Thank you @soulreserve​ for tagging me—you have my constant endearment and support.

Rules: Fill in these 92 statements and tag 10 people.

THE LAST: 1. Drink: Beer. Specifically, Żywiec. (Honestly, I am not 100% sober as I write this) 2. Phone call: My significant other Gianna, who remains just as lovely as always. 3. Text message: A friend of mine back in the States. We haven’t spoken in a month, but they just texted me asking me to remind them of a punch line to a certain joke (ironically, there is no punch line). 4. Song you listened to: Riders On The Storm by The Doors. What a classic. 5. Time you cried: Oh my goodness. Um... Ah, I remember. June 23rd, when I visited my dear uncle’s grave. Last time I saw him was in April, when he was alive and well at a massive family celebration. May he rest in peace. HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: No. 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: No. 8. Been cheated on: Not that I know of. 9. Lost someone special: Yes. See #5. 10. Been depressed: A little subjective, but I’ll say yes—mildly and reasonably. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Gotten drunk—yes, on a great many occasions. Thrown up from drunkenness—oh my goodness yes. Once, and that was quite a night. LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. Cyan 13. Red 14. White IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Absolutely 16. Fallen out of love: No. 17. Laughed until you cried: I think so, though I can’t remember the time. 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yes. As an example, my parents were talking about my back muscles while I was still in earshot. That made me laugh. 19. Met someone who changed you: Everyone I meet has an influence on me. So, yes. 20. Found out who your friends are: I’ve met new friends, and kept old ones. 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Indeed. Many times, even.

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: All. 23. Do you have any pets: Kind of. My family has a pet dog, though I only sometimes kind of reside with them. It’s a half-Chihuahua-half-Corgy named Pebbles. 24. Do you want to change your name: Nope. Love my name. 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: Nothing, really. It was just another day, with a small gift or two presented along with a joyful rendition of three versions of “Sto Lat” (“Happy Birthday”). 26. What time did you wake up: 5:30, then 6:30, then 7:00, at which point I got up. 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Hacking, pretty much. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: To see (and other explicit verbs) my special someone in 7 days. 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: This past year; June 16th. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Nothing. My life is unique and wonderful as-is, and the past is already well beyond my reach. 31. What are you listening right now: Crickets, and the occasional barking dog or passing car in the distance. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: I don’t believe so. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: My impatience.  34. Most visited Website: Google.com

LOST QUESTIONS. I JUST PUT IN RANDOM INFO ABOUT ME 35. Mole/s: No? 36. Mark/s: One little permanent scar near my eyebrow from when I faceplanted on a lego when I was a few months old. Another permanent scar across the width of my right index finger from when I almost accidentally cut it in half at the age of 13ish. 37. Childhood dream: To know. 38. Hair color: Used to be blond when I was a child. Now it’s brown. 39. Long or short hair: Short, but not too short. 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Does my beautiful and lovely Gianna count?

41. What do you like about yourself: Many things. My precocious wisdom and knack for mathematics, as well as my athletic build and yearning for knowledge. Most importantly, my heritage and roots. 42. Piercings: N/A 43. Blood type: I probably should know, but I don’t… 44. Nickname: At one point, “Juice.” But I haven’t had a serious one in a while. 45. Relationship status: Happily taken. 46. Zodiac: Cancer. I only know because it's the same as Gianna’s and she occasionally sends me stuff related to the Cancer sign. Though, frankly, I think Zodiac signs are a bunch of drivel. 47. Pronouns: He/him/his/himself. Mister; Monsieur; Pan. Dear Friend. 48. Favourite TV Show: I don’t watch much, but Death Note is great, as well as Sherlock. Also, Black Mirror. (I recognize that that is a little more than one) 49. Tattoos: N/A 50. Right or left hand: Right. Left for archery and marksmanship, though. 51. Surgery: N/A 52. Hair dyed in different colour: Nope 53. Sport: Martial arts more than anything else, as well as running. When I have a chance, I Iove ping pong. 55. Vacation: When the opportunity arises. Generally 2–4 a year, for shorter or longer intervals. I have a feeling my vacation time will soon be cut much shorter, though. 56. Pair of trainers: Trainers? Like dog trainers...? MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: I’ll eat anything that isn’t packed with chemicals, generally. Love raspberries, caramel, Makowiec, or a good hot dog. 58. Drinking: Tymbark juices. Arizona Iced Tea. Dark beers. Cherry liqueur. More than any of the above, I drink hot tea (a few litres a day on average). 59. I’m about to: Sleep. 61. Waiting for: Time to pass. 62. Want: Patience and tolerance. Surety. 63. Get married: One day. 64. Career: Not yet. 65. Hugs or kisses: Both. 66. Lips or eyes: Both. 67. Shorter or taller: A little on the taller side, but pretty much average. 68. Older or younger: It’s all relative. Older than my sister, younger than my mother. 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: ??? 71. Sensitive or loud: Neither. Indifferent and solitary, generally. 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Neither. I just kind of float.

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a stranger: Nope. 75. Drank hard liquor: HAHAHAHAHAHAH… Lets just say I’m Polish and leave it at that. 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: N/A 77. Turned someone down: Kind of. Three times. One of the turn-downs was actually the person I’m with now. 78. Sex in the first date: Nooooooo. 79. Broken someone’s heart: Once for sure; potentially twice. Maybe more than that that I don’t know of—it’s definitely a possibility. 80. Had your heart broken: No. 81. Been arrested: Close, but no. 82. Cried when someone died: A little. 83. Fallen for a friend: Yes. DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: Yes. 85. Miracles: Not really. 86. Love at first sight: No. Only lust at first sight. 87. Santa Claus: No. 88. Kiss on the first date: Believe it’s possible? Yes. Done it? No. 89. Angels: Yes.

OTHER: 90. Current best friends’ names: Gianna, Brandin, Jackson, Jazmine, Nick. 91. Eye colour: Brown 92. Favourite movies: The Intouchables.

Tagging: @dreamwritelistenlive @dziechcia @followcb @vicesoftype @randomlyjay

Cheers, J.B.

[cyberleaf69]

TWO  OLD  STAGEHANDS  REMINISCING

I bought a new device this morning(Black Friday), disrupting my savings to the tune of $278.19; this was NOT a doorbuster bargain, but was their least expensive 'laptop.' This purchase has relieved me of the burden of Google Chrome & brought back Cortana("Hey!"); also I have the use of my WiFi, and can stay in touch with the Amell family(up in those woods). When I ventured out this AM, it was about fifty degrees out; I got a biscut-breakfast at Hardee's, before negotiating my holiday purchase; after bringing my prize back to the room, I sped off to get 4 packs of cig's and some(6 for $1) donut sticks. Hurricane Michael has managed to permanently close down my Harvey's, so it's Family Dollar, Dollar General & Dollar Tree for now; this has increased expenses significantly, while reducing overall quality & variety. I'm sure to think of something else to write about, but for now, I'm sending this along.

Outstanding! Glad to hear from you. I had another episode with another blocked artery. I'm up to three stents now. This happened right after Michael blew through, so I'd been wondering how you were doing. This news is tonic for me.

sorry; I was checking out alternative forms of identification; not sure if this is tonic(because I'm tone-deaf), but I'll dash off something for a three-stenter; keep this up and you'll be setting off metal detectors at airports and courthouses; when you say 'episode' you should elaborate, even if you have to make the shit up; making shit up has become quite presidential lately RE:Hurricane Michael - about 7 PM, my power went out; luckily, between 5 & 6 PM next afternoon, it was restored I opened my drapes for lighting, and sat facing the window until around 12:30 AM, when the worst of it had passed that bitch was loud, and at one point, while still approaching from SW, one sheet of steel roofing blew off our U-shaped building; a shower of sparks as it blew across the parking lot got my full attention did you purchase a copy of "Whose Boat Is This Boat?" it took 30 min's to get this far...  updates and such[speaks to the age of the model I was sold @STAPLES] cheese grits on the breakfast menu, but first I'll be needing a shower

Of course we didn't catch the full fury of the storm, but we got plenty of rain and wind, I have several washed out sections of driveway I need to attend to, it's a rough ride down into the valley here. In regards to my ongoing heart troubles, in 2011 I had a blockage of the left anterior descending artery, that was causing great pressure in my chest, felt like an elephant was sitting on me, no heart attack with that event, but the docs implanted my first stent. The heart attack this past April was brought on by blockage of the right coronary artery, I aggravated my heart by over-exerting myself digging my dogs grave. That event was marked by rapid heartbeat, dizziness, sweating, confusion, and pressure radiating out from the left side of my chest. That blockage was remedied by stent number two. The latest episode at the end of October was preceded by a week or so of pressure and mild discomfort in my chest that was remedied by taking a dose of nitro-glycerin.  I awoke with that pressure, took a dose, didn't get any relief, I alerted Debbie, took another dose, but by then I was having difficulty breathing and having strong chest pain, Deb called 911 and gave me a third dose of nitro, at that time I was hyperventilating uncontrollably, sweating profusely, and the pain was very intense...I was sure I was about to die. The EMTs arrived, got me in the ambulance, took my blood pressure, and an EKG, drew some blood, analyzed that with the fancy computer analyzer and came back with "Everything looks fine, you don't appear to be having a heart attack." I got to the hospital, had a quiet morning and afternoon, save for the drawing of blood and the checking of blood pressure. Later that night though, I had six more non-heart-attacks. I won't go into all the drama wrapped around that due to my vitals all showing good normal indications. Anyway, I got my third stent early that next morning, after being catheterized and they found another blockage in the right coronary artery that was downstream of the second stent. Phillip, during those six non-heart-attacks I was truly sure I was going to meet the creator. I had told Debbie all those things you tell someone when you think you're dying. But apparently I've either got unfinished business or I'm just getting some extra time here on earth due to my exceedingly good looks, wit, and charm. ;)

good looks, wit & charm aside, since you have unloaded onto DEB all those last minute appurtenances, you should think about what must be/should be said about your time together since recovering from those six downstream pain events[& consider the high dose of TNT necessary for that most recent download]

We're getting ready for our Thanksgiving tomorrow. Lots of cleaning and such. I'll be in and out all day. Got yard-work to do now that the rain has passed. I have a fire going to save electricity, and the added benefit of warm glowing light is helpful. I've got to go buy a used bass guitar in a little while. I'm snagging parts off of it to make a cigar box bass guitar for Patti (Tuck) Tuckwiler's brother's Christmas gift. I'd already had my oatmeal & blueberries along with a patty of turkey sausage and a slice of toast. I let this guy named Possum hunt on our property, he gave me a slab of backstrap as thanks for hunting privileges. I'm thinking about having a backstrap on a yeast roll for lunch.

shower complete backstrap a la antlered-buck, I'm assuming had some online interaction w/TUCK[doubt she will remember] will your son attend tomorrow's feed? you sound pretty busy, so I'll catch up w/U later

oversized notebook w/no disk player[complicating printer connection]

trak-pad offset too far to left of center[due to hard drive's location to the right of it]; I keep right-clicking when I want to left-click I'm running down my battery for the first time today[not sure whether these rechargeables benefit from 'training'] still 'customizing' my task bar/I can use my 'task view' to 'see' what's down there[and access w/a click] tomorrow will be a 'shopping day' as I'm out of grits limerick is kinda fun most forms are the kind of challenge a writer loves I once wrote a Petrarchian sonnet[back in high school]; it was a love-poem to my girlfriend; in order to fit her 2-syllable name into it, without breaking with meter requirements, I wrote it as G_____[just one syllable]; this came in handy later; I was able to recycle my metric sentiments for future girlfriends. https://www.booksie.com/sent-messages https://en.wikichip.org/w/index.php?title=User:Phillip_DeNise&action=submit

My youngest son works for a company that resolves gift/cash card issues. They're well moneyed, they pay their employees very well, and they feed them like royalty. The company had bought a Thanksgiving feast for 9 people. They spent $1700 on that meal, that was catered by Olive Garden. There was so much food left that all the employees got to take home...like...doggy bags for elephants. My son brought some of that bounty to share with us for our thanksgiving dinner. We also had plenty of food leftover, so much that we sent all the family members home with food for days, and we still have much left in the fridge. I'm having some fettucine alfredo, and yeast rolls for my late lunch. I'd been busy cleaning and straightening from the dinner. Also I'd bought a $50 bass to sacrifice for parts I need to build that cigar-box bass I'd mentioned that I'd disassembled before taking lunch. I'm trying to stay busy and keep moving. Whatever amount of life I have left, I want to use as much as I can, as wisely as I can. After I wrap up this message, I'm going to chop some wood and get a fire started for this evening. It's supposed to be in the low 30s tonight. Cheers! I hope that laptop ain't making you crazy.

