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sugar-petals · 6 years ago

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Doc on a Date (m)

↳ You meet your former patient Namjoon on vacation in Italy. What begins as a bizarre encounter turns into an erotic thrill.

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre › smut | one shot | 7k

— warnings › vaginal sex (protected), doggy style, cunnilingus, masturbation, degradation, marking, dom!reader, sub!rm — a/n › motto: sex with obstacles. nams with spectacles.

The waitress with the curly hair looks a bit flushed. It’s not the evening buzz and temperature, she’s used to that. Somehow, the circular tray won’t sit right on her palm either. A fresh cup of coffee and two empty wine glasses wobble back and forth on top of it, but without actually sliding out of place — it must be one of those fancy coated trays a waiter can do pretty much a somersault with sans losing any of the beverages. Or perhaps, this is just another urban myth of Venice at night. Your day has been busy.

Her accent is broken, yet still polished to a reasonable degree. You can tell that the Ristorante Dogaressa gets its fair share of foreigners. At one point you believe that she even sounds all too deferential.

“I’m sorry, Signora. Today’s packed. Would you still prefer a seat?”

You linger with your keys still in the right hand. The famed Hotel Belleza with its first-floor restaurant is just around the block and your second choice for the evening. A two-minute ride through not-so bustling traffic, it really is more crowded on the actual Canal. But the smell of calzone and antipasti alone, the antique decor framing the doors, the palace across the river, set in delicate spotlights—

You stuff the keys into your pea coat pocket. If you want to dine at the Dogaressa, this is the only chance. The onslaught of tourists is even harder to go against when the weekend starts.

“Yes, if that’s possible? It’s my fault, with the reservation system.”

Now that you’ve turned toward the dining room ever so slightly, and perhaps she did notice, the tray comes into balance again. Back to impeccable posture. The waitress smiles.

“Table 15 on the right still has one chair left.”

“Indeed, the section at the Canal?”

“There’s a signorino seated. I hope it doesn’t cause any inconvenience. It’s a double table we can separate for you. I’ll call my colleagues, it’s done in two seconds.”

“Alright, no problem, very kind.”

After helping you take off your coat, the waitress turns to the reception now. A bearded concierge calls for “Stella” and “Valentina” through a two-way radio. You pay the music night admission, 30€. Just a blink later, two waitresses arrive at the entrance on ever-so swift feet.

He peers up from the menu card. The brunette signorino in question wears Michael Cane glasses, Oxford shoes, and no tie — shirt buttoned down to expose more of his chest than your tour guide from Verona or anybody downtown would ever dare. Frivolous. Sexy. Or simply unaware? A certain feeling between your legs says it doesn’t matter anyways. If that button is open, it’s open.

You can tell right away that he’s not a local like you. There’s a map on the left side of his plate and some kind of book with Korean lettering on top of it. Something seems familiar.

Valentina detaches the table from one side while Stella, discreet between the rows of guests, comes to bring about a second tablecloth. Once you are seated, received a separate set of cutlery, including the menu card, Valentina takes your order for a chilled beverage, yet you mess up the name twice. It’s not because your Italian is so bad.

The waitresses leave in haste toward the kitchen, leaving you with a view on the Canal Grande, the Doge’s palace, and a rather agitated desk neighbor talking without the slightest trace of an accent. That is familiar, too. Very, very familiar.

“I’m really sorry, I could have taken a single table earlier. I need to apologize. Sincerely.”

His way of speaking is as eloquent as you know it. Some things never change.

“No problem at all,” you counter. “It’s absolutely fine. You couldn’t have known in advance. I messed up with the online reservation.”

The gentleman looks empathetic now.

“I had to ask for a table by phone as well, the server didn’t take my data somehow. Said too many requests.”

“Oh really? The same happened to me!”

“I mean they fixed it this morning, somehow,” he shrugs. “I double-checked. It’s all very mysterious. I thought I’d miss out on it.”

“Yes, they bring out the band at quarter past seven, right? Everyone in my hotel’s been talking about it. I needed to see what was going on, they were recommended to me.”

He nods, smile brighter than ever.

“The band. The band, yes! I’m so excited. They’ll be brilliant.”

“Yes.”

“I’m, I’m sure. You’ll enjoy the evening.”

The tone, the stammer, the face. It must have been five years or more. You struggle to put it into words. He’s so attractive in his attire that you can barely say anything without feeling the pulse in your lap take over.

“So, is this your first time in Venice?”

“Uh, pardon. This might be a bit sudden. Do I know you—”

Stella pops up by your side with a filled tray. You clear your throat and notice that she has tightened her ponytail quite a lot.

The icy drink in a tall glass sizzles a bit, leaving sprinkles at the inside of the crystal surface, just how you like it. You eye the card fast and pick out the first things that seem to fit your taste. Talking to the gentleman left you no time to browse through even one bit of the menu.

With a quick hand, the waitress notes down a tagliatelle and tomato dish, iceberg salad, and a panna cotta. 25-30 minutes waiting time, she says, chef’s busy but the restaurant is prepared because of the music night, come to the reception to pay later on. You check your watch, it’s almost seven. The signorino orders an artichoke puree, the risotto with Marsala sauce, and an array of gelato with seasonal fruit for dessert. Extra large portion but a La Carte. Just, extra large, mille grazie. Stella rushes to the next guest in no time.

The woman at the next table gasps out before you can lean toward the signorino again. Several more heads turn. Only now do you realize that the restaurant has equipped a corner on the far end of the Canal terrace with a microphone, guitar, and drum set. To which now a young lean man appears to be headed to, straying through the rows of chairs in a golden waistcoat more gleaming than the Doge’s Palace, Willy Wonka shades, and black trousers. Two other men clad in red leather jackets follow him to the stage. Claps and cheers resound from the terrace with each entrance.

“Back home he’s a really popular performer,” the gentleman beams.

Guitar noises drown out what he says next. The singer in gold announces himself as “Jung Hoseok and this is Seoul State of Mind! A—five, a—six, seven, and eight! Yeah!“

More applause. The drummer starts to step on the pedal, indicating a fast rhythm. Some visitors rise from their desks, take out their phones. A few tourists and locals already clog the space between chairs. The signorino tries to yell something to you across the table, but the howling guitar and upbeat cymbals overpower the sound. The people around you tap their feet to the beat, as does the signorino. You realize that the song itself doesn’t appear to be called “Seoul State of Mind”, but rather, is the name of the band itself. Several restaurant guests start singing along when an enthusiastic Jung Hoseok intonates the chorus. Now you understand everyone at the hotel breakfast raving about the music night and giving you the recommendation. Albeit tremendously loud, it’s a really catchy sound.

A new wave of frantic guests streams into the room, likely coming from the second and third floor of the restaurant. People from Romania, the US, Brazil. In the meantime, Stella, Valentina, and some other waiters squeeze through the crowd with their trays lifted above their heads, delivering plates and drinks. Point half past seven, the menu steams off on your table, spreading a rich scent of tomato sauce.

The sigorino barely focuses on his own risotto given that he has taken out his phone as well. Jung Hoseok, ever the Mick Jagger, prances around the terrace engaging bystanders with juicy dance moves. In between the next song, he loudly announces to give it up for Kim ”Rowdy” Seokjin on the guitar and Justin Jungkook on the drums who waves and twirls his sticks through the air right away, then giving the crowd a taste of his explosive skill. The gentleman keeps on filming every second of it.