fettucine alfredo is one of my all-time-favorites; 1st time I had it, my sis made it at home; she did it so well that I was forever hooked; add smoked chicken breast & sliced, fresh button mushrooms, and...  well, Italian ambrosia; plain f.a. is the perfect side for veal marsala do you have to smoke all those cigars for authenticity?  ...probably a good way to end up w/John Prine's voice check came yesterday; I'll go to Liquor Locker at 11[as it is usually sans-customers then; less chance of a robbery], to get my wad of ca$h then $625 to motel-boss, $60 + any cash from last mo. goes into savings hidey-hole, leaving about 3 Benjamins for necessities

All the cash that I have to my name is tied up in two guitars and a guitar amplifier. Got them all up on eBay, and Craig's list, hoping some aspiring young rock star has a need...soon. I'm living off the fat of thanksgiving today. Got that fire going, saving on heating bills, and trying to figure out how to get the most cash I can for the HHR. I've got about 1.75 years to go until I can take SS early retirement. I honestly don't know how I'll make it that long, barring a minor miracle or a random act of kindness, but somehow we've manged thus far, I have faith and hope for better days to come. As far as cigar box guitars go, we find the boxes online or at tobacco shops in the area. I haven't had a cigar or cigarette since April when I had the heart attack. I do find myself "wanting" quite often but have taken up gnawing a straw, gum, or a toothpick. The good news is that it's saving me between $10 - $20 a week that I don't have anyway. Yay. Anyhow, I'm going back out to work on the cigar box bass. Peace to you Phillip.

get some sax-reeds for your oral gratification-smoking abatement strategy; a cigar box will make an excellent homemade resonator for a sax-like sample to feed into your reactionary music what changes when you claim your partial & have significantly improved your survival-horizon in the interim?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8buJ2-oD02E https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDqoTDM7tio https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2-XU8jm02o where do the best stories come from? editors are famous for taking out the stuff that isn't needed; old men have a similar process occurring among the aging neurons in their noggins; this is giving them a new voice; problem is:if they show their wizened faces, nobody will listen to them; time to employ a mask...  a truly vital issue that cannot be ignored Calories are units used to measure heat. Mammals maintain their body temperature by chemically converting starches and sugars back into H2O & CO2. When we burn hydrocarbon fuels, the heat production and the waste products are the same. Plants do just the opposite; they use the H2O & CO2 to store the heat energy in their starches and sugars. Down in Brunswick, there is a company called Hercules; when you pass by their manufacturing plant, you will see tree stumps piled high; they use the waste from lumbering operations to convert the cellulose into gunpowder. The lowly peanut vine, hosts on its root systems, colonies of bacteria[also plants] that 'fix' the nitrogen from the atmosphere, so that it is soluble[thus available to the vines for uptake through those roots]. Rotating to a planting of peanuts can quickly restore the depleted nutrients resulting from cotton or corn plantings. The lint caught up in the air circulating in a cotton mill can cause an explosion if rapidly oxidized. Corn silos can be dangerous concentrations of these plant-stored nitrates as well. As a child, I was the agent providing the fixed nitrogen, when I 'strowed sodie' about the roots in a plot of sweet corn. These crystals of explosive nitrates are chemically produced from nitrogen in the atmosphere. 'Scrubbing' the atmosphere of dangerous concentrations of CO2 can be done in a similar process. If the energy needed to trap the carbon can be 'captured' from sunlight, then the corn plants and explosive fertilizers can be dispensed with. If animal life forms are so much more intelligent than plants, then they should consider taking over all the terraforming functions that they mindlessly perform in their own self-interest. Terraforming distant Mars seems to depend heavily upon creating a breathable atmosphere there; what are our scientists doing about terraforming the Earth, where a kingdom of plant life forms could be better harnessed to accomplish our desired balance of CO2, O2 & N2? Climate change, probably in a warming phase, is increasing our atmospheric H2O; this will eventually reverse the warming trend. In the interim, it seems logical that there are locales on the planet which will benefit from the current trend; these are the places we should be colonizing. Diverting the hordes of humanity, that are fleeing the effects of climate change, into these mostly unsettled areas, not only solves the immigration problems of industrialized nations, but represents a tremendous business opportunity for expanding their struggling economies. These new colonies offer to the 'survivalists' among us, destinations where there is less government and enormous freedom to develop their ideas into social organizations that will promote their own desired political and economic change. No matter where they chose to go, they will still need shoes...  need clean drinking water...  shelters constructed from available materials[rammed earth domes are remarkably resilient] will immediately be needed; and what will they eat? Business solutions exist for almost every difficulty that such a growing society must soon encounter; why continue looking to charitable organizations and over-burdened governments for the answers?

Everyone now has the capability of being able to hide behind a digital mask on them damn interwebs. Here we have the vastness of mankind's accumulation of knowledge, and people choose to watch cat videos on facebook. There's really not much hope for people in my best estimation, masks or not. I understand why there needs to be a revolution of the mind, heart, and soul. I understand that I'm not the only one that sees this, and I'm glad I'm not alone. One of the problems we face today is the blessing/curse of the internet. People aren't using it so much as a learning tool, but rather as a distraction from all the folly of the times. That said, I'm going off to work on a box.

time actually flies when we are having so much fun; my cheese grits are already at stage one[awaiting the time when I shove the green plastic bowl into the nuke-o-wave, while those frags of kernal-corn soak/soften in cold water], I'm fully dressed & the bed is made; the TV is on & I'm halfway through my first cup of joe and my first cigarette[which I have stubbed out and noticed that the first half was the most generous one]; a great noise is being raised outside my place[some sort of gas-powered welding machine], so staying in bed would not have been a workable alternative; it's rainy out, which is a meteorological condition that could remain in place for three days; I saw that coming, so I visited my nearest Family Dollar yesterday, when it was seventy-two degrees and sunny GATOR used to be right here "gator takes a ride" is my visual offering for today; not sure why the hands call him gator, but getting sent up to the loading bridge is probably a status indicator; I spent a lot of load-in's & load-out's watching and listening from high above the groundlings; I was also rewarded with a department head's position on a national tour for having filed an NLRB charge; that got me to thinking IATSE Local 41 is still on display in cyberspace; do you ever go there? That is where I snatched this image for my ACER. I snuck in using a private browser & made off with my prize. "behindthemain" reminds me of something my Dad used to say; "Once you back your ass up to the teaser, you'll never be able to go back." The age of Rock 'n' Roll was the greatest AGE because they wrote songs about US! How cool is that? What is totally uncool is my mail.com, which has just refused to send this draft until I remove my stolen image; so just imagine a close-up of a stuffed gator-doll perched on an arbor loaded with counterweight which was originally posted by some dude called @behindthemain

Time, at least for me, has become compressed. Three days, maybe a week will go by in the blink of an eye, and there's really not much I can do to slow the procession. The best thing I've found that I can do is create, fabricate, manufacture, and repair. Just trying to stay, to keep from spending too much time in my head. Now there's a dark place. I wouldn't send anyone to spend any time there. One problem is that of psychic transmission on my part. Bad enough I should have to spend time there in my mind, but I was also gifted with the ability to broadcast my thoughts, so, certain lucky "receivers" get to share the "Matt experience". I generally know who's getting that broadcast because they either don't know me but they're able to complete my sentences, or I'll be thinking of or about a person that I know, and they will call me on the phone. If the case is the former, those people tend to try to stay away from me. I'm thinking they can't handle the stream. If you're in the latter group, we're connected. Probably always have been. Determining which thoughts are your own, and those that come beaming in seemingly out of nowhere is the catch to all that. Thoughts??? P.S. I don't consider myself a receiver, but maybe I just can't sort my thoughts from the thoughts of others... Herman Hill passed away a few days ago. He was a receiver of my thoughts. I bet it was confusing for him to be in proximity of me.

intelligence originating from without, as you should already realize, is sorta my thing if I have connected with your interior spaces in the past, I must assume that it did not seem so dark to me I would remember being put off in such a manner

Deb & I have been buying, selling, and trading electric guitars, and amps. Unofficially we are Pocataligo Guitar Exchange. I also do minor repairs to electric guitars & basses. We've flipped 4 Squire Bullet Strats, an ESP - LTD EXP200 Explorer copy, and a DeArmond M65C Les Paul Studio copy, as well as a Peavey Mark III Citation bass amp head, and a Peavey Citation Mark IV guitar amp head. The fun thing about this is that we get to try all kinds of gear that we wouldn't ordinarily get to play with. :)  

now you will be needing a PGE logo; some consideration should be given to the silk screening process, when you select a design; the reason for this being cheaper T-shirts and complete PGE control over their manufacture & distribution; just sayin'

1st things first - incorporate as an.LLC. Get a bi'ness license. Then we'll get around to tee shirts and what have you. This will also be the outlet for any cigar box creations.

LLC's are pure crap; there are many ways to protect your #1 asset[your residence] from liabilities you may not see coming, while operating this[any] business at your residence; you can pledge the equity in a residential property as collateral for a small business loan, while your LLC could not; of course your CFO[DEB] would need to chime in on such risky decisions[but risk is what living is all about; security a delusion] got up early[9:03] as per usual on Sunday, in order to catch Jane Pauley on CBS; NOT! there is a tornadic fear monger down in Tallahassee pre-empting the network broadcast to tell me that I need to get in my safe place; all last night there were alerts interrupting my TV-viewing; this 'storm' is indeed unusual for December, with lightning & thunder[started hearing rumbles about 8 PM while watching "Rampage"]; there have been accumulations down here between 2 & 3 inches, but no real cause for flash flood warnings[every 5 to 7 minutes]; added to that sort of aggravation, I'm now an expert in the minutiae of George Herbert Walker's 94-year-long public life[best part is watching secret service guys puking up their guts while an 85-year-old maniac races his speedboat around Kennebunkport's rocky shoals]; if TRUMP died suddenly, we'd really be consigned to TV-hell; so, those warnings expire and they start six minutes of backlogged commercials; sheesh!

Cocoa Beach secret stagehand local?

Titusville; Dad had a friend down there; entire membership of this four-digit film unit was featured on the cover of IA Bulletin

One of the reasons we ditched Atlanta and moved out here was the abundance of nature out here. Ample wildlife, some wild berries and muscadines to be had in good years, plenty of breathing space, no bumping elbows with neighbors. Deb took this picture about 10 minutes ago...

when I go hunting for muscadines, I take along a paper sack; I collect a few in my sack & leave them on that 'shelf' below the rear-window of the jalopy; now the car is infused with the most wonderful odor[perhaps for weeks to come]

It's beautiful, mild and partly cloudy today. I may get out and try to find a good sized deer to take down for our winter meat needs. Possum put up a deer stand that's fully enclosed, about 10 feet above ground that I may go sit in to see what comes by. Rick Scheuerman had a great idea - there's a hangout in Athens named Nucci's Space. It was originally a place where one could rent musical rehearsal space by the month, that also has a coffee shop. I think, as I recall the story, that Nucci had committed suicide, but someone kept Nucci's Space up and running. So one of the things they do there is have auctions of art and musical instruments to provide support for depressed/suicidal people. Rick suggested that I take some of these old beat relical guitars that I have in abundance just sitting around, make them into pieces of art, and either donate or perhaps take a small percentage of the sale of these items. What sayeth thee old friend?

I like the auction angle[not so much the 'cause' enumerated]; also, auctioning off unwanted guitar-bodies converted into 'art' would not provide the benefit I imagine; I think you should cobble together an instrument, using all your acquired skills, that is meant from its conception to be auctioned off @Nucci's Space; the bidders would be local musicians/collectors that you'd be pleased to meet[& that may commission lucrative projects going forward]; no charge for this wonderful idea

the Athens music scene has developed a somewhat muted presence online; it was in emergence-stage, when I was dating my 1st wife & made the drive frequently in my VW-van, fitted w/8-track stereo system sorry I did not mention my amazement at DEB's photo of tomorrow's lunch; I'll use that image for cover art soon, and look forward to gator's comment on it once I have the TITLE, I'll know what to write about in the contents; these images can entice many more clicks, and that is what I'm exploring @Booksie.com my 'editor' sucks, but I'm also exploring better ways to make use of its features; learning as I go keeps me busy at this keyboard not much real interaction with other readers/writers has occurred; there is a moderator calling himself Booksie Guy; BG is probably not a BOT, but I have not really gotten to him yet I tried to get a new persona at Retirement Online, but have not heard back from its Appleton, WI moderator/witch checked out 'online banks' without any success; ALLY requires govt.-issued ID to open an account if you had been able to open my home-video, you could have seen me vibrating; my tremors are pretty bad, and when my paycheck arrives, I usually sign the damn thing first thing in the morning, before I have my coffee; this seems to make the scrawl more legible my typing ability is affected, and this over-sized keyboard is a help with my target acquisition difficulties https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVlSVkzbJDA check out the antiquated studio equipment featured here

Gary Jules, Michael Andrews

All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for their daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere Their tears are filling up their glasses No expression, no expression Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow No tomorrow, no tomorrow And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take When people run in circles it's a very very Mad world, mad world Children waiting for the day, they feel good Happy birthday, happy birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen, sit and listen Went to school and I was very nervous No one knew me, no one knew me Hello teacher, tell me what's my lesson Look right through me, look right through me And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take When people run in circles it's a very very Mad world, mad world Enlarge your world Mad world

The cover art is from a photo taken in 1968. The building featured was a new one, and I graduated from Bass High School on its stage. Most of the boys were headed for college...  or Vietnam. I chose the former, and believe that it has made all the difference. When roads diverge in a yellow wood, noticing their width and worn condition is just one approach to the decision-making quandry. I was taught to choose door number three. 1968 was a good time for such choices, and many of my contemporaries made just such a definitive choice. If you possess the technology to view/listen to DVD's, might I suggest the enhanced edition of WOODSTOCK; the movie. You'll see what many of those, that chose door number three, looked like. My graduating class was small by most standards; we chose to sing a song from "Man of La Mancha." But we 'walked' in a less-prescribed manner. I drove off in a Renault Dauphine with a slow-moving-vehicle sign attached to the rear. Though I might like to be eighteen again, at the time, I was not looking back. I did return to this building many times though; I worked there on many occasions. Sometimes I worked on that stage; sometimes I worked in the exhibit hall at the other end of the complex. The construction of this facility, by the municipality, was considered to be an important urban renewal project. That is how 'buttermilk bottom' disappeared from Forest Avenue. Another blight vanished when Fulton County Stadium went up. In 1951, the city received the All-America City Award, due to its rapid growth and high standard of living in the southern U.S. Annexation was the central strategy for growth. In 1952, Atlanta annexed Buckhead, as well as vast areas of what are now northwest, southwest and south Atlanta, adding 82 square miles (210 km2) And tripling its area. By doing so, 100,000 new affluent white residents were added, preserving white political power as well as expanding the city's property tax base And enlarging the traditional leadership upper-middle-class white class. That class now had to room to expand inside the city limits. Federal court decisions in 1962-63 ended the county-unit system thus greatly reducing rural Georgia control over the state legislature, enabling Atlanta, and other cities, to gain proportional political power. The Federal courts opened the Democratic Party primary to black voters, who surged in numbers and became increasingly well organized through the Atlanta Negro Voters League. Rush week was soon upon me, and I attended two of the parties; choices! ALPHA TAU OMEGA was where one of my acquaintances at work had become a paddle-wielding brother, so I checked out their presentation. As a sort of back-up plan, I also checked out the men of ALPHA EPSILON PI; they checked me out as well; I was rejected on religious grounds. Time for door number three. I carried a full load for four consecutive quarters at my new school, before that other door presented itself. From Fall Quarter of 1969 until Fall Quarter of 1970, I was out of school, but stuck to my solemn vow to return in one year[against all the odds]. It had been too cloudy and overcast to see the eclipse of the sun that year; there was a lot going on that I did not see very clearly. When I returned to school, I changed my major from 'undecided' to ANTHROPOLOGY; a Greek professor guided my acquisition of this love for studying men; he was Greek Orthodox, and would have been rejected by those men at AY-EE-PIE as well; he took his 101 class to the Church he attended, and we followed the liturgy in Greek[and wrote a paper on the experience]. The mosaic in the dome was impressive. I never adhered to my degree 'program,' and so I never graduated from GSU; a classmate from Bass had gotten his degree in just four years[Class of '72]; I ran into Ross at SEARS, where he was selling tires; I went back to that stage, where the Class of '68 had sung about walking on through the wind.

Everyone knows that without a valid photo ID, you cannot purchase a box of breakfast cereal. The folks across the wall will need a better system, and the increasing use of bio-metrics[by connected data terminals] is a giant leap for the AI kind. UPC's can be scanned to track products as they change locations. RFID's are often laminated into photo ID's, so an employer can track his/her minions, and control their access to sensitive areas within their workplace. In the US, your SSN connects you to an exhaustive data base that 'knows' how hard you work, how much compensation you receive and where your 'assets' are currently being stored. What can be 'learned' about an individual, and how quickly this new data can be accumulated, attached to the appropriate individual files and how quickly those updated files can then be assessed is what AI exists for. Current business models[like at FaceBook & GoogleChrome] will each gradually lose its earning potential[a process being accelerated by the public sentiment in favor of government regulation of all their data collection and sharing practices], as the flow of data becomes more centralized and access to those files and data streams more restricted. The global expansion of connected Android devices is shifting the product consumption patterns in growing/struggling economies towards some ill-perceived goal, that becomes more and more achievable with each passing minute. Both of the big 'data players' in the streams of ones and zeroes now being catalogued here in the US, have made agreements to share it with our government. If we assume that there are adults in the room, where the analysis of this growing horde is being coordinated, then we can also assume that some of those individuals will be targeted to administer this collection and analysis process, once that 'responsibility' is transferred to a more 'independent' entity, resembling the Federal Reserve in its organization. At that point, the elected representatives in government will be reduced to an ordinary subset of identified individuals, to be monitored and manipulated by an increasingly automated system. If the drones can find you, you could be quickly eliminated. What will determine your value to that global system? Your consumption patterns is the obvious answer; BUY WISELY! I'm off to get an HBO fix; at eight they are replaying a missed episode of "My Intelligent Friend" just for my benefit; this series is filmed in Italian & broadcast with English subtitles; this makes it difficult to enjoy the imagery, because I'm busy reading so I'll know WTF is going on.

AI may be the thing that brings us into full globalization, perhaps the issue that preachers in my past have warned us about. Our baptist preacher out in Mableton used to hand out Watchtower pamphlets that had articles regarding the evils of globalization. Hmm ... to be overseen by the great computer in the sky (cloud networking).

I've been keeping my cloud-connection turned off

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bixby_(virtual_assistant) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jen_Taylor https://www.pcworld.com/article/2099943/microsofts-cortana-digital-assistant-guards-user-privacy-with-notebook.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invoke_(smart_speaker) https://www.ask.com/youtube?q=cortana&v=DxrJWSi_IWo https://www.windowscentral.com/why-splitting-cortana-and-search-windows-10-makes-sense https://www.zdnet.com/article/microsoft-moves-key-technologies-including-cortana-from-research-to-product-groups/ https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2012/06/inside-the-architecture-of-googles-knowledge-graph-and-microsofts-satori/

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=ASMR like those furries, these 'artists' are being accused of deviance; what say you? https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=furry+fandom

To be sure, I'm not understanding the nature of adult cos-play.

cable TV is definitely turning my brain to mush, but some furries have serious behavioral issues that can be mitigated by their cos-play; ASMR is the new player on the block, and their 'offerings' have been 'taken down' on multiple forums as somehow inappropriate; I find this lack of freedom[of expression] to be indicative of rapid 'political' corrosion of the medium; that button labelled REPORT would be less attractive, if your reporting history came up with your profile info; STFU would be door # 3 Gibi explains it quite well:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCE6acMV3m35znLcf0JGNn7Q

I'll start back driving for Uber or Lyft later today, after having taken some time off due to those pesky heart issues. I didn't feel confident driving people around knowing that I was possibly still at risk for another "coronary event". The cardiologist has cleared me to return to normal activities. I didn't start driving for these ride-sharing companies to impress anyone, hell there sure as shit ain't nothing glamorous about carting poor people around all day. What it does give me is nearly instant income that I can access almost immediately after giving someone a ride. Pair that with there ain't a boss riding my ass. I can drive whenever I want to, I set my own hours. And lastly it gives me something to do beside sit here and piss and moan about things over which I have no control. :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg0BNTebcbY  

there are two types of people in the world; when your 'ride' climbs into your vehicle, do you re-adjust the rear-view mirror to center onto the face of the speaker; door #3 is insisting that he/she rides up front; keep on smiling RYAN wrote: I make projects of my experiences working UBER. Last video of this nature got a lot of attention- though, I deleted it to be (slightly) more professional. So here is another few weeks worth of footage. These videos have been for nothing but fun, and I'm glad others have appreciated them. It's awesome to have an audience watch something that I've created and I want to see if this little project can go somewhere. Those in my videos consented to being in my project, blurred identity or not. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVOJ5ZfzjF8

my TV took a shit...  and now SANTANA is blaring; this album, the one with all those damn faces, was given to me by a chick that thought my DONOVAN eight-tracks were just not going to get me there; of course she was right...  and so there were drums in the house; another tape cart that was played in that house was WHO'S NEXT; I thought it was pretty good travelin' music, along with a Beatles-thing called RUBBER SOUL; gettin' high & gettin' out on the road was a pretty good way to pass the time on my gap-year; when I decided on ANTHROPOLOGY, it was mostly because it legitimized the study of sex, drugs & rock'n'roll...  so I studied...  HARD! playing this complete album seems to have slowed down the clock; that's an unusual effect; I'm shopping for a King Crimson video                 [  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=no8L51U_KlM  ]; not any WHO'S NEXT videos that do anything; guess I'll just let it play for awhile I get my TV going, and dammit...  the water goes off; they're out there digging up the street; probably gonna be off the rest of the day brewed my coffee w/ice cubes; just try and outsmart an old white guy...  go right ahead wrote a new ICU last night; about 40 peeks at it, w/no comments, so...  vanished new text has less film-script niceties...  less humor...  no dialog...

He had to admit...  he couldn't see a thing. A good bluff sometimes can win the pot. He spoke into the darkness, "I see you!" He hoped it had sounded convincing. Not a sound. Why had he come out here without his trusty flashlight? Only gonna be gone for a minute. Tell it to the wind. He turned with a confidence he wasn't actually feeling. In a slightly lowered voice, he spoke to himself as he walked away from where he thought the creature must be. "I'll be right back,...  so don't you dare move." Not a sound. He tried to imagine his 'creature' when it was not cloaked in utter blackness. The imagined lighting his mind put into those trees just beyond the clearing where his friend had parked his truck was of no use; he could see the trees right enough, but the image he needed simply would not materialize there. Not knowing what was there with him...  not knowing how far his friend needed to go in the truck to fetch water...  not knowing how fast he could make it to the imagined safety of the old cabin...  not knowing was making him sweat. And that creature could smell the fear...  smell the open containers with food in them...  smell where the truck had been parked, and the odor on that other one...  that was far away now. His thoughts were on the amaretto hidden in his sleeping bag; then his hand was on it. He poured into the tin cup...  the one he knew he'd left on the table; cup in hand, he closed and latched the rustic door. It was pitch black in the cabin too. He drank deeply. Forty proof means about twenty percent alcohol; better than a beer...  smelling better too. Now there was scratching and clawing at the corner of the door. "I'd pour you one too, but I gotta find that flashlight,...  first. Then maybe I can find another cup." He mock-toasted his little friend, and drank deeply once again. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UNMTthguCQ

confession:the only GARCIA I like has cherries & chunks of chocolate in it

I've been rummaging around in those dusty old memory-bins, trying to remember when I switched from eight-track tape-carts over to vinyl LP's; first came WQXI, and then FM-stations became a thing; we were at 481 Clifton Rd., by the time I bought a stereo system[I would have been a senior in high school at the time...  1968]; 8-trak player/amplifier w/2 speakers that weighed nearly nothing; in the next room, my sister[13 months younger] was spinning LP's of Firesign Theater, Mothers of Invention & Jimi Hendrix Experience to annoy me; I moved out of there JAN 1970, & took that same stereo system to my Briarcliff apartment; during those tape-cart-years, I was driving an old VW 'bus[w/windows all-round]' that was repainted blue & gray; I had a tape player[under-dash] professionally installed; two ceiling-mounted speakers and a six-volt to twelve-volt converter mounted on the pan beside my engine; you could hear muted spark-field-noise when your tracks played[like a subtle audio-tachometer]; this 'dustbin' is kinda like a public library filled with stories packed onto shelves that nobody ever disturbs; these stories have sacrificed chronological accuracy for other, more aesthetic consistencies; at this point in my recollection process, I believe that "Tea For The Tillerman" was a tape I had bought, and that "John Barleycorn Must Die" was purchased on vinyl; both these were released in 1970; one night, in that first apartment, I popped in a tape that I distinctly disliked, and slept all night while wearing bulky headphones, and while the tracks endlessly looped; Blood Sweat & Tears...  NYC's antidote to Chicago; I cannot remember when I bought a better home-system & a turntable, but I recall listening to Ten Years After, Grand Funk Railroad & Bloodrock; "The Survival of Saint Joan" was also an LP that I bought[released 1971 by a Tucker, GA garage band]. In 1972[Fall/Winter], I drove around the US in my '71 VWCampmobile[bought new], with nothing more than a German-built radio; the best I could do, was find a pirate station, broadcasting at major mega-wattage, from a tall tower located on Canadian soil.

over there, I'm friedlich I'm new there, having joined on Black Friday tonight, I ran across your e-mail address, in a COMMENT you had left most folks do not do that, and maybe you are different from most folks[that, at least, is my hope] I sometimes publish my e-mail address, trying to encourage a more image-friendly medium of exchange my privacy concerns are next to none, and anxiety over firewall-type protection against virus/worm/spam/whatever is negligeable the site reminds me of a multi-player game moreso than a community of writers of course, I'm still figuring out how to use the site for my own purposes I'm an older guy, living in southwest Georgia a retired stagehand; been writing since I quit working in 2005 not a boozer[or any other vice that costs money] caffeine & nicotine are my thing[like most writers...  ALLEGEDLY] my stories run the gamut, and there is a lot of it that could be described as non-fiction fiction is preferred, when stinging truths are being revealed a cloak of plausible deniability my favorite author is Neal Stephenson hands down but I read a lot of books, and admire some of the fascinating women who have chosen to write Barbara Kingsolver springs to mind  -  http://www.kingsolver.com/books/ send me something you are working on

Ready for rain. My youngest half-sister, Sandra, (who's roughly 16 years older than me) married this guy back in...66 - 67. Perry Carlton Buie, aka Buddy. I have no idea how or where they met. They had gotten a house over near Columbia Avenue, behind Belvedere Plaza. Sandra had two daughters in tow from a previous marriages, Belinda, and Johnnie. Belinda is two years my senior, Johnnie is 4 years younger. My mother and I would visit them pretty often, and they were all lots of fun to visit. Buddy was a budding song writer/producer that had been working with southern recording legend Bill Lowery. Bill at that time owned Mastersound Studio, and had a publishing company called Low-Sal. Buddy's first hit was a song called "I Take it Back" recorded by Sandy Posey'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-zoLSF_-3c

And that was the launch of a very successful career for him. I won't bury you under all the details of all the artists that he has written for. He passed away a few years ago.