It appears to you that the sound technicians likely went for maximum volume so the people on the Canal boats could hear Seoul State Of Mind from afar, too. It’s so deafening that you can’t hear your own cutlery scrape on the plate while you eat, nor Stella placing the panna cotta on the table once you finish. The playlist goes by in a rush, and people start squeezing between you and the table of the signorino. It’s almost 8PM.

The panna cotta is tastefully portioned and drips with red fruit and chocolate decor, but you finish up fast. Several impassioned fans from Padua start to press against the back of your chair, and one particularly eager guy accidentally hits your elbow while you try to balance a strawberry on your dessert spoon. Jung Hoseok, still uproarious even after five exhausting performances, announces the next song. Busan Namja — Men of Busan. The crowd goes wild again.

“Rowdy” Jin descends into an impetuous, almost delirious guitar solo hitting more notes at once than you ever could on your own Dreadnought acoustic in 1998 that you decide to get up. With ten jumping and gyrating Venetians or more between your table and the one with the signorino, you fail to get through to him two times. As you do, finally, the table is empty. No trace. Just the book is left, open at the first blank page. It seems that he didn’t manage to read any further, and how could he, with Jung Hoseok rocking and thrusting his life away on the terrace.

A scraggly handwriting, however, catches your eye. At the top left corner, the page reads: “Kim Namjoon // 김남준”.

Yes.

Namjoon.

You knew it was him. It was the name on your patient’s file, the exact same signature.

Seoul State of Mind announces another song, “Birdz and the Beez, yeah!”, and a jolt goes through the masses. Before you know it, the crowd moves you along. By the very skin of your teeth, your feet bring you closer to the entrance. You look around, but the entire congested first floor goes into a frenzy with Seokjin’s roaring Hendrix hommage.

The bearded receptionist notes a 20€ tip for Stella and shakes his head at the question where the signorino Kim with the heavy glasses came from.

“Can’t give that information out, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And apologies for the hassle at the start,” he goes through the wardrobe and picks out your coat, sorted under a sign reading Tavolo/Table 15. “The online reservation base is a bit wonky nowadays. With the music night. You’ve heard them play. It’s manic every time. The restaurant owner is a big, um, admirer.”

“Ah. I was already wondering. A rock band in the Dogaressa.”

“Yes, it’s bizarre. People love it. The concept. Always steals the show. And sorry for signorino Kim again, I really can’t pass on any data.”

It’s three past ten. Your ears still reel with Birdz and the Beez and Busan Namja when you plop down on the neatly prepared mattress. Even a quick refreshment pulling out wet wipes from your suitcase doesn’t seem to give you a feeling of rest. Don’t these magazines always say to take a shower before bed to sleep well?

Winding yourself out of the sheets and looking into the rather petite bathroom, you realize you need more than that. You do remember someone at breakfast mentioning the sauna downstairs, and the pool on the hotel rooftop. Given how hot the Gondola ride on the Canal had been in the morning, and how chock-full the Ristorante Dogaressa was, you opt for heading toward the roof with your bikini under a bathrobe. Beforehand, you take up the telephone at the fringe of your nightstand and dial in the lobby number.

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N from room 406. May I ask— whether there still is access to the rooftop?”

A rather tired-sounding staff member, Gianmarco Ricci as he introduces himself, answers.

“It closes in two hours, same as the sauna. Not too crowded right now.”

“Excellent, thank you.”

“Bene, no problem, Donna Y/L/N.”

The large metal sign of Hotel Baccio with a raven emblem looms above your head while entering the rooftop area. As Gianmarco had informed you — the place is devoid of hotel guests. All around, the air is reasonably cool and leaves a tingle. Finally. The area is well-cared for as you expected.

You drop the bathrobe on one of the green canvas chairs lined up around the pool. The latter spans across a third of the roof and stretches out alongside the panoramic view opening toward the gleaming Doge’s Palace, taking a corner at the right end of the area. It’s a modern design, sleek, without ornaments.

While dipping your feet in, you still let your thoughts trail off to Jung Hoseok, then further descend into the tepid water. A rockstar in Venice. Wearing Willy Wonka shades. Singing about Busan and Bees in a high-brow restaurant. There are things even you can’t fathom. It’s fascinating. The air is lukewarm enough not to make your wet hair feel gelid. So soothing.

You swim toward the edge of the pool that dons a glass front. Beyond, the palace turns dim under its fading spotlights. Some tourists are still in the cafes at the harbor. One or two Gondolas glide into the bay as you watch. A drunk guy sings in the street. Italia, Italia.

Then, a splashing noise makes you flinch. It’s barely audible, but given the silence of the rooftop, it sounds disruptive enough. You turn to the left. It’s a silhouette parting the water, gliding toward the surface with its back turned to you. The light coming from the Hotel Baccio sign illuminates the body from the side.

A large scar divides two prominent shoulder blades, and plunges deeper down a sturdy, tan spine line. As if lightning had struck the skin. You recognize the signature right away. It is that of your most favored knife.

Frozen stiff, you see the man fully emerge and prop himself up at the edge of the glass front. Still, with his back facing your direction. He puffs out twice, ribcage heavy. So naked and isolated in the clean lines of the pool design, the silhouette looks massive. You can tell that he’s working out. Huge arms. Toned, palpable trapezoids. He lets a hand rake through his hair, backwards, taming the wet strands.

You move from the edge of the basin toward the center.

And swim over.

“Um— Mister? Hello!”

“Oh!”

The silhouette turns.

It’s nice to see the signorino’s chest a little more bare.

“That’s a coincidence. I thought we lost each other in the crowd!”

“Yeah, 600 people or more in there. Nice to see you again! Same hotel!”

“I went back earlier, it was hard on the ears. I never knew you’d be, I mean, here!”

He shoves his hair back yet again.

“Arrived yesterday, took a last minute flight from Ilsan. Yeah, pretty noisy, wasn’t it. The usual. Pool’s is nice to dive and rest.”

“It’s— And, about that. The concert. I wanted to ask you something. The music cut it off.”

“What do you mean?”

You feel your legs become a bit unsteady in the water now.

“It solved itself in the meantime, but, you probably didn’t remember. How do I put it.”

“Yes, no problem, go ahead.”

You take a breath deeper than Jung Hoseok must have done before performing the show.

“We know each other. It happened years ago.”

“What, we do? From, from where?”

He looks alarmed. You take another deliberately long inhale. Stay cool, Y/N.

“Fall 2014.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I was your surgeon. For the back.”

A moment passes. Judging by his wide-blown eyes, Namjoon does appear to realize. Your legs feel even more wobbly.

“You? You are Dr. Y/L/N?”

Two nods.

“Can’t blame you. I had a mask on most of the time you saw me. And you were lying on your stomach.”

Which was probably a good thing with a handsome face like that.

But it was just all work, professional, serious, focused, wasn’t it?

“Right. Yes, the, the examinations. I remember. 2014. Oh man.”

“I barely recognized you as well.”

“Glasses and all. Yeah.”

“You made it through the post-treatment alright the way it looks, how was it? Sorry, I. It was just the first thing I saw.”

“No, no. This is your job. Or is it, still?”

“Went into cardiothoracic two years ago. Settled there I guess. So, yeah. Kind of. Still the same branch.”

Namjoon strokes the back of his neck. The drunk guy on the street seems to have moved on by now.