When he was really starting to bring in the money he was working with members of Roy Orbison's stable-band, The Candymen. They had some nominal success, but The Candymen begat The Classics IV, which did very well and had a handful of top 10 AM radio hits. The Classics IV begat The Atlanta Rhythm Section. ARS did great in the album oriented rock (AOR) format. But as always success has a price. Sister Sandra was jealous and didn't trust Buddy, he was always around southern rock celebrities, and their hot ass girlfriends. Not a good combo, so that marriage flopped.

The real point of it all though, was to say that I had some early life exposure to the music industry and I knew back then that I wanted to be somehow in the business of working in and around music. A car radio installer. A stagehand cum audio assistant. A song writer and a casual player of guitar, bass, and synthesizers, and now a maker of fine cuban cigar box instruments. (laugh at the last one).

When Buddy would have the guys from The Classics IV come by for rehearsals, me and little Johnnie would hang out in the hallway listening intently to what they were playing. What I saw about Buddy that was so appealing to me was that he kinda just did what the fuck he wanted, when he wanted to, and had very few people to answer to.

I liked that aspect of R&R...

you told me about BUDDY once before, and now I get the CANDYMEN connection to that pineywoods thing you sent; did you visit Blue Devil-country often enough to learn your way around?  ...any Belvedere Plaza experiences that would make a story or song lyric? Those places were within cycling range of my Little Five Points-hood; my gang would even go fishing in a creek out there. Kids today ain't about shit; so much character-building movement across a sprawling urban environment; we weren't afraid, and we weren't over-supervised I'm writing about my Sunday morning, which is the only day of the week, when I make the effort to rise from my bed as early as 9 AM. I'm retired now, which carries with it the unquestionable benefit of 'sleeping in.' I make this conscious effort, because I cannot bear to miss the SUNDAY MORNING broadcast.

An interesting ARTICLE, aimed at baby boomers who read such 'posted material,' requires that I first do a bit of research. This morning's research has yielded the e-mail address directing this COMM to some unknown reader. What if this lucky recipient became known to all those that rise early on Sunday morning, like I have done? Such a story, to actually make the cut, would need to have some visual appeal...  something for the camera to 'see' that is not just another talking head. If it becomes about the many suggestions that are not considered by the show's producers, I'm imagining an over-the-shoulder shot of an INBOX displayed on a PC's monitor; boring...  right? Following the next suggestion that has some potential, through a chain of CBS News employees, into a roomful of writers and producers having the kind of discussion that ends with a proposal that will get funded, while turning the negative into a positive, still lacks the kind of imagery that will excite a camera crew. With the show's long history, many of the best ideas will have probably been done before, but a story about the technology that has changed the whole process probably has not been considered. Retired persons have an attachment to the kind of resistance to change that would permeate such a story. They also have a strong dislike for seeing a computer screen depicted as a character in a film or TV broadcast. And reading those texts that pop-up on the screen, because there is a SmartPhone in the scene, is particularly annoying. A surprising amount of the liesure time that retirement affords my boomer colleagues is devoted to online communication, by the many individuals who have made the necessary adjustments to modern technologies. These intrepid 'explorers' deserve a part in the story, but the visual appeal considerations must still be artfully applied. Some 70 million retired individuals make up a significant slice of an imagined pie-chart, that represent specific demographic segments to be considered as 'topical' by story creators up there. Please don't show us the pie chart...  boring! Show us the bewildered old guy, searching for a qualified salesperson at Best Buy, to guide his purchase of an affordable laptop. Engaging that much younger demographic, now driving story selection in those board rooms, is a key consideration, if I'm to get my story selected for production. So, lets have a look at that young salesperson, that gets to help the customer make this purchase of electronic gadgetry. Are we talking tatoo's, facial piercings and a blue tooth-device protruding from the ear canal? Do we focus on his/her need to pay off the loan that sent them to some university, that forgot to teach them about being over-qualified for that sales position they would end up in? The scene ends in two ways; the kid sells the customer more gaming capability than he'll need for Skype, his gmail account and finding his grandchildren's FaceBook pages; or,...  and this outcome is far more unlikely...  the grandfather bests the salesperson, walks out of Best Buy with the low-end device he can afford[and was surprisingly in stock] and encounters no insurmountable difficulty, when he turns the contraption on at his comfortable breakfast-table, later that day, after a frustrating 45-minute ride on a metro bus, and a 20-minute hike, from the nearest bus stop, carrying his purchase with tired old arms, and painful arthritic hands. The interaction between the two alien cultures, that needs to occur for a purchase to be transacted, holds out the best hope I have for this story to get made. There are casting considerations, of course; two actors with current shows on CBS works best, so who could we actually get? They should both maintain residences in the same city, and those probable 'locations' to be used during production should be near a cooperating Best Buy retail store. My Dad was a technician that was employed by CBS News, back in the film-days, when a 3-man crew was required to document a story. He would go out with Laurens Pierce when cities in the South were burning; a dangerous job at the time, for a man armed with a Sun Gun. I got lucky enough, just once, to get one of these call-outs from our local affiliate; the three of us lugged equipment up to a crowded office-space at CDC Headquarters; a story was breaking about syphylitic men going untreated, during a clinical study over in Alabama; the prepared statement that we recorded there, was hardly worth all the labor involved[much less the expense incurred due to union wages that were paid]. This 'story' has already been published; here is a LINK to the page:  https://www.booksie.com/577188-sunday-morning Please spare no expense with your REPLY to my e-mail. I'd like to add it to the story.

When I consider bits and pieces of the article, not viewed as a whole - "lacks the kind of imagery that will excite a camera crew."  that statement kinda stuck out. Who gives a fuck what motivates a camera crew? I'd think, and wtf do I know, that the union pay scale would in and of itself be motivational. Having put that out there, it was just the first thing that came to mind. For my edification, in this story, what is your objective? How easy or how difficult the purchase was to make? Beat the kid at the sales game? Having made the purchase, the seemingly sad and somewhat difficult trip home? Perhaps an object lesson about our aging boomer population? All of the above? I see angles. Perspectives. I see an opportunity to make Best (fucking) Buys a proletariat hero, which is just bullshit. I see an opportunity to attempt to make plain to the children of boomers how difficult life can be. I see an op to make the whiz kid at BestBuy look like a jerk. What made the bus ride so frustrating?

Q#1:crew excited by producer's idea will spend more time and produce more fascinating video; imagine being CBS's go-to guy for interviews Q#2:dual objective:sell someone @CBS to do such a story & use e-mail text as content for Booksie.com[fixing to go silver sometime today] Q#3:under 'all of the above' I was trying to imagine what a crew could do to illustrate 'the story' with video that might be doable; my first trip to STAPLES to buy[for ca$h] my new laptop left me leaving for Office Depot with 'urge to kill' etched on my wizened face; next to finding out that the model displayed, at a sales price I can afford, is no longer in stock, my 2nd greatest peeve would be that sales pitch to purchase the more expensive laptop, conveniently on display right next to the one they don't even have, pointing out all that upgraded capability, like he was trained to say to his customer, because he don't know HDMI from HTML; the portrayal of transportation difficulties experienced routinely by retirees, goes to the value to the customer of the salesperson getting everything right on his first try Q#4:at the very end where you highlight the frustration, it would be up to the crew here to depict in their visual medium, the sorts of riders one might encounter, on a ride that zig-zags through all the housing projects, picking up more annoying riders, or perhaps letting the worst of them get off, stopping too abruptly, engaging in stupid arguments over the payment of the fare that delay any forward progress, and arriving at the desired destination 45-minutes later, when a crow could fly that distance in about three minutes its been pretty quiet up that way,...  so a shout-out found a new 'place;' it's called bookrix throwin' life a spitter; got up about 7:30 when I do this, I end up snoozin' during my news broadcasts latest short story kind of a poke at LGBTQ's Y-knot try something new? might bring some of these trolls out of the woods kinda stole these paragraphs, for...  ??

The life of a writer is pretty solitary, both by design and necessity. While you may find yourself in the neighborhood coffee shop a few days a week just for a change of pace, being a writer can be lonely and quiet.

Well-meaning as they are, your friends and family don’t understand the nuance between conflict and crisis. Try as they might, they can’t relate to the complexity of creating a consistent voice.

It’s no wonder that writing and alcohol are familiar companions. But it’s not happy hour yet. Here’s the good news: you’re not alone. In fact, right this moment, writers just like you are actively participating in writing communities all over the web. It’s time that you meet.

don't care for the alcohol bit, but it might fly did the coffee shop bit; kinda cool, but I'm persona non gratis at the downtown one cain't afford that shit no more nohow; cain't even get it together for Burger King Dollar Tree had some tasty canned goods; a $1 can of red beans & rice went down smooth[& spicy] lady behind me in line says that it's $.89 @Wal-Mart the pie-filling I bought would be $2 @Harvey's trade-off looks like Mueller's plannin' a warm reception for those freshmen/women Congressfolk Macron's reception heating up across the pond[the two M's havin' a populist crisis too; Europe's toast] it all started @NAPSTER; not Putin's doin' like some think battery in this Windows lapbook is for shit still fightin' off the FANG crowd; my spam folder still empty, but saw a browser-history thing pop-up w/firefox this AM tried out my MS-internet explorer as plan-B, but BING keeps interferin' & there are other annoying features I use WordPad, so I don't activate my introductory Office suite if I shut down instead of sleep, I have to close the cloud thing that slips in firefox wants to be set as default[another bothersome keystroke] there was an MS e-mail account that can't be used without a phone for activation code figuring out workarounds is my puzzle-thing; won't even register for ACER is there some LINUX browser code? wouldn't want snoopy here to know I was looking into that friedlich is being shamed for trolling already gonna try for a haircut today; it's gettin' too long[sides & back] clipping backside tricky w/tools I got w/trimmer[blind barber w/shaky hands] then there's the mess to clean up there's always the pony-tail option I also have one of those wave-caps, if I go native looking at the side of this new LG, there are yellow[video], white[L or MONO] & red[R] inputs and an S-VIDEO thingy w/tiny pins no HDMI I should find something like the back-up drive you suggested that can 'go there' have not heard back from CBS; no surprise they found a dead body on the corner; not watching my local news broadcasts means checking online for further details maybe they were digging his grave when the water went off my rides to the store, often two trips, indicate a decline in my physical strength that is mildly disturbing after 935-days of incarceration, I had soon gained back some musculature three trips to my storage unit, bearing incredible loads, took a lot more physical prowess than I now command I reminded myself that 2013-2015, I used to hoof it to the store[about 1 mi.], and backpack/carry back my supplies cycling is a luxury I'd hate to suddenly lose this motel-living is also a luxury[said the once-homeless man] I gathered all my manuscripts into one pile[for disposal?] took out any 'identifying documents' for safekeeping also have one three-page ms in an envelope I'll send that way one day tried giving away some of this ladies' apparel, but I think I offended my neighbor-lady with the gesture she liked the costume jewelry that was swag/booty found on the floor of my plan-B hidey-hole across from BK running out of ideas here "lady on"

I can relate to having lost some of that muscle. After I had the shoulder replacement I was laid up for about 8 weeks. Couldn't use the left shoulder at all, and was in a sling/pillow assembly that kept the arm in a state of comfortable non-use. That was pretty much the beginning of the end for my muscle tone. I'm striving to maintain the strength I have. I never thought I'd be this diminished. I sometimes have trouble lifting a full gallon of liquids such as water or milk with the left arm. Pair that with nerve damage that's caused a loss of sensation in my hands...argh...it's frustrating, considering that there was once a time when I could lift a chain motor with 75' of chain with just the left arm. That day has come and gone. I'd love to go pull that shrimp net with you again. Some of the most fun I've had was down at St. Andrew's sound, especially during a mullet run, where the dolphins were snagging mullet that were jumping the nets. What a great show of nature. I'm off for my half-mile round trip hike to the mailbox & back, then back to work on this bass guitar wine-box project for Tuck's brother. I'm almost finished with that, I just have to install the neck, the volume & tone controls, solder all the connections, install the machine heads, and seal the box. Ciao4now. Seizure later agit8r.

Seizure later agit8r ain't bad; mine was Ricky's tagline my intro to chain motors resulted from the now infamous "A call is a call" policy instituted by Local 41 bakNtheDAY; I was offered the chance to say no or yes to the worst thing on offer, before being skipped until my name rotated all the way back around; there was great benefit, on occasion, to getting first crack at something nobody else wanted to fuck with; this 'strict' policy was also a great way for a crook to skip quickly over a lot of referrals, before starting to fill a film crew, with a long list of assholes that turned down anything not film related, in order to maintain their position in this 'privileged' part of the rotating list; a full-time stagehand, with no friends in office[never wanted any], had to say yes every time[endless 4-hour calls] in order to eat; my rigging days started when OMNI Coliseum was new; we routinely had a 5-man crew[one groud rigger]; most points were not directly below any steel accessible from the catwalks in the pods; this, of course, meant guaging the lengths of two cables, Y-ed together with a down-length, to hit the bullseye; this was not only years before riggers became spider-men, that could rig points from beams running between pods, but also years before roadcrews trooped enough cable to deal with arena-shit like the fukkin OMNI; the building had enough cable for their everyday rigging needs, but...  it was all 1/2" shit; add the weight of 30 to 50 feet of 1/2" cable, to about 90' of chain, and you get two men pulling against two other men in another pod, that they cannot see or hear; a good ground rigger was key, and you didn't want no sound puke up there pullin' on that heavy shit beside you; no pussies need apply! - a manly physique was the result, when most of the[by now hundreds of them] guys on the old rotating list found out what was required to say yes to a rigging call, and the list just spun right back to the last 5 guys that took a call at the OMNI; I got seriously beefed-up, before this bullshit came to an end[& before those spider-men showed up, and they started paying a premium wage to get them] I couldn't find any rigger-pics, but this attachment shows the connector tubing; access to the catwalks was from the roof; to access the steel at the apex of a pod, you had to walk up the outside of the pod, using a rope left dangling for the purpose; if brave enough, you could save a lot of time and effort, walking the very broad tube to the next apex position; one problem, however...  there was a crotch-height + 3" lightning rod half way across; not so bad far the tall cowboys

I got lucky having Reagan, Milo, Hokey, and Big Bob to show me the ropes as it were. The Fox and Civic Center were generally easy rigs with most points onstage being single-point because of the way the grids were laid out. The Classic Center grid is a different story though. with 7 main beams spanning upstage to downstage, and no beams spanning left to right, practically every point was a compound bridle. At least in The Classic Center you can see & hear the up-riggers. Also nice is that The Classic Center had installed expanded steel grates between the beams so you can stow cables and gear up there. I miss being a rigger. I miss being healthy enough to rig.

I think 'stinger' should read stringer here; a 'stinger' is a 10' grounded extension cord[I had to ask the Best Boy]; bridle, basket & chain-motor are okay; when I took my ground rigger's training in Vegas, there was only one correct way to lay out pieces and parts for baskets...  one way to engage the shackles with 'economic' motions of hands, feet & back...  one way to tie a completed bridle out on the floor so the high men could inspect the work before lifting; the up-rigger 'makes' the basket[shouldn't have to undo a shackle or untie a bowline knot, to secure the hardware properly]; at the fukkin OMNI, the poor ground rigger frequently had to hold the 1.5 ton motor overhead, long enough for his four guys to secure both baskets, because it's 110' to the apex & the chain was all paid out; at least, if held above the headbone, the dropped shackle ain't a killshot

know of wire-rope, and witnessed a splicing operation @OMNI one day; the splice was as long as the arena[cleared for the process] Kermit[Spradlin] tryed over and over to teach me to splice hemp; that turn-back on the end, that was what the old guys did[pretty quickly] when they cut a rope[often for a snub to tie off a line set], instead of all that gooey electrical tape, was about all I could ever handle; the other end of a snub[about 6'] had a short loop spliced into it[about 14" splice enough for securing the 'safety' to the pinrail] I still think that stinger is just wrong, Wrong, WRONG!

O Peaceful One, That’s what the word ‘friedlich’ means in my first language. And yes, I remember Linda Goodman and her books. The first one was very good, but by the time the second one appeared Linda had ‘caught’ spirituality and went way, way, way over the top with it. She invented a new numerology that did not make any sense at all, if I remember right and I can’t recall whether I read that second book to the end. It was a very poor affair and just cashing in on the success of the first one. God bless and have a good day, With love – Aquarius

2nd book disapointed the girls as well; they weren't half bad predicting love matches, nasty break-ups & etc. they would get your birthday in their crew-roster, and find the one for you my best match was the lighting designer, but he had too many other boyfriends[ballerino's everywhere] I'm PISCES, & the match w/wife #1  not so good[CAPRICORN]; next tour was a GEMINI that earned herself a full-length fur coat she was way too smart to become #2 my mentor was Aquarian man; smartest man I've ever known horoscopes are like fortune cookies; a dream-job if you are a writer[used to love the 'fortune' in BAZOOKA bubble gum] write the stuff correctly, and anyone will agree that his/her sign just got pegged; those coin-op dispensers don't have 12 hoppers Mary Alice Kemery a.k.a. Linda Goodman, of course, would not/could not agree but,...  who wouldn't rather have 12 good forecasts in each daily paper instead of[in my case] one fishy one the shepherd that first saw a maiden bringing water in the heavens over his thirsty head, should get more credit, than some ancient astrologer, wearing ermine, & bearing myrrh this mentor had a way about him[buckle-up,...  I'm talking about you now]; every person in his presence, big or small, credentialed or insignificant, would instantly be made to feel of prime importance; the sun shone upon you; this is bearing water, dear meanwhile, your defenses utterly destroyed, he'd be in your head...  deep in your head, figuring things out... for YOU...  for HIM...  for someone else, that he may not have even met yet...  well, that all depends on how the 'long game' plays out he could artfully manipulate anyone, make them feel good about it, and even if things turned out pretty badly 4U you loved him all the more...  hating only his enemies[that had attacked you, because he was invincible] he would take you to 'special' places, impart sacred knowledge only meant 4U, find things you thought forever lost all the things a magus commands he was quite the yenta as well[but would probably end up 'with' your perfect girl] he moved in some pretty powerful circles, and it was as easy as 'teaching' kindergarten children his favorite recording was a live one w/Neil Diamond enduring an actual Hot August Night this was, of course, him, singing his siren-song to every young girl in a 100-mile radius are you blushing yet DON'T I love you! Everything about you! I'm not, however, fixing to drink your blood.

when I ran away from home[1st & last time], I was driving my sweetie[Diane was a year older w/fiery red hair] in a red Renault 10 w/push-button transmission For 1963 (initially only in France), Renault offered an automatic transmission of unique design, developed and produced by Jaeger.[7] It was first shown at the September 1962 Paris Motor Show.[8] Although it was described as a form of automatic transmission at the time, in retrospect it was more realistically a form of automatic clutch, inspired by the German Saxomat device which appeared as an option on several mainstream German cars in the 1950s and 60s. The clutch in the system was replaced by a powder ferromagnetic coupler, developed from a Smiths design.[8] The transmission itself was a three-speed mechanical unit similar to that of the Dauphine, but from the beginning with synchromesh on all gears in this version. The system used a dash-mounted push button control panel where the driver could select forward or reverse and a governor that sensed vehicle speed and throttle position. A "relay case" containing electromagnetic switches received signals from the governor and push buttons and then controlled a coupler, a decelerator to close the throttle during gear changes, and a solenoid to select operation of the reverse-first or second-third shift rail, using a reversible electric motor to engage the gears. The system was thus entirely electro-mechanical, without hydraulics, pneumatics or electronics. Benefits included comparable fuel economy to the manual transmission version, and easy adaptability to the car. Drawbacks included performance loss (with only three available gears) and a somewhat jerky operation during gear changes. The transmission was also used in the Dauphine and the Caravelle. https://otto-models.com/en/  -  build your own Renault at 1/18 scale

This ability to do some figuring, is greatly enhanced, because of the rudimentary training I received, on how to use those FRACTIONS. Most classrooms today allow the use of calculators, even during exams. Some students, much younger than I, have trained themselves in the use of their digital assistant, through trial-and-error regimens, that work well for ONLINE GAMES. Learning long division is a thing of the past, but having learned that method greatly improves one's ability to calculate something in one's head. ESTIMATING the answer can greatly simplify these mental processes, while providing acceptable numerical results. You may not have a CALCULATOR handy, when you suddenly need the kind of guidance, that a numerical calculation could quickly provide. 'Scientific Calculators' are reasonably priced, and include many more FUNCTIONS, than their stripped-down companions on the shelf have. My favorite one of these added functions, at the touch of a button, causes a randomly generated three-digit number to be displayed. How utterly useful! Another pre-loaded data point, that makes these calculators much more useful, would be a FORMULA remembered from some geometry class, or a physics lab you endured in college. With a formula, and an understanding of the relationships between numerator and denominator of two separate fractions, you can do a lot of useful shit. This verity is the reason they sell calculators at Home Depot & Loew's. They also sell the kind of tools needed, to remove the electronic device from its bubble-packaging. A formula I like is the one for calculating the length of a circle, which uses both its diameter and pi[the Greek symbol that roughly equals 3.14]. This FORMULA is useful for calculating the speed at which our planet circles about the sun, if you remember how far away that star is. Using such a large quantity in a calculation, means that your answer will sometimes be represented in 'scientific notation.' This is to save space on the tiny read-out screen, and should not create insurmountable problems for the operator. Similar calculations, using the same formula, will tell you how many tulip bulbs will be needed, of each color that you have chosen, for several varigated, concentric circles, planted hastily in the FALL, when the bulbs are widely available, and much cheaper to purchase. Figuring out how many eggs you should boil, so you can mix up a three-day supply of fluffy egg salad, is a different kind of problem, but it also has a trial-and-error solution. Believe it or not, it was this trial-and-error process that enabled Apollo astronauts to land their LEM on the moon.

three 'wise' men, bearing gifts followed a star[which some say 'moved' in the night sky in a noticeably unusual fashion] was there any disagreement among these three about what had been observed? three's are pretty important, as you know are there psychological implications buried in this belief in the 'power of 3?'

I was in ANTHROPOLOGY, and freely admit shortcomings relating to psychology cocaine use & Red Book symbolism did fall within my purview study & research into astrology, sorcery & freemasonry have me leaning towards early roots involving healers

this said, I'm quoting the 20th century's most prominent spiritual master:

Black Magic has always one definite characteristic. It is the tendency to use people for some, even the best of aims, without their knowledge and understanding, either by producing in them faith and infatuation or by acting upon them through fear.

this scrap of text was saved, because I was anticipating your e-mail response, so prepared myself I choose to 'act'/think about YOU, instead of wonder why I'm doing it I did take a senior-level course with a new textbook:"Culture & Personality" what did a gal, with an astrologer's webpage, study in preparation? reading stories gently molds the 'story of SELF' that determines our ability to ACT any 'story' requiring these 'edits' simply cannot be accepted as FACT[two rhyming stanzas... should I go for THREE?]my story is so long, that the attention span required does not yet exist language is the real key to a greater understanding in most every FIELD useful language always ends with a tryst negotiating a willingness in the other to YIELD[4 stanzas] this 'sentiment' is purely Darwinian the truth is, since civilization was birthed by, and gave birth to an alphabetic written form of the spoken language there are far too many individuals, fully integrated into society, that can choose to be motivated by artificial drives that do not contribute to successful reproduction like writing stories about it blame it on the moon

Think that would be handy for calculating sidereal time, vs solar time?

you mock me; how tall is your obelisk?