“Right.”

“But I did enjoy neuro. I had many cases like you.”

“The pain, it never came back. After it healed. Took five months. Something like that.”

You hum.

“It does take longer in some cases, I’ve had a colleague report eight months once with a sports injury, was similar to yours.”

“Means you did a good job. That was excellent. It feels very even. Kinda crazy.”

“Can I? If you uh, want to.”

“Oh, sure!”

You close the distance. He turns.

That scar. Covered in droplets of water. You place your hands between his shoulder blades. Press a little with the lower part of your palm, glide it over his spine.

“It is.”

“Even, yeah?”

“Your reflex was normal, too.”

“I told Doctor Park. My life would have been fucked. Without your hands. Was too dumb to recognize you, I’m very sorry.”

You retreat your hands all too fast, and he shifts back.

“Maybe it was better it was now. You could enjoy your evening. I really liked their outfits, by the way.”

“Damn, I should have taken you to the meet and greet,” he says, teeth half grit. The look on your face turns incredulous.

“The what?”

“I got the book signed later on. Took the flight just for that, I got cards from a friend.”

“Oh, neat!”

“I just, hope you had a nice evening as well. Was a bit rude to disappear, that was shitty. I’m dense as shit for a teacher.”

So he still teaches. You knew it. Some things never change.

“No problem, the crowd was all over the place. And we’re here now.”

“Still can’t believe it. Honestly. How’s the clinic nowadays, how are you?”

Letting go of the scar, you swim back to where you were. His eyes are luminous now.

“Well, uh. Enough that I can take a long vacation in Italy and my patients are still in good hands. You know the team. Park is still around as well.”

He nods, smile attentive.

“That sounds good.”

“He says I’ll like Rome, he was there in 2017. But I think I prefer Bologna. It feels cozy there. We travel to Siena in two days as well. You’re headed home to your students?”

“Flight goes next week. Monday afternoon. Korean Air from Milan. Nice cathedral. But busy at the airport.”

You puff out, all too familiar.

“Take your sanitizer and a scarf.”

“Yeah, hate flying. Always get a cold two weeks after I arrive.”

“Sleep before, drink enough, take a ginger capsule. And you might wanna do some exercises for your back. It’s a long flight.”

“Looks like I get a cold with good reason,” he laughs, “I’m clueless.”

“If you want to, I can show you some exercises and stuff.”

“Really? Just, unpaid? This is your vacation.”

“If I don’t care about my patient’s health without the payment involved I shouldn’t be a surgeon. Salary is just for my groceries and that. Most of my colleagues don’t get this. Defeats the purpose of the whole thing.”

Namjoon laughs even more.

“That’s why Park thinks you’re Houdini or something. And, the exercises, that sounds cool.”

“We could practice here for a minute if you don’t mind. Water has more resistance to train, it’s perfect. Hydrotherapy is powerful.”

“True. Why not. Unless you’re exhausted.”

You shake your head. How could you be. With him here.

“Wide awake if you ask me. Ready if you are.”

“Okay, uh. Yes, then. What do I do?”

You position yourself at the pool’s fringe with both arms propped up.

“It’s similar to how when you work out, this way.”

Slowly, you let both of your legs ascend backwards. Namjoon watches intently, then takes on the same pose. However, his legs lift only two thirds as high.

“Need a hand?”

Namjoon huffs.

“Kinda.��

Although hesitant, you steady yourself next to him, lift him by the hip, gently. He doesn’t skip leg days as you now come to see.

“It’s more difficult since you’re tall. Keep the tension in the lower back now.”

“Okay— ah.”

He groans out twice.

“Hurts?”

You let go of his hip.

“No, no it doesn’t. Just, need a moment, I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong? Is it the back?”

Namjoon looks sweaty now. Panicking.

“Need, my robe, I apologize. Just a moment.”

“Hm?”

His face is blank.

“Will be right back. I forgot something.”

When he tries to turn upright, hasty, and brushes against your stomach with his crotch, you understand why.

No need for you to even look down.

He backs away so fast, you can’t do as much as blink.

“Shit, oh my god, shit! It wasn’t my—!”

Your tone becomes much firmer.

“Hey. Namjoon! Calm down. It’s something normal.”

“I’m sorry, it just, I didn’t want to bother, I...!”

He backs away further.

“I know which nerves go where and what they do, Kim.”

“That was creepy of me, I’m so sorry!”

Namjoon already scurries to get out of the pool once more, grabbing at the slippery edge twice without finding proper hold.

“It wasn’t, just, stop!”

His movements freeze. He glides off the edge.

“It wasn’t?”

Yeah.

“You’re very attractive. And, and I like you. I have no problem. Anatomy is my job. Calm down. You’ll hurt yourself like that. I don’t have a problem with it. Okay.”

He looks shameful now, one hand reaching down to shield himself. However, what was hurried motion a second ago, is now the deer in headlights.

“Really?”

“Yes. How can I lie. I know your body very well already. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Just say what’s on your mind. You’re the one with a fucking boner yet you’re making it hard for me. Metaphorically.”

A tinge of a shy smile blends into his embarassed expression.

“I uh, I think. Um.”

“Finally he says something! Thought he’d never do!”

“You are attractive, too. I hope I’m not rude, but—”

“Hardly. What do you want to say?”

“Uh...”

“My god Namjoon, don’t act like a teenager. We’re adults, we know each other. Seen you naked on the operating table three times and, goddammit, five times full frontal in the preperations.”

“Just thought, you’re really, sexier than ever. And your hands— I, actually, never remembered you like this at the clinic. 2014, I mean. I was really. Blown away right now. It’s been so long.”

You have to chuckle. ‘Sexier than ever’. Well, alright. Time to deliver that line.

“Surgeons age like fine wine. Cause we don’t drink it.”

Namjoon tilts his head back in a cackle.

“You know what it does on the inside.”

“Yup. You got it.”

He exhales. Looking more relaxed, at least.

“Only thing I got right today. Gosh.”

He lets go of the pool’s edge entirely. You cross your arms.

“So you wanna owe up to that you liked the touch or not?”

“What?”

“Maybe you did make it hard for me. Just, literally.”

“Not metaphorically I’m sure.”

“Oh indeed?

“Yeah. I guess.”

Now you’re the one laughing. Namjoon seems awfully bashful in his corner of the basin. You nod your head toward the exit.

“Which one of our hotel rooms makes a better fucking, patient Kim?”

“Hah?”

“Can’t jizz up this pool, can we. Gianmarco would have a breakdown.”

He seems to gather himself a little more now. Nevertheless, he sweats.

“Patient care... is supposed to be in the doctor’s office.”

“I have no view on the Doge’s Palace or something.”

“Really?”

“Nope. As I said. The salary is for groceries. And the tour guide did a shitty booking.”

And you’d rather spend your money on the Dogaressa where people like Namjoon are, who are you kidding.

“Then I have good news. If you make house visits for patients.”

“Oh, truly. Sure do.”

“You’ll enjoy the evening.”

At least you can scrub off the chlorine scent there with hotel-provided shampoo, yet the bathroom is equally mediocre as yours. But the glass facade beyond the bed showcases much more than just the palace itself. You can see the Dome, the Biblioteca, people coming from the Piazza San Marco, the Ponte, the Museo Diocesano.

And Namjoon. Rubbing down his spiky hair with a towel and slipping a condom on. You hang up your bathrobe at one of the wardrobes where his unlaced Oxford shoes stand and join him on the bed. Against the light of the city, he looks even more sculpted. The heat and throb between your legs doesn’t lie.

“Doc on a Date, huh.”

“Pretty much.”

“Very much inclined for the Birdz and the Beez, who would have known.”

Namjoon barely has the condom on that he has to grin again.

“Okay. If you can do something with that cardiotho—something.”

“Cardiothoracic. Heart and lungs.”

“Both going pretty wild over here.”

“No problem, Mister.”

You pat the large pillow at the head of the bed, embroidered with the Hotel Baccio raven emblem. He reclines.

“Good thing I don’t have to see you all ventral nowadays, you know.”

“Too vertical to be prone tonight, I’m sorry, Doc.”

“Y/N.”

Namjoon rubs his face with both hands and sighs out.

“Damn, Park mentioned it once. Never realized. Y/N, right.”

“Don’t sweat it. Can we safeword?”

“Safeword is, I don’t know. Rome.”

He’s paid attention.

“Milan for slow. Bologna for okay. Verona for faster. How about that.”

“And Ilsan. For please don’t go.”

You freeze. The look in Namjoon’s eyes is different.

Much more gloomy. Or is it serene? You feel your heart drop.

“Don’t say that, don’t, don’t remind me...”

“It’s not for you,” he shakes his head twice.

“Hm?”

Namjoon points toward his chest.

“It’s a reminder for me. Will make this count, Y/N. I’ve been dumb all evening. Gotta do something right for once.”

“Don’t pressure yourself.”

He frowns.

“Not with this opportunity. You stitched my life together. You did so much.”

The guy on the street starts singing again. Your fists clamp at either your knees.

“It was a car accident. And my profession. You don’t have to repay me with sex. What counts is you’re healed. Okay.”

The last Gondola passes the Hotel on the Canal now. Namjoon’s expression has turned grave.

“Maybe, maybe you’re right,” he rustles in the sheets, sits up.

“We can just sit here and talk about your students. Don’t think you owe me anything. Seeing the scar was what satisfied me.”

Another lie. But what can you do. He was right about Ilsan.

Namjoon reaches down to peel the condom off. It flops down on the nightstand crumpled and unused.

“You can look at it,” he bends forward just enough for the light of the palace to shine across his back. “As long as you want. I’m just a mess.”

You lay both hands on his shoulders. The shadows they cast are deep. Goosebumps form on his arms.

“Don’t hate yourself, Namjoon.”

“I’m ruining your evening, I’m stupid.”

“You’re just... maybe, awkward. There’s a difference. But I can’t blame you, okay. It’s alright.”

“You have to, I’ve been rude to you all day.”

The palace outside looks twice less radiant now. You clench your fists harder now, thinking it would not make you feel the sweat.

“We didn’t meet for five years. Caught you off guard, that’s it. Rude is when you do it deliberately.”

“The result is the same. I’m very sorry. I just bother you.”

Your voice turns more mortified.

“What?!”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t? I just said I like you fifteen minutes ago. And I don’t think that changed!”

“Don’t say that, look at me. I’m just a burden for someone like you. I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve anything of... this.”

The words take a long time to register in your mind. Your neck feels as if it’s about to burst.

“Joon! Get yourself together!”

“But it’s true.”

The singing on the street abates.

You throw yourself on the other side of the bed, rip open the nightstand’s upper drawer. Namjoon looks more than startled when you throw a condom packaging at him. It slips through his fingers and lands on the sheets.

“Put it on,” you point downwards. He picks it up, still unsure.

“Y/N?”

“I said put it on. Fuck you, Kim Namjoon. Fuck you, and your endless bullshit. I’m tired. I’ll bloody prove you wrong. Move it!”

Namjoons hands are too hasty to tear the wrapping open, so you take it from him and do it yourself. He squeaks when you roll it down on him.

“You believe it when I screw it into your brain? Stop talking shit. Looks like it’s not you who has to be the rude one.”

“I, I!”

“You’re right, you are a dumbass. Lie down.”

“Okay!”

Namjoon falls back into the pillow fast. You mount him faster, index pressing down on his chest.

“And now, be damn honest. And give me a whole sentence. Can you take a fucking and say you deserve it?”

His voice becomes even squeakier.

“Take a— yes! I mean! Deserve? Are you sure about this?”

“I see.”

You grab hold of Namjoon’s bathrobe that lies folded beneath the bed and remove its fabric belt.

“Is it okay you do me a favor and bite on this, you need to shut up. First, you talk crap, second, Gianmarco’s gonna call us up in two minutes if you can’t control your voice. We’re in a damn hotel, not the restaurant with Hoseok on stage.”

“Sorry, doc. I’m just rude and a prick.”

You roll your eyes.

“Pipe down, bite or not?”

You crumple up the fabric of the belt into a palm-sized ball. Eyebrows raised. Gaze fixed.

“Bologna.”

“Then open your mouth now.” And he does. For you to stuff the gag in. “Tap the mattress for Rome.”

“Mhm!”

“I like you better that way. Whiny patient. Or is it that,” you pause, then listen to any activity on the corridor. Then continue, “you like being so damn degraded?”

The igneous look in his eyes is all too telling. You’re getting hornier by the minute.

“I’m hitting more than one nerve today, am I. You’re acting so strange. Is it really that? Is it—”

The nightstand phone ringing so disturbingly loud makes both of you flinch so hard that the bed frame vibrates.

Gianmarco.

“Fuck!”

Without thinking, you pick it up in an instant. A nasal, but charming voice resounds.

“Ciao! Sir, this is Roberto from the kitchen service. You told us to ring back later, after you went to the rooftop? You’ve booked for special diet.”

You look at Namjoon wide-eyed. He just stares right back.

“I, I did, yes. I mean, my husband did. Namjoon. For us. What is it?”

“Oh, this is Donna Kim? It says single room here on the form.”

“I’ve booked another room. We’re, uh, currently divorcing. This is complicated.”

“Mamma mia! I’m sorry to hear that. We can still arrange the special diet for two as you said, the cook will know.”

“Right, right. Um. Just a second, Signore.”

After covering the speaker with a pillow, you fumble at Namjoon’s mouth to get at least half of the fabric out.

“What on earth, Joon! This Roberto guy wants something with a special diet! What the fuck!”

Namjoon leans forward to whisper in your ears as good as his gag permits.

“Vege—tarian!”

“Oh gosh, of course. Oh my god. Roberto?” you lift the pillow, grab the phone again. “Are you there?”

“Yes, Donna Kim? Is everything alright?”

“Vegetarian diet for both of us.”

“Noted. No problem! The buffet opens at seven. Call at half past six if there’s anything else you need.”

“Alright!”

“Good night!”

“Good night, Signore!”

You hang up, sigh out. Namjoon tugs the rest of the belt out of his mouth and chuckles. Either of your breaths go times as heavy now. At least the bed frame has calmed down.

“And I thought it’s Gianmarco ready to kick us out.”

“Yeah. Bad timing for Roberto. You made him call you that late, anyways?”

“Kind of, he was busy and—”

You yelp when the phone violently erupts with another loud ring.

This time, Namjoon, after almost tipping over the alarm clock on the nightstand with his arm, grabs the speaker.

“Yes? Kim here?”

The familiar pitch resounds.

“Ah, Signore! I’m sorry to disturb you again.”