I'm not mocking you brother, I was just having a chuckle. We're victims of our own mechanisms. The calculator made us weaker and less knowing. This is also happening with computers and smart phones. We aren't pushing our minds to be all they can be. I haven't stored anyone's phone number in years. The argument is that you can use your mind for other, more important things ...like watching cat videos on the screen...

yeah,...  those damn cat-videos; I meant your reference to sidereal time, and something I had written about shadows moving about on the floor of my two-man cell

FaceBook, Apple, Netflix & Google are the 4 FANG stocks, which are characterized by their unreasonable P/E-ratios. When I boot-up my device, the first set of keystrokes that I execute, get me disconnected from 'the cloud.' Then, I can click on several options, colorfully displayed, when my FireFox portal screen is displayed. [though this browser is pinned to my task bar, I keep on declining to set it as my default browser;2 more keystrokes] These options are 'ranked' & Google & Amazon are ahead of the Mail.com option that is convenient for me. I have never even visited the Amazon site, but a lot of their junk came already loaded on my new device. There is another one included in my top six, waiting to whisk me away to a MicroSoft APP-store. I wonder what their current P/E-ratio is? There is a YouTube link, but I do visit that Google territory frequently. Apple sold-out to Microsoft, before Microsoft sold-out to Google, and that was before FaceBook & Google sold-out to HSA. In 2011, law enforcement technicians took physical possession of my Notebook device in order to duplicate its drive. Nowadays, such nonsense is no longer necessary. LE's problem now is sorting all those automatically sorted files that keep piling up on their servers. They do not have enough agents to do the necessary sorting & opening of so many suspect files needed to keep up. Instead of a new SpaceForce, Uncle Sam should be preparing for CyberWar, like the Russians & Chinese have. Losing the CyberSpace Race ain't gonna be good, and they have already received several 'Sputnik-embarrassments.' Android OS, in combination with a successful G5-buildout, represents additional frontiers to be protected. During WWII, piles of printed propaganda, were dropped by aircraft overflying urban areas in Axis-territory. The US CyberSpace is being overflown by simiar distributors of toxic materials, and we are powerless to respond. This, as our own propaganda grows increasingly less toxic. Ill-advised trade wars further weaken our position globally, as well as incentivizing new agreements & partnerships. Recent downward pressure on both stock & bond markets simultaneously, is being characterized as a rare occurrence. What happened on those historical occasions? A declining US Dollar would have just such an effect on financial markets. Where assets are denominated in weak currencies, one can expect tandem movements of all asset classes. The global currencies headed in the opposite direction should not be invested in such assets. Large trade imbalances where those debts can be paid off with ever-cheaper Dollars, are also undesirable. So, when India seeks to export significantly less product, what happens to prices in the US? And what becomes of the bluff, that our media has labeled a trade war?

We've been being profiled with steadily increasing depth as data storage became abundant and inexpensive either locally or remotely. A terabyte of retail hard drive storage is about $50, cheaper if you choose to cloud-store your data. My first HDD was 10MB and cost around the same amount. Between AI driven flagging mechanisms, faster and more abundant storage, and our own willingness to share personal information on therm inter-webs, anyone with a smart phone, tablet, or other computing device most likely has a profile. I feel sure that since 1991, there's been enough information gathered about me to provide LE a solid psych profile. I bought my first PC to begin determining the myriad of ways that we're being surveiled. We're screwed, dude.

I'd prefer, at least, the courtesy of a reach-around; wonder if Snowden is still in Moscow?

I think it is laughable, and very French, that yellow vests only clog Parisian boulevards on weekends, as they have to work. Picket lines at the GWCC, and @warehouse where my dear old Dad was a captain, were like that. I remember when all of Poland went out on strike, and "Solidarnosc!" entered the conversation. I spent four long years in a non-union apprenticeship, suggested by an old redneck @BAT. At one point, there was a 'hearing' and I was to be booted from the program. I invited this old bureaucrat to sit in on it, as a concerned observer. Problem solved. Repercussions loomed however. After a series of job interviews 'they' referred me to[where the member-contractor had already agreed not to hire me], I went to IBEW to seek their help. The union organizers sent me to a job site, they were targeting[in order to get at union members working there], where I was quickly hired at journeyman wage. I'd give those 'slugs' a dose of vitriol, as I was going in about 7:45 AM. Then I'd pocket the sign-in sheets, when I got upstairs[40th floor], and secreet them to the organizers. When that job ended, I returned to the Fox stage, a wiser man.

1988 Democratic National Convention in Atlanta at The Omni & GWCC. Just miles & miles of cables running between those two facilities. Seemed rather weak. The bridge/turnaround between The Omni & GWCC. FBI labor racketeering agent Brian Hitt on the scene with with his team of covert cam-ops and the audio squad with their shotgun mics. It's all well documented in the FBI & GBI archives, but you can't find dick about it on the internet. It's as though only one low-rent food workers union was the only union to apply any (laughable) pressure on the DNC in 1988. I will say this, whoever came up with the idea to oil the up-ramp to the bridge/turnaround from Int'l Blvd to the Omni was a fuckin' genius.

there were live feeds from convention hall to CNN secured to the bottom of that bridge; another fuckin' genius made some air-gaps interrupt the video; some kinda stones, huh?

From what I hear, there were several instances of air-gapping the cable runs. ;) Must have been just a series of unfortunate accidents.

probably slipped on that slippery slope, with a sharp cutting-tool inhand; unfortunate indeed

RUNNING for a Congressional Office builds up a momentum; a physical movement towards certain achievements, related to specific ISSUES, that should never be interrupted, by a 2-, 4- or 6-year rest period. Learning how to draft enduring legislation, need not involve years slaving away in some accredited law school. YOU can acquire the necessary skills in a fairly brief span of study-time. You must begin, by reading as many 'representative samples' as you can obtain. You could limit the documents to be thoroughly parsed, to the kinds dealing specifically with the ISSUE you have chosen to focus your efforts on. Your problem, initially, will be expanding your vocabulary enough to be clearly understood, once you enter the writing phase that will follow. Certain traditional 'forms' should be employed during this second phase. Phase three begins, when you furnish copies of your document to qualified confidants, for their opinions regarding certain changes that should be made, forecasting prospects for successful passage of such legislation or suggestions about how courts might reinterpret aspects of any resulting LAW's. For this, you need e-mail addresses for serving Congressmen, judges currently on the appropriate bench and affected business entities that can refer your inquiry to a battery of litigators. Replies to your inquiries will almost certainly indicate certain adjustments to your output that would be advisable. Phase four involves giving credit for the introduction of your BILL, to some ranking member of Congress, that has publicly attached himself to your ISSUE, in order to get himself elected. Previously unaddressed ISSUEs are somewhat problematical in this regard, but can be advanced by celebrities, clergymen and struggling local politicians that are 1)not camera shy, & 2)looking for a powerful issue to which they might attach themselves. More e-mail addresses will most likely be required. My ISSUE was pension administration, and it was very unpopular. I did considerable research, to be sure that I had my facts straight. I collected a plethora of e-mail addresses. I wrote a speech, and practiced before a mirror while timing myself, until I could, basically, read forcefully, everything that I had written, in less than 15 minutes. The facts I was pointing out, never made opinions change very much, but did garner me a lot of attention that had not existed before. I became "Chicken Little," delivered my speech years before my time and eventually, was proved right, when the sky indeed fell. About 700 participants, in my defined benefit pan, were adversely affected.

An ACT OF CONGRESS is not always the creation of a LAW. Often, these 'acts' invite some Administrative Agency to enact new LAW's, or otherwise ENFORCE certain specified REGULATIONS. Such LEGISLATION, must be carefully & unambiguously worded. Most of our 20th century Congressmen, though many of them were indeed trained litigators, were either unable to write the legislation they 'introduced,' or indisposed in some way to do so. Sometimes large staffs of competent individuals get the job of creating a BILL, while often obliged to adhere to instructions given them, to keep in mind, always, that whatever is introduced, cannot be awfully objectionable to the majority political party, in either end of the domed Capitol building. Another source for these craftily-worded proposals is the legal staff, maintained by some powerful business or political entity, whose well-paid lobbyist will deliver the carefully prepared 'suggestion,' at a steak dinner, over an expensive bottle of wine. In the 21st century, 'diversity' among the freshmen/women arriving in Congress every two years, often means that even more of the BILL's that we hear about will have been outsourced. In fact, the ability to read/comprehend proposed legislation, is also in rapid decline, and so the advice from adequately trained staff members grows in its influence, and its importance to the constituency. When you complain that some desirable change in your current situation would require an Act of Congress, you have unconsciously ceded your own ability to be effective, to myriad third parties with agendas that are often going to prove quite toxic. STOP WHINING! First, remove the most glaring ambiguities from that internal expression of your most fervent desires. Get help if that is what you need. Then, ACT...  like Congress. Or maybe that should read, "like Congress should be capable of doing, willing to do & adequately prepared to do."

my sign-in/homepage @mail.com was the fist thing that I saw this AM, after a full boot-up[& ditching that cloud] went into that little gear-box yesterday, and while I was changing a few things, I asked a few questions & paid those Firefox folks a visit too there's even some research on MS & that sell-out to Google[fukkin Chrome-enablers] oops!  there's an APP Explorer update notification[@taskbar]; WTF did that shit come from[I don't do APP!] there's some flamin' MS news thingy keeps me apprised whenever there are 'significant developments' RE:the Mueller investigations not too annoying, and that's how I found out about the 'big' earthquake the other day[4.7 in TN/GA] have you been reading about Jesse & Fred? I also wrote/posted something about the reveered Booksie Guy[founder/moderator] this prompted the evil Dr. Acula to kick me out of his publishing 'house' of 1000 horrors[had to move 4 'books' to QWERTY QUORUM] house-cleaning a sure sign that 1)I'm hitting a nerve, & 2)there's NAZI's @Booksie.com that deserve a little more attention trying to be subtle, & really do try to suppress MY trolling tendencies I'm up pretty early this AM, & lookin' forward to a SPAM-sammy for breakfast egg salad came out great, & there's still 8 eggs in the fridge 4more eggs are relatively cheap, so gettin' out my portable kitchen worth all the trouble & upset my theater-sound in disarray[but still available in a pinch] Miss Universe was a Filipina; I thought NEPAL had the best eye candy[in the top 20]; Miss Ecuador[eliminated earlier still] was HOT! Eagles squeaked past Rams last night; lot of spoilers in the mix this season[go Chiefs] Mariota's on Saturday[?]; some screwy holiday scheduling BS I wonder how my Thunder will fare, when B-ball takes over the only sports event awareness I had while in Vegas, was brother-in-law's phone call during Masters taunting PV about Tiger in AZ, it was Churchhill Downs here, the natives get restless[& loud] during March Madness and NBA playoffs I'm the lone holdout for the fukkin World Series that's all I have on sports

There's so much movie and TV work going on that the wonder girl is frazzled and looked about shot-out. Tuck sez they work 12 - 14 hour days 5 or 6 days a week. She programs lighting systems for the industry. Naturally we didn't just talk "banjo". Mostly she just explained all the different stuff she has going on.

TUCK needs WYSIWYG; design the lighting from home

Whaaaaaaaaaat? Gay musicians...un-fucking-heard of!!! Those shoes are just screaming "what a 'mo."

in high school, I wore the world's first pair of bright orange saddle oxfords; what was that screaming?

You wore 'em, you tell me. ;)

my Grandfather was a painter[both of houses & portraits], and on one of his visits when I was a child, he had returned from a job with a bit of dark brown in a can; I'm in the backyard with Joe, watching him organize all the shit piled in the trunk of his old beater; he sees that there is enough of the viscous remnant, and begins stirring with a broad pig-bristle brush; then, with a brushfull of shiny brown possibility, he throws his foot up onto his rear bumper, and applies a generous coating to his paint-speckled brogans[sock & all]; I guess it made an impression; Mods & Rockers were changing fashions and orange saddle oxfords seemed apropos to getting with it; they were my most comfortable pair[I had five pairs of saddle oxfords; a different look for each day in the school-week], and were badly scuffed from wear; I FIXED THEM! I was already queer-bait, so flamboyant footwear only added the faintest shout to already broadcast "come hither's"

if Mexico were to fund & build a wall on their northern border, they could design & control any gates thought necessary Canada could come to this same brilliant conclusion, but have a much longer border to their south USofA would quickly become a 'backwater' & learn some diplomacy Abe[not Lincoln] has decided to add a state-of-the-art aircraft carrier to their somewhat modest self-defense force's naval arsenal I can't wait to see it sailing proudly upon the China Sea those Russians, allowed to continue their occupation of Japanese territory in the 1965 treaty, better look out Abe could pull a 'Thatcher' on their ass[still claiming self-defense] Modi will not let this important development go unobserved Aussies could use any help coming from both these Asian-Pacific naval assets all that ocean water makes a poor border-wall Philippines & Indonesia could be taking sides soon, and they represent major populations that produce surplus foods on DEC 21, Antarctica will be at the peak of their summer thaw, and we should start seeing some scary video from down that way South America is fast becoming a bigger wild card than Africa Panama will need two[very short] border-walls; they could get whatever they need from Home Depot Online I'm fixing to adjourn long enough to grate some boiled eggs & craft myself a sandwich I had Special K for breakfast[at 1:08 PM]

not so long ago, Japan had the most avid/affluent collectors of vintage guitars like the market for fresh tuna, they kinda became spoilers[unless you are a seller]

Japan was, at one time, made the best guitars you could buy outside of the US. Nowadays, with computer assisted design, and CNC milling machines almost any putz with a few thousand dollars to spare can be in the business of making precision, high quality guitars. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4bbUaqwTlk

Japan also distills the world's highest quality Scotch. whassup w/dat?