“No problem.”

“I didn’t ask for any allergies. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Hazelnut, and no milk, please.”

“Hazelnut, no milk. Okay, that should be it. Grazie!”

“Good night.”

“And I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.”

“Yeah. Thank you, Roberto. We’ll get through. See you tomorrow.”

The phone clicks back into its hanger. Namjoon collapses backwards into the pillow.

“Fuck, man.”

“This guy is gonna send me into actual heart surgery if he goes on like that.”

You nestle about your hair, the phone now all the more in the corner of your eyes.

“He probably will. He’s from Genua. These people are a different breed.”

“I don’t think a house visit was the best idea. Your room,” you point to the glass window, “has bad as shit Karma.”

Namjoon puts the belt aside.

“Should we go to your suite?”

“No, I have another idea.”

“Oh?”

“Grab your robe.”

You slide from the bed, check the watch on the wall opposite to the bed. Almost eleven.

“Okay, but where are we headed?”

“Downstairs. Grab a towel from the bathroom.”

“What, to the lobby? A towel?”

“To hide your boner. Come.”

The small bench of the sauna is less rough on either of your knees after you spread out the towel. A lot less. One quick gaze toward the wooden door ensures that the lock is still in place. Namjoon notices and his thrusts go invariably slower.

“You alright Y/N?” he asks. You look back across your shoulder to meet his eyes.

“I think I’m enjoying the evening.”

“This has better Karma, you mean. Maybe it’s Feng Shui.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “And Joon.”

“Yes?”

“Your hip.”

“Oh!”

“Keep on moving. Don’t talk, you fuck. I want more dick. Verona.”

You grab hold of a board at the end of the bench, allowing you to lean forward better.

“Okay, Doc.”

He brings his pelvis forward to shaft you down on him. The small oven in the corner puffs out another cloud of steam while you moan out through gritted teeth. To your luck, to your pleasure, and even through the chaos of the last minutes — Namjoon is still erect.

Holding onto its dear life, the condom’s seam dances up and down on his girth while he pumps into you, curving closer to your cervix, but not quite coming on a tangent to it. You press your hip back on him to see how he reacts. Judging by the choked noise, you might as well have started bouncing on him way earlier. A continued, gyrating arch, and you can feel him wind inside of you. The oven swirls another portion of clouds into the air while the bench creaks a bit.

“Wish they had a mirror here,” you huff out. “To see your scar.”

“They probably have one in the Museo somewhere across the street.”

A faster bounce on him.

“You’re not just an idiot, you wanna become a burglar as well, huh. Grab my waist.”

He does. With the added support, you can let go of the bench with one hand and reach between your thighs. Circling in two fingers right in between.

And so, his thrusts become shallow — again.

“Y/N.”

“What is it now.”

“Do I not satisfy you? Because you’re rubbing your...”

“Can’t put it inside someone else like you do. Nature’s ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“A dick’s just a grown long clit. Never read a pregnancy book?”

“Pardon?”

“We all start with one. I need to send your ass to Dr. Park’s new clinic department.”

“No, no... You misunderstood. I just mean, I want to please you, Y/N.”

You slide off your two fingers and seize the board with both hands again.

“No problem, rub away. Bologna.”

“Does it not feel good when I penetrate you?”

“If you talk nerve cells, there’s not much in there. Party is in the front.”

His hands disappear from your waist.

“You don’t feel anything?”

“Fool, of course. You’re quite big,” you wiggle your hips. “But not as much. As I said. Rub away. Makes it better.”

His voice drops stern. The oven stays still.

“Rome.”

“What!”

You feel Namjoon slip outside of you.

“If it’s not good by itself and you have to rub to make it better, it’s just... of no use!”

You sit up on the towel to face him.

“Joon, I didn’t mean it was ‘bad’. I just said I want dick two minutes ago.”

“And ten seconds ago you said it could be better,” he reaches around his base and shoves the condom to the front, then glides it off entirely. “And before, that you’d rather see my back. Twice, even.”

“Joonie, that was nothing against you. I just don’t have a prostate inbuilt there, okay. And the scar. I just like seeing it, that’s—”

“It was. I’m just a burden again. You don’t have to ‘prove me wrong’. I don’t want that. I wanted a normal date and sex to make you feel good.”

You wonder how on earth since quarter past ten he didn’t manage to kill his own boner.

“Man, you suck.”

“I told you.”

“Because we can’t enjoy having sex for a damn blink of an eye without you talking shit. Tons and tons. The irony? First your Ilsan thing, now this. One time you say you make it count because we have no time, next moment you put yourself down and ruin the atmosphere. One time you say nothing, and suddenly you drown me in words. You make no sense! Where’s the damn gag?”

“I left it in the room, I’m sorry.”

“For fuck’s sake. Why are you suddenly like that? Where’s that guy from Table 15? I thought we could just have fun like that! I thought we’d fit together! Didn’t we, back then?”

“I don’t know. Back then is not what I feel now. I wish... I could please you.”

“Good, then we flip that around. I do the put-downs. Not you. You bury yourself— here.”

After chucking away the condom from the towel at the expense of hotel sanitation and hoping not to forget picking it up later, you get up from your knees, then lean back, opening your legs toward him until he scoots closer at your beckoning. “Is that better, you little shit?”

The bench creaks again. Namjoon fumbles at your thighs.

“You know that I prefer dessert.”

He does. Who else orders an extra large portion of ice cream with seasonal fruit for music night.

“Now you can talk as much as you want to, teach. Jesus Christ. You’re more complicated than Roberto and our divorce combined. Come on now, this is Verona. Practice some fucking vocabulary.”

As the little digital board at the door indicates— only a dozen minutes left until the spa closes. You realize that Namjoon’s tongue is more eager than his cock. As are his pillowy lips, delivering both suction, kisses, cushioning, lubrication. The towel has wetted through anyways, so you don’t care. He keeps on dipping in his tongue far with your hands tracing across his spine as low as they can wander. The rhythm of his jaw is pliant. You feel his breath brushing on your clit up close. Oh shit. A spill of gritted curses drops from your lips.

You dig your nails into his shoulders. His bulging arms. His hair. His neck. Hard. Why use one knife when you have ten at hand. Works wonders. He licks faster. The heavy throbbing in your core makes the drum skills of Justin Jungkook seem vastly insignificant. ‘Rowdy’ Jin would be envious of the electric current zapping out your brain and making your legs tremble around Namjoon’s bulky torso. Maybe it’s Venice. Maybe you haven’t handled your patient properly. It’s the only explanation you have for him acting up in such a weird way once things turned sexual. The things that exercises do. He does know which of your nerves go where and what they do.

The steam keeps on infusing the room with chamomile fumes and some last hotel guests tap along the corridor outside in their flip-flops, past the lock firmly in place. They’re headed toward the Kneipp water-treading basin at the entrance of the spa where they gather. While Namjoon, marked down and ruined as he is, licks and nips away with his chin dripping, the last jolts of a climax bringing your core into a clench, you hear them trot up the exit stairs in the distance. Good timing.

His back is too slippery to give your legs a place to cling to, so all you can possibly do is rest them over his clawed-at shoulders which are, thankfully, wide enough. One last deep inhale of the steam before the oven fades out. He kisses your labia, then reclines, nodding towards the condom that he goes to pick up. You can barely stand up and gather the towel. Please you indeed. Milan does have a nice cathedral.

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quwandathornton · 7 years ago

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BTS Kissing for the first time with S/O or Crush

Kissing for the first time

You ran into him by accident at the candy store. You were shoved out the way by some random woman who wanted the very last bag of fancy rich dark chocolate and macadamia nuts pack. You were smashed up against a firm chest as he fell backward, he too was shocked by the sudden feeling of someone falling on him as he leans back to protect himself but also balance the person.

Which led to you falling on top of him with a jolting impact that caused you to accidentally kiss him. He looks up at you as you look down at him, both shocked.

My out abruptly stood up, shaking slightly as the embarrassment hits you full on. People stood around staring, minus the lady who pushed you as she was now checking out her candy.

"I'm sorry.." You said as you held out a shaky hand as he grabs it and stands up, you struggled pulling him up. His cheeks by now were crimson red as he bows to you apologizing.

"I'm sorry as well. But must I say, your lips are sweet? Were you made from the finest of cocoa?"

let’s just say - he was mighty quick to make you his girlfriend that day :)

He sat in his studio chair as you also sat behind him on the long comfortable couch. You had the biggest crush on Yoongi and it was starting to become a problem at this very moment.

The need to kiss him was a problematic problem.

The mood was so right, lights dimmed a bit, the song he was producing was slow and sounded emotional as hell. His voice echoed along with his pre-recorded verses.

"Y-Yoongi.."

"Hmm?" He had one ear exposed while the other was covered with the studio headphones. He turns around with a stranger poker face.

"I ..uh.." he stares at you waiting for you to spill whatever you wanted to say out. "Nevermind." You looked down at the ground and as clear as day you could hear him sigh and curse under his breath.

"I like you." You stood up to leave but was stopped by his hand reaching and grabbing your wrist. You looked away but was soon pulled to sit on his lap.

"You like me?" He says softly in a teasing manner. You nodded with a shy smile on your face. He also shyly smiles before leaning in to kiss your plump lips.

You were listening to hoseok ramble on about how the new dance to D.N.A was really fun. His favorite part was which they do the arm movement in the choreo, so they re-acted what D.N.A is supposed to be like. He animatedly expressed his love for you to be there to watch their first performance, but you teasingly sad you couldn’t just to get a reaction from him, you were actually able to go.

“No baby, I won’t be able to go..my boss said I can’t take any more vacations...I used my last vacation last week when I went out to your parent’s house, remember?” His eyes brows knitted together as he nodded understandingly, he looked sad but he knew your job is more important.

“Ne, Jagiya, I’m sorry for not being considerate.” He smiles sweetly, you giggled while glomping him; he falls back onto the couch as he lets out a confused chuckle. “What?” He says as he plays with your kinky curls with a loving smile.

“I was kidding, Hoseokie. I’ll be able to go~ I just wanted to see your adorable pouty face, but I didn’t get one, you generally looked hurt. I don’t like that reaction.” You pouted, sinking your face into his chest; he laughs.

“Baby your so mean~ Augh! My girlfriend likes me being sad? Woooooooow~” You whimpered as he continuously teases you. “You’re so cute, Y/N.” he leans down to kiss your forward, but you looked up in time for his lips to meet yours.

Believe it or not, this was your first kiss with hoseok. He tensed up for a second, but continued to kiss you non-the-less; you didn’t pull away so he knew that that was an Okay go to continue his make-out session with you.

You ran into Namjoon’s bedroom and glomped your sick boyfriend and jumped onto the mattress next to him. He turns his head to look over at you with a smile on his face.

“Hey, baby.” He says, before opening his arms so you can jump into them. He smiles as he hugs you super close and kisses the top of your head.

“How is your stomach, Joon?”

“A little bit better, I think the pork we had last night wasn’t cooked thoroughly. This is the last time I have you try it, let Jin or Me do it.”

“If you do it, the restaurant would have burned down.” He laughs, kissing your forehead.

Namjoon would always kiss your forehead, or cheek or on the crown of your head; but never your lips since he thought maybe you weren’t ready for it yet, since it’s very very intimate, and he wants to respect your privacy.

“I love you, you clumsy boy.” You decided to say something because at that moment all that was being done was him staring right at you lovingly, you blushed once he began to laugh leaning his head back as he stares at the ceiling, obviously trying to hide his blush.

“Show me the dimples!” You pushed yourself off of him and straddled him so you could lean over to see his face more. He shouts in a playful manner which caused you to giggle, finally able to see his dimples. “I love them, Sorry~”

He looks at you with a small smile. “I love you.” He says sweetly, You then surprised him with a kiss on his lips. You tried to pull away, but he gently grabs you by your back, holding you there, he removed his lips for a second.

“Just a little while longer, please?”

You were cuddled up to Jimin as you both watched Paranormal story times on your laptop which was laying on your lap. He was a skeptic about the paranormal while you were not, you highly believed in ghosts, demons, and poltergeists.

You were so into (Youtuber’s name)’s Storytime, Once it got to a part where she shows video evidence of the paranormal happenings in her own home, Once it got to a part where something is thrown across her living room, Jimin roars into your ear scaring you.

“ROAAAR!!” You screamed, throwing your laptop, and it landed on the floor with a thump, shutting off right after. You gasped loudly, feeling your soul turn cold for the second time, The first was because of Jimin scaring you.

“JIMIN!!!!” You Screeched. He Covered his ears with a slightly shook look on his features. He didn’t want for you to toss your laptop like that, maybe he should have thought about that before giving into his own pleasures of laughter.

You jumped off the couch but clumsily fell down because your legs were sleep. He was about to laugh but stopped himself because he was already in big trouble, to begin with, he also felt guilty for making you throw your laptop.

“My lap..top..” You tried turning it on a few times, nothing came on. He grabs it, pulling you off the couch towards the garage, he grabs the toolbox and searched for a screwdriver.

Jimin was apologizing to you, a good three times but you weren’t having it.

“Stupid boyfriend.” He sighs, as he was trying to unscrew the back of the laptop.

“Look. I already apologized three times...I’m Sorry baby! Please..” He finally opens it. The Battery was knocked out of its port, so he plugs it back in. He screws the laptop shut, flipping it over to see that the interface was also damaged, and was slightly peeled off.

“Shit..I’ll buy you a brand new one, for Christmas baby.”

“okay..” She crosses her arms, about to walk away with a pout. He bites his bottom lip, grabbing your forearm, turning you around gently, before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry, ok?”

“No.” You shook your head. He kisses your nose. “No.” He slowly moves forward, and you closed your eyes as you feel his lips on yours. You pull back squealing happily, “I accept!” He laughs while leaning back in to kiss you once more.

Taehyung was chasing after your dog, Crewsho for the tenth time this day and the two of them weren’t even close to being tired. Your dog loves Taehyung, Taehyung Loves Crewsho, and you loved them both just as much. However, You couldn’t help but feel a tad bit jealous.

Taehyung had messaged you last night about coming over this morning to take you and crewsho out for a walk and some breakfast this morning. However, it’s been thirty minutes and they were ignoring you as you kept asking Taehyung when it was time to go and all he did was say, “Just a second, Sweetie~” While trying to catch Crewsho, who was running around avoiding Taehyung’s grabby hands.

Taehyung finally slowed down, sitting on his bum on your grass, while laying down trying to catch his breath. You stood up, to check on him when your dog instead ran over and climbed on top of him.