So, you pair that CNC mill  (with which one can also mill metal parts) with a computer, and a 3D printer, and I'm sure that ones ability to fabricate virtually anything becomes reality. Whoa. Hold on there, buckaroo. What about Mr. Retailer and his market-locked semi-monopoly selling copyrighted and patented products? DIGITAL RIGHTS MANAGEMENT...

NAMM was a wonderland, where competing instrument manufacturers got a very expensive opportunity for exposure. Some very well-attended guest artist performances at GWCC come to mind. Who plays your instrument is really the price-driver, and the actually-played instrument catapulted into the price-paid stratosphere! That auction you mentioned, could become a venue for one of these recognizable artists from the Athens music-scene. Have him or her[maybe them] play all your inventory, right before the bidding begins. Let the artist auction off the companion signatures, for the cause. Am I getting through here?

if Siskel & Ebert were arguing about some new film that was just out, their heated discussion might drift onto PRODUCTION VALUES(only EBERT would be likely to do that); if he argued for a THUMBS UP, based on excellent production value(making a film is like telling a story; some tell the same story better), he will say nthat the film's producers used amazing cinematography(spent lots more $$$) to express several themes/ideas, where most would not have(or would not have to), & that added P.V. made the film infinitely better, more entertaining & the extra-mile techniques became like another character in the story. YOUR TASK:when you have decided upon a particular 'song' to work-up for improving the ESSENCE ACT, do a YouTube search for videos & collect all that you may find(especially the less-professional and/or amateurish looking/sounding ones that somehow got posted); next, watch them all(probably several times each) & select the best few from the batch; discuss w/band-members WHY you thought those were the best ones; you may tend toward the better sound quality or the best of the musicians; you might find that you wanted to choose one of them, not for the music, but something they did that was captured in the video, or there were close-ups of fingering that you appreciated or just that the film featured separate performers at the right change-ups. My 1st TV-production had two cameras & a switcher; it was a softball game, sponsored by 96-ROCK & Alex Cooley, played by DJ's vs. band-members from KANSAS, when they came into town for a Concert(Cooley Promoted); it drew a large & raucous crowd of KANSAS-fans to Piedmont Park one sunny afternoon, helped promote both the Concert & the radio station(while having video-production equipment/personnel at the game helped boost all the excitement); one camera was fixed on a tri-pod behind the plate(to capture pitches & swings) & the other was just past 1st-base, and could pan to follow a hit and catch the play in-field or out-(w/close-up on 1st-base action); there was just one microphone, so I put it on a tall stand w/heavy, steady base, and placed where I got an adequate feed for both Alex's play-by-play calls on the P.A., and good coverage of the crowd-reactions(and even some overheard conversations in the bleachers); it took 3 of us, cameraman on 1st to do the panning if there was a hit/play, another guy on the switcher at my truck to change from behind-the-plate coverage, to the panning view of the field, whenever he heard that sound an aluminum bat makes clobbering a softball; then, of course, I was there directing(or perhaps repositioning the mike or just speaking a fake-part as faux-fan), and could have made the spectacle even greater, if I had carried a large megaphone around & shouted-out camera/switcher cues. Things went smoothly with 3-crew, and even though cameras weren't sync-ed & each switch rolled the image, the tape we produced gave the feeling of being there with crowd/Alex/KANSAS; my BetaMax was so amazing, that when I loaned my only copy to Alex, he never returned it(but word got around about my Channel 41 Productions, because this big promoter showed it to everyone that stopped by his office om business)!!! The Production Values of the song-videos you collect and watch depends on so many different things, that it would behoove ESSENCE to thoroughly exploit as many of them as practical in their future bookings; your SHOW can be good enough to disguise any musical- or talent-shortcomings, while growing a better- or well-organized local fan-base, that by bringing more folks to your bookings will equal higher- and better-paying gigs as you mature as a group, or change-out various artists as needed.

https://www.facebook.com/oldstagehands/photos/a.1375675492750537/1375675312750555/?type=3&theater

Following a performer around with what amounts to a big flashlight sounds easy, and probably looks easy too, if you watch while it's being done. Well, it ain't; and your lack of ability is most immediately apparent to the other operators who can make those first outings tough on you if they wish. That's when those relationships first begin to pay back dividends. The lighting director will be less aware of your foibles because the angle from which he is observing is a bad one; the audience even less able to see anything of what is going on. Your buddies can cover for your short-comings, and try to talk you through the rough spots. You'd better be able to take a ration of good-natured ribbing about it too! Watching an experienced operator while the show is going on is one of the best ways to get a heads-up on many of the subtleties that can take years to acquire. If you show the proper respect to his situation, you can ask questions and get helpful answers during the show. This exchange is doubly instructive because you observe the mysterious operations while in direct correspondence to actions occurring on the stage. Sometimes the cuing is coming through a biscuit(a small portable speaker) and you see that much more clearly how his responses co-ordinate with what is taking place. The respect part is something that you must learn about too, in order to understand; when to ask your questions so that they are not bothersome, distracting or downright disastrous; being aware that the presence of the headset sometimes means others are hearing everything or aware of your presence in the booth. Few apprentice operators ever spend that much time doing this; many experienced operators are glad they don't!

Phillip DeNise: ever change the hot carbons? 3rd paragraph from PREFACE to "Work For It, Baby!":Writers are frequently counseled to write about what they know. This writer knows spotlights better than anything else he was exposed to while in his secret world. What I know about them, if taken alone, would provide the content for an exhaustive technical manual. If we begin to consider how I learned what I know, a process then becomes the subject of the manual. Describing that process is most naturally facilitated by making constant reference to actual experiences that I had while learning to operate this specific piece of equipment.

[sl7ventime]

SIGN UP Hot 97 Freestyle Black Thought HOT 97 FREESTYLE LYRICS [Verse] Uh, I'm sorry for your loss It's a body dead in the car and it's probably one of yours The writing all across the window and the walls Whether it was true or false, we shouldn't have got involved Remember, we walked past the teacher, take the chalk and laugh We wrote punishments: "I will not talk in class" Now it's pistols punishing people for talking fast And all these innocent bystanders is hauling ass I hate to say I told y'all, but I told y'all Things fall apart when the center too weak to hold ya'll I'm just collecting what you owed to my old jawn You 'bout to get swooped down on and stoled on Fools swear they wise, wise men know they foolish Well, we was headed for the web even before computers I never thought you'd give me a reason to do this Cain and Abel, Jesus and Judas Caesar and Brutus, I see intruders, avert your eyes I told you keep out of the hood, circumcise How could you sleep? I thought you always was the first to rise Ay, yo, you heard the line, "Everybody plays the fool"? Well, I'll be that exception to the rule The principal that hand-deliver lessons to the school I was making major moves, my dollar déjà vu My mission was my ambition was brandishing a tool To be a' icon, wearing slippers made of python Get mine quicker 'cause I'm slick as a pipeline Transportin' the oil, tribulation and toil Hit the operation, but I'm back in the soil Got my crown tilted, my gown quilted, silk with cashmere Burning Rome down in a minute, built it last year Newsflash, I dodged the bullet that killed the cashier My homie told me to come with him to the masjid Them brothers said, "Don't go from written bars filled with rage To primetime television and your gilded cage Then forget it's people in the world still enslaved" I barbwired my wrist, and let it fill the page Gun fire n' flares, sirens glare I'm in a iron chair where people who care Don't get the lion's share When I don't give a fuck, then I ain't fair I'm on a higher tier with people gettin' money like the financier Cash the herald I'm fresh chopped, A Bevel Rap on a doctorate level, so F. Scott Fitzgerald Maybe I'm the new Rakim, maybe I'm fat Pharaohe Undergarments or armor be my intimate apparel Pre-Kardashian Kanye, my rhymeplay immaculate Same cadence as D.O.C. pre-accident Maybe, my acumen's on par with Kool G. Rap and them Give me the proper respect, mothafucka', we back again For a couple things we lost in a fire The drive, the desire to perform on a higher plateau I'm at that show, lost in a mire Wondering how we got so far from inspired Look, when photos were sepia-toned And record players were somethin' you would keep in your home Yo, the traveler, the meaning of Tariq, he was known For the exemplary performance, uniquely his own I made the twenty-one pound for some a newfound religion Where money's put down, it's only one sound that make OGs and young lions equally proud to listen The secret amalgamism, a algorithm Coming from where only kings and crowns permitted the darkness Where archaeologists found my image in parchment Rolled into a scroll, holding a message for you It said, "The only thing for sure is taxes, death, and trouble" The anomaly sworn solemnly, high snobbidy Freakonomics and war policy, dichotomy That's Heaven and Hades, Tigris and Euphrates His highness, the apple of the Iris to you ladies As babies, we went from Similac and Enfamil To the internet and Fentanyl When all consent was still against the will I got that detox for y'all The microphone doctor, black Deepak Chopra I'm a griot that make you wanna peacock your arm Every heavy dignitary paying me top, regards Boy, I'm three optics far from your binoculars So, that smart money finna get the heat out the car Yo, I'm K-Dot Lamar meets 2Pac Shakur Got profiled by a few cops, too hot to charge Listen, somebody said a price tag was on a rapper's head So we gon' see a nice bag when the rapper dead The mask black, the flag green, black, and red They'll probably wave a white flag after plasma shed No doubt, yo, the game went they own route I can't explain what these lame kids is talkin' 'bout Or how they fit they whole foot into they own mouth I put a couple bodies in a brown bag, then I'm on route I'm sneaker shoppin' with my son, a size 8 Prior to they release, 'cause why wait? Look, in my estate I got electrified gates For these blasé guys hating at a high rate 'Cause I dodged fate then got great, the fly's straight If we ain't family or friends, then we don't vibrate And I'm that gun in y'all face, none of y'all safe If I catch you at the right time in the wrong place, slippin' Sippin' on something with a strong taste Like Whiskey or bootleg Bourbon with a corn base My Levante resemble a vehicular threat The mic I spray, resemblin' the sickle of death It ain't strenuous to come from a continuous breath I set fire to the venue, I'ma spin you and step Rinse, repeat You checkin' for the sound of the beast I'm the hound, I'ma creep, I get down, I'ma eat I'ma keep somethin' to lay a naysayer to sleep Playin' with heat, nobody and nothin' fucking with 'Riq Yo, these weaklings is claiming they cutting up in the street Nigga, peace, you ain't working with nothin' but the police Listen, you ain't finna be nothing but the deceased Listen, you in a tournament with a permanent crease I strike fear in the hearts of rap figures Who mind bare the stigmas of time, no black privilege From boom bap niggas to trap niggas You in the trap with us, when the lines is as Vivid as the walls on the graph Autographed by the Lord of Wrath I reside between the seconds on the chronograph How much more CB4 can we afford? It's like a Shariah Law on "My Cherie Amour" How much hypocrisy can people possibly endure? But ain't nobody working on a cure, my young boul Y'all just regular, I'm a' apex predator Brim stay fresh, feathered up, etcetera Nevertheless, I got a message and left One dead messenger, yep My pen is Henry Kissinger, Buzz Bissinger Look, my caporegime is to no redeem And my oldest son Ahmir Saleem out of New Orleans Took a golf cart to the Baccarat from the Waldorf What was on the wall? That depend on what you call art I'ma say 300k ain't even in the ballpark I charge more just for awkward small talk So yes, who's fucking with it if it's not the best? I get the lobby painted fresh upon my request It's Kafka-esque, His Holiness, stop the press That Cobalt blue, reminiscent of Makkaresh Lord, we got Padma Lakshmi for you Let her massage your back with black seed oil The foundation is firm, the flags need soil Me? I need Royal Tea because I bleed royal Go through the vein to the brain, fabulous and strange My journalistic range is a catalyst for change It got anybody that listen pissin' flame And 'cause the Hall of Fame got so many missing names I'll acknowledge the original People's not Oliver Y'all will get the next challenger for Excalibur I'm more policed for my core beliefs They tried to capture me and brand me on the cheek With a fleur-de-lis The side of my heart'll be more discreet I'm international, my passport page is like War and Peace I've always played my part from the start Back in Philly where the triggers is mandatory to spark With a slightest inflammatory remark I have you enter living a category apart Listen, a grain of salt'll tip the scales, it never fails Walk on egg shells, sleep on a bed of nails Criminal records like record sales Making heads or tails We like Henrietta Lacks up in the cells My mother was a working class, very loving woman Who struggled, every dinner could've been the last supper I come home, chasing good-for-nothing half-cousins And then walk in the crib to the smell of crack cooking She was introduced to that substance abuse On some of the strongest drugs that the government produced Look, I even got excused by the principal My story is out of the dub dub interview I've seen some ice cold summers, hot winters too I never thought I'd win Grammy Awards with The Roots I never thought I would be getting long in the tooth My OGs told me, ''Boy you better go and live your truth'' I am a walking affirmation, that imagination And focus and patience gets you closer to your aspiration And just 'cause they give you shit don't mean you have to take it My words capture greatness, sworn affidavits Yours truly, the celestial being You stay seeing pulling up in the fresh European High-stepping out of it, dressed to a T And not another got more soul, 'less you Korean I’ve been having visions of Nat Turner holding his master’s head Like Yorick and Horatio in Hamlet Smacking it like a tennis racket, underhanded Send a message through the Gram: ''The Eagle has landed'' Dressed in a military jacket made of canvas I am no gorilla, I just make 'em go bananas Outstanding, red, black, and green bandanas Cocked hammers, hairs on my chin is outstandin' Can't manage the weight of war, they're just out ballin' Look, I'll fall up from the sky to see my calling I'm not crawling, I'm a free man like Morgan Seeing manhood in the hood is a damn good bargain If a black man don't tap dance And every girl that got a fat booty don't lapdance Well, I guess it's somethin' wrong, huh? Niggas completely uninformed I don't burn bridges, yo, I keep the haters' runnin' for em' I ain't one of y'all peers, I'm the sum of all fears Somebody stronger than me? Who that? I'm all ears Like Obama, I wish he had another four years Y'all some jolly good Hollywood Squares I'm like, ahem, approach the altar with your offering I spoil rappers rotten like my only offspring Being His Excellency gets to be exhausting You in the residency of the one they call King Dada, Ali Baba, the talented Mr. Trotter Inside of my right palm, the mark of the stigmata Big Poppa, wig chopper, emperor Jaffe Joffer, mufucka' I'm stronger than the coffee out in Kafa All y'all niggas vagina hop, remind me of Icona Pop I step in the booth, I'm a bull inside a China shop, mollywhoppin' Watch another cotton pickin' body drop Every time we rock, yo, they acting like it's Mardi Gras 'Til the party stop, skirt off like she that Ferrari drop Soul Cycle pumping that Earth, Wind and Fire ba-di-ah Coolin' 'pon the dock, à la marina, hard body yacht You seen another rapper cleaner, mami? Probably not How it feel to be the best that did it, I admit it I'm visiting from planet Bring-These-Niggas-Death-In-Minutes And y'all know I'm exquisite, wicked as Wilson Pickett The sickness I exhibit, I'm too legit to quit it I don't fake it 'til I make it, I take it to the limit and break it Never timid, what I'm about, I represent it Infinite just like Chace is, been a million places Conversation is how beautiful my face is People hated on how sophisticated my taste is Then I pulled up on these mothafuckas in a spaceship Panther mind, I'm made of elements you can't combine I'm at a level of intelligence you can't define Einstein, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Tesla Recording artist slash psychology professor I preach for the East, never fold under pressure The beast from the East and I glide like Clyde Drexler Ay, yo, my new name is eighty five X's 'Cause I'm the rap game certified specialist When I was reckless I was worried 'bout the guest list I'm helping rappers everywhere fulfill a death wish Yo Flex, I'm glad we made contact My nigga also know this shit for Combat Brain matter contain too much data I tell a story like fingerprints and blood splatta' WATCH MORE BELOW https://youtu.be/tiRPlCguqEc