Taehyung notices that you were sitting by yourself with a small pout on your face. He grabs your doggie with with care as he walks over to you, he kneels down and kisses your lips, surprising you.

“Cheer up, Baby~” He sung to you, making you blush.

“Y/n. I’m not happy about you cheating.”

“I can cheat all I want.”

“I’m- Speechless.”

“it’s only a game.” As soon as you said that, his character dies and the winning title flashes on the screen that you were the winner of the match. You gently set down the controller on the bed with a grin.

He sighs, sitting down the controller on his stomach as he lays down with a looser frown. “I’m so sad.”

“What is my prize, Kookie?” You asked cutely, he looks at you with this look.

“I’m not giving you anything, Cheater.” He sassed at you, putting both hands behind his head as he shuts his eyes closed.

May I remind you.

You two never kissed Intimately before, so...your thot ass (JK) decided to do the unthinkable.

(Gurl Please, You know you’ve been thinking about the smack down on his lips.)

You quickly climbed on top of him in a Straddled position, leaning down right as you caught his eyes widening in shock as his mouth open up to say something, you captured his lips.

He grabbed your forearm in shock, you pulled away and tried to run but his grip tightened. His eyes were still wide in shock but he then whispers to you.

“Again.” He looks from the ceiling to you, with the biggest smile on the planet.

“Kiss me again.”

#bts ambw #bts reactions #bts reaction #bts fluff #bts poc #bts woc #Hoseok ambw #JImin ambw #taehyung ambw #Namjoon Ambw #yoongi ambw #Seokjin ambw #jungkook ambw

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sawsomeghosts · 7 years ago

Text

BEETELJUICE REWATCH LIVEBLOG

I love the opening to the movie. Just that dark version of Day-O.

Adam, put the spider down. No. Bad. Spiders are creepy.

It’s so strange looking at Alec Baldwin then and looking at him now on like SNL or Match Game.

Adam and Barbara deserved so much better. They were so in love <33</small>

I wouldn’t mind leaving in a small town like Winter River. Everything is all city city city and if you are a small town like that, builders come in to destroy it all and make it a tourist town and comercial. It suuuuucks.

Oh, doggy. Look what you’ve gone and done ;_;

“The handbook for the recently diseased...” “Deceased.” LMAO.

“If this were heaven there wouldn’t be dust everywhere.”

More under the cut

I just realized they had cows right next door to them. So does that mean that they took care of them??? OMG can Lydia take care of them??? Pff Delia probably made sure no sort of farm (or farm smell) was around them.

I am Charles. Just...yay a nice, wholesome house.

“You’re finally going to be able to cook a descent meal.” LMAO. Yeah, no strange shrimp monster meals.

LYDIA MY QUEEN.

Can I just color my hair black and become her. No, I’ve worked too hard to be this blonde.

Delia’s sculptures look like a first grader made it during art class. They suck. Sorry first graders.

Otho come through a door like a normal person.

When Delia licks Charles’s nose...*cringes*

When Adam points out that they are ghosts and looks so excited...yaaaas you’re ghosts scare everyone to death please and thanks. Have fun :D

“I WILL GO INSANE AND I WILL TAKE YOU WITH ME.” JESUS CHRIST. High maintenance much?

As soon as I saw that attic door slam shut I would call Zak Bagans immediately.

I love the Sandworms. It’s just so creative to me. I mean anything Tim Burton thing I admire so much. He’s an A+ genius.

Lyds wearing a funeral-like veil to dinner. Literally me. I wear my hood of angst ™ to dinner sometimes lmao.

Charles is so carefree. We should all strive to be Charles Deetz.

Another look I would love to imitate from Lydia - her black dress and large black hat, dark circles under her eyes that make her look dead. Ay it’s me! No but honestly I am jealous of the Lydia Deetz look. Why can’t I get away with it???

Poor Charles. Trying to have a cup of tea and the sculpture from hell comes crashing through the kitchen window...and traps Delia again the house. “This is my art and it is dangerous. You think that I want to die like this?” Bah ha ha.

A mom who matches outfits with her daughter should not be giving my queen an odd look about her choice of outfit.

That Betelguese commercial is EVERYTHING.

Seriously though Michael Keaton OWNED this role. It would not be the same without him if they really do go through with making a sequel which I have mixed feelings about. If you’re going to do a sequel don’t half ass it. Make it everything and more that it should be thirty years later or whatever. Which is why I’m glad they didn’t go through with Beetlejuice Goes To Hawaii. The title alone...just rings of corniness.

The red sweater that Charles is wearing when he is bird watching matches the apron-thingy that Delia is wearing when she is making dinner for the dinner guests coming later on in the movie.

I absolutely love the dead receptionist with the fairy wings. I would love to be her for Halloween. I would also love to be Lydia for Halloween but I’d have to find a black wig. Black everything really, but it could be done. Beetlejuice would be a great costume as well tbh.

The janitor who told Barbara and Adam “That’s the lost soul’s room...” actually died before the movie came out. I looked it up cause I thought I recognized him lol. But anyways when it shows the lost souls room it reminds me of Halloweentown...or something from Disney Channel Halloween movies.

I remember seeing a Zagnut bar at Cracker Barrel and showing it to my mom and quoting Beetlejuice then lol. I didn’t buy it though incase you’re wondering.

Charles is so dismissive of his daughter and it makes me so sad. I mean, he assumes that’s her wearing the sheet over her head like a ghost. All he’s worried about is peace and quiet and pointing out that Delia is going to be mad for cutting holes in her designer sheets.

Lydia’s room is everything.

Lydia meeting the Maitland’s is also everything. She was not scared by them at all.

Look, we all know that they should not have said Beetlejuice’s name, but at the same time they were stuck and desperate so I get it, ya know?

Also it looks so satisfying digging up the fake grass and dirt to dig him up lol.

Y’all I want the hat Beetlejuice is wearing that says his name on it. Someone gift it to me. Please.

His makeup is fantastic. I mean please tell me they got some kind of award for that. Now I have to look it up. YUP. Academy award for Best Makeup. They won Best Horror Film and Best Make-up at the 1988 Saturn Awards.

There it is. Lydia’s combed back puffy hair at the dinner scene. I WANTS IT. I have also tried it but my hair is way too long (and blonde). *sad face*

“KIDS. YOU KNOW I LOVE THEM.” Delia, I wish you did show how much you could care and love and listen to Lydia.

DAYLIGHT COME AND ME WAN GO HOME

I love how they go from “Oh this is weird what is happening” to just embracing that they are oddly possessed and dancing lol.

Some kind of shrimp hand monster grabs my face...I’m out of there, on my phone with Zak Bagans, byeee Maitland’s. You won. I’m out. Enjoy your house.

“If you insist of frightening people, do it with your sculptures.” PFF. WORD.

I just love Beetlejuice’s laugh.

“Now let’s turn on the juice and see what shakes loose.”

I remember when I was a kid and I turned on this movie the first scene I saw was the snake scene and it scared the hell out of me. I don’t like snakes to begin with. Absolutely fear and despise. So seeing that as a kid I was terrified and put off. But then I watched the movie later on and was cool XD

But hey...that’s how you scare a family out of their house.

I love how Otho thinks he is an expert in everything. Hair styling, home decor...bringing forth the dead.

That would be crazy. Spirits turning old all of the sudden. Poor Barbara and Adam. See what ya did there, Otho? Ya done fucked up.

When Barbara’s foot starts curling in omg I get chills.

“They’re already dead, they can’t feel a thing.” UM LOOK AT THEM.

Desperation calls for BEETLEJUICE! BEETLEJUICE! BEETLEJUICE!

Lydia’s face when he says he has to get married like ewwww who would wanna marry you. LMAO I love it. Also the fact she’s like fourteen here and he’s like “yeah lemme marry that” pervert town over here. But what does he care? He’s dead.

“It’s showtime!”

A dude pops up in my house with an entrance like Beetlejuice’s...I run. I don’t stay and laugh and cheer. I’d be creeped out. Again...my name is Zak Bagans...Also the fact that nobody warned them that they were about to be shot through the ceiling by BJ...like RUDE.

“What have we got here tonights, kids?” LOVE how he said that.

Otho sneaking out...come on man. And putting him in that God awful suit was everything. There’s your haunting, Otho.

“Mom...Dad...” BEETLENO.

He’s combing his hair back trying to look fancy the way Ledger’s Joker did. Well, he did his with a knife BUT STILL. Still crazy either way.

Their wedding outfits are the best. Like why can’t my sister and I do this for Halloween. She will not cooperate with any of my ideas. She can be BJ in his fancy red tux and I will be my queen Lydia in red. There, done. I WANT IT.

“Nobody says the B word!”

Damn Beetlejuice on the ready every time someone tries to say his name.

When you gotta tap dance around someone’s mouth to get them to be quiet. We’ve all been there, right?

“Beetlejuice!” “Eeeeeee!”

I love the way Barbara turns around and the look she gives when she hears the Sandworm.

How did Adam drive a fake car...what am I saying, look what kind of music this is.

BARBARA FOR THE WIN.

Seriously why can’t my sis, mom, and I do a Beetlejuice theme for Halloween. How can I get them on board?

When you have two sets of parents. One alive, one dead. This is the life.

In the original script for the movie the Deetz family actually moved back to New York but Lydia remained in Connecticut to live with Barbara and Adam, and the house was known as this really creepy haunted house nobody came to cause of how weird it was and active even from the outside.

Lydia not so dead looking anymore but somewhat normal. Well, she can’t wear a veil to school, now can she? CAN SHE?

If I got to float with ghosts and dance to music every time I got good grades on tests in school I wouldn’t have left after freshman to homeschool myself. Just kidding I could stay home and chill with ghosts any time I wanted whilst homeschooling myself.

BJ feeling up that girl’s leg and her hitting him from the other side of him lmao

“YO, THERE GOES ELVIS! YO! KING!”

“I gotta do a shoot for GQ in an hour and a half.”

How would you not notice someone swapping numbers like that? I’d sprinkle shrinking dust on his head, too.

“ROCK YOUR BODY, CHILD!”

#👻 WE DIDN'T NEED A STORY. WE DIDN'T NEED A REAL WORLD. — OUT OF CHARACTER

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cyberleaf69 · 6 years ago

Text

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.

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auntiebiffles · 7 years ago

Text

A Good Day

Owen watched as his boss looked over his arrangement with a scrutinizing eye. Her gaze was sharp as ever and sliced the display to pieces, closely examining every choice he made. From this angle and that, she observed his work. Meanwhile, Owen kept his eyes on her face, looking for the smallest signs of approval and disapproval in her expressions. It did not help that Gloria maintained a stoic exterior when it came to their work. No one was harder to read that Gloria. When the inspection was over, she straightened up and turned her eyes to the anxious man in front of her. Breath stuck in his throat, Owen awaited her analysis. “You got better.” This was enough of a compliment to let him exhale fully, his shoulders slumping in the process. “I like your choice of flora, they compliment each other well. But you need to work on your placement. You’re forgetting people likely won’t be sticking your work into corners where only a few angles are present. The overall arrangement has to be good no matter how someone approaches it. These are the areas where you put a lot of thought in. But if I turn it even just this much. The whole motif is wasted and no one would look at this twice. It would fade into the background and might as well not be there. You understand what I’m saying?” “Completely.” “Good. Keep that in mind and make the necessary changes to this one. When it’s done, go ahead and put it out on table four.” A record scratched in Owen’s head and whipped around to stall Gloria before she headed back to the front of the shop. “I can put it on display?” Startled by his outburst, Gloria stared up at him. He’s like an enormous puppy, she thought. With a laugh, she nodded. “Yeah. So clean it up.” “Yes, ma’am! Right away! I’m on it! Count on me!” Since Owen first started working with Gloria, this test of his knowledge was a monthly exercise. Time and again, he had done his best, but was met with more criticism than compliment. Every failure motivated him further and today the fruits of his efforts are finally seen. An arrangement of his own design would sit on one of the tables out in the shop for customers to see. To Owen, it was as big an achievement as being awarded a medal. Quickly, he used Gloria’s tips to improve the piece and paused to take several selfies with his work before he brought it out to sit among the vases Gloria set out earlier. A few more pictures and then he let the table be, admiring his work among that of his boss. Although, the level of skill was prominent to any trained eye, Owen was thrilled just to be on the same platform. The beauty of Gloria’s flower arrangements drew him into her shop one day with a force so strong he felt powerless to resist. After taking in the beauty of the flowers themselves, he watched her prepare a bouquet for a customer. Like a hawk, he followed her hands with his eyes. It was like magic the way she created masterpieces in moments. As soon as the customer was out the door, he grasped her hands in his and asked her to teach him. Initially, Gloria thought he was being an ass and trying to make fun of her. But when she tried to pull her hands back and struggled to pry them free, she realized his sincerity was as strong as his grip. It was an unusual encounter to put it mildly, but there was no reason to turn him away. She had been meaning to look for an employee anyway and although someone with experience would have been ideal, his passion was something she valued far more. Sliding his phone back inside the pocket of his apron, Owen headed toward the counter where Gloria was ringing up a customer. He was halfway there when the soft cries of a little girl outside seized his attention. She stood near one of the potted plants that belonged to the restaurant next door, her hands balled up into tiny fists as she cried with her eyes shut tight. Owen looked around for the sign of a parent who had perhaps just scolded her, but after a look around, it was evident the girl as alone. Concerned, he crouched to meet her eye level and approached her cautiously. “Excuse me. Hey. Little girl?” he asked, his voice as soft a tone as he could make it without being too quiet. Tears still falling down her cheeks, she blinked several times as she turned her head in his direction. Even though he now had her attention, he was not sure what to do next. He was afraid she would burst into sobs again if he asked the wrong question. “My name is Owen. What’s your name?” “Deliah,” she said through hiccups. Okay, Owen. Keep it up. So far, so good. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand for her to shake. “Deliah, can you tell me why you’re crying?” Her face scrunched up again and she wiped her eyes as she said, “The big doggy was over here and I wanted to pet him. But when I looked back Papa was gone.” Owen nodded along with her story. He was afraid that was the case. It being a Saturday, there were more people out than usual, making it all too easy to get separated. Her father must be worried sick trying to navigate the crowd and look for her at the same time. “Tell you what, Deliah. How about I help you find your papa? Would that be ok?” The suggestion helped calm her down again. “How?” Owen stood up straight, but maintained eye contact. “I’m big and tall, right? If I pick you up, I bet you could over everybody here. What do you think?” Deliah nodded. “You wanna try?” Nodding again, she stretched her arms up for him to lift her. From experience in picking