[cathygeha]

The Watcher

by Bella Jewel

PRESS RELEASE

“72 HOURS will blow your mind on every page! The villain is truly haunting, with an evilness that leaves its mark and threatens to become a permanent fixture. The journey is harrowing, but well worth the literary upheaval. — Romantic Times Book Reviews

"A sexy, dramatic suspense that I didn’t want to put down!”  — Harlequin Junkie

“Sexy, irresistible, and lively, this story was addicting! I read it all in one sitting and I couldn’t get enough.”  — The Novel Tease

The Watcher By Bella Jewel

Bella Jewel’s self-published novels hooked a whole audience of readers in and landed her on the USA Today bestseller list. Jewel debuted in print with 72 HOURS in April, hooking readers with her tense romantic suspense. Now she continues the series with THE WATCHER (St. Martin’s Press; May 30, 2017), another thrilling novel. When her sister goes missing, a woman must confront her horrific past with the help of the sexiest man she's ever met.  

After killing the serial killer who kidnapped her, Marlie Jacobson became famous overnight. She never wanted the fame and left to live in the shadows. But when her sister disappears, Marlie returns home and enlists the dangerously handsome, world-famous tracker Kenai Michelson to help find her missing sister.  

Kenai agrees to work with Marlie, and as they grow closer, they can’t deny the powerful desire simmering between them. As their relationship heats up, the investigation takes a terrifying twist: is the serial killer who kidnapped Marlie back from the dead? And what lengths will Kenai go to protect the woman he loves?

A nail biter from start to finish, Jewel’s new venture into romantic suspense is enthralling and will have you cheering on Marlie and Kenai as they track down a terrifying serial killer. THE WATCHER is a tightly spun plot with serious heat between the pages. This is only the start to Jewel’s new series as she will follow with her next romantic suspense book Blind Date this August.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Contact:  Brittani Hilles, Publicist, St. Martin’s Press Brittani.Hilles@stmartins.com | 646-307-5558

About the Author USA Today bestselling author Bella Jewel is a fun-loving Australian who lives in sunny Queensland with her two playful daughters. She’s been writing since she was fifteen and has authored a broad range of stories with wild characters ranging from bikers to pirates. When she’s not writing, Bella can be found kicking about on dirt bikers or riding horses. Bella has many more books planned for the future. She is the author of 72 Hours and The Watcher.

THE WATCHER By Bella Jewel Published by St. Martin’s Paperbacks **On Sale May 30, 2017** Mass Market Paperback | $7.99 ISBN: 9781250108388 Ebook ISBN: 9781250108395

For more information, or to set up an interview with the author, contact: Brittani Hilles at Brittani.hilles@stmartins.com or 646-307-5558

Praise for 72 HOURS:

“An intriguing and engaging romantic suspense, grab a copy of 72 HOURS for some hair-raising reading.” — Romance Reviews Today  

“I was feeling the whole Hunger Games meets Saw type of vibe throughout the entire book, and I was GLUED to the pages!” — Garden of REden

"A wonderful and intriguing storyline, an enjoyable and engaging read, a thrilling and fascinating journey into the mind of a wicked and depraved killer…If you are a Bella Jewel fan, a lover of romantic suspense, and enjoy a good thriller, you will definitely want to give this story a try.” — Nose Stuck in a Book

“If you like heart pounding drama, bossy alpha males, truly psychotic antagonists, and real emotions, 72 HOURS is a great read. You will be pulled in almost from the start.” — The Book Disciple  

“If you are a fan of extra twisted villains, and love a good suspense chase, you so want to grab a copy of 72 Hours ASAP. You will love it. Bella Jewel did an incredible job. 72 HOURS is a thrilling adventure.” — Book Briefs

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Seven Years Later

Chirp chirp. Groaning, I throw my hand over my face. Morning already? Another day?  Really. It seems I only went to bed five minutes ago, how could it possibly be time to wake up? The dramatic singing of the birds outside indicate that it is, in fact, morning, and that means I’ve made it to see the light of another day. Another lonely, dragging day of misery. Okay, that’s slightly dramatic, but what can I say? It’s my life now. More loud chirping makes me throw my arm from my face and slap it down on the bed beside me. “All right, I’m up,” I grumble, attempting to sit. My body aches and my head is pounding. It seems I wake up this way more often than not ONE Seven Years  Later 033-68774_ch01_3P.indd   7 4/18/17   10:45 AM 8 BELLA JEWEL

these days. The doctor tells me it’s all in my head, that  there is nothing physically wrong with me anymore. He  didn’t get his entire body beaten with a bat, so what the hell would he know? I feel it  every time I move. My legs mostly. An ache that seems like it’ll never leave, a soreness in my muscles that I’m constantly trying to stretch out. I shove myself up to a sitting position, and stare out the win dow. I see nothing but trees. Just a vast expanse of skinny, yet lush, trees.  There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, and that’s the honest truth. I bought this tiny, one- bedroom cabin just outside of Colorado Springs for a bargain three years ago. The owner gave me a  great deal  because he had an emergency with his  family and needed to sell it urgently. It was a dream come true for me. I left my home in Denver just before that, around the time I went from being a nobody to a famous serial killer survivor. I  don’t say this lightly. Fame didn’t come as a relief; it came as my own personal hell. I was suffering serious  mental instability, but my  mother figured, Hey, why not put my  daughter in the spotlight by writing a novel about her horrible ordeal with a deranged psychopath? I’ll never forget the hours she sat, talking to reporters, the police, and me about what happened. She managed to piece together enough information to make a bestseller. Seemed like a solid plan. The book took off, became massive overnight. So did I. 033-68774_ch01_3P.indd   8 4/18/17   10:45 AM THE WATCHER 9 Then came the time I  couldn’t walk down the street without being noticed by someone. If it wasn’t insane requests for autographs—  Really, who does that?—it was  people staring at me like I was a zoo animal. They  were  either too afraid to talk to me, scared no doubt that I might have a  giant breakdown, or wanted to ask me a million nonsensical questions about my kidnapping. As if they were casually discussing a movie and not a  human life. I played along for a while, for the sake of my family— mostly for my widowed  mother, who was smiling for the first time since my  father died only a year before my kidnapping. But  later, I strug gled with knowing that her happiness came from exploiting my pain.  After all, her  daughter nearly lost her life, but then, she was making millions from my story, so what the hell, right? I was suddenly a survivor. The girl who got away. The brave one. The one who got a second chance at life. I  didn’t want any of that. I  don’t know why I  didn’t pack up and run earlier, but the truth is I  didn’t even know my name most days. Intense therapy and  people screaming for my story on the street made my already traumatized mind shut down. I lived most days like a zombie, moving through life purely  because I had to, not  because I wanted to. Instead of supporting me, my  mother made my ordeal about her. Resentment lives deep in my chest daily  because of that. 033-68774_ch01_3P.indd   9 4/18/17   10:45 AM 10 BELLA JEWEL

Because she  wasn’t  there for me when she needed to be.  Because she  didn’t help me when I was suffering.  Because she  didn’t comfort me when I’d wake up screaming from the nightmares. The god- awful nightmares. Even now, I see his face  every time I close my eyes. My therapist assures me it  won’t be this way forever. I think she’s wrong. I think it’ll be this way for the rest of my life. I just  don’t see how talking to someone about it is  going to take away the fact that he’s in my head, and I’m damned sure he’ll never leave. But I’m surviving, now that I’m out  here, on my own; I’m making it through. Some days I  don’t know how, but I think the solitude helps. No reporters. No  family members. No walking down the street with judgment. No fear. It’s just me. I feel safe, which is something I  haven’t felt in such a long time. I throw myself out of bed and my knees protest angrily, but I push on. I  don’t need any more reminders about what he did. My knees like to keep my mind in the past. Part of the reminder is my fault, I guess.  After all, I picked the worst job  there is for weak knees— waitressing. In my defense, living this far out of Denver, it was  really the only option for me. My boss is understanding. Mostly. Except for days like  today, when I sleep in. I  don’t need to work. In fact, I prob ably  won’t 033-68774_ch01_3P.indd   10 4/18/17   10:45 AM THE WATCHER 11 need to work for the rest of my life, but I refuse to touch money that has come from a monster and the story he created for me. I gave most of it to my mom, but in my own account  there’s a good few million that I  don’t touch. It just keeps growing and growing as the book continues to sell. I  don’t want it. I  don’t think I’ll ever want it. I half walk, half flail, to my closet and pull out my work clothes, which consist of a short black mini skirt and a tight tank top. The diner is a  little run- down, so my boss insists on making it more attractive by making us look more attractive. I wear leggings  under my skirt,  because the scarring on my knees is far too hideous. My boss is fine with it. I think he knew he  didn’t  really get a choice. Without time for a shower, I drop my nightie and pull the clothes on, before throwing my hair up into a ponytail and jerking on some shoes. There, I’m ready. I groan my way out into the tiny kitchen and head straight to my coffee machine, praying I remembered to set it for this morning. When it roars to life, I sigh happily. Thank the heavens. I take my coffee and pour it into my travel mug. And then I grab my keys and rush out the door. I really need to set an alarm, but that would mean committing to something, and this year I’ve promised myself I’ll just let life take me where it wishes. Yeah right, who am I kidding? I just find comfort in my bed, and most nights it takes me so long to

Bella Jewel - the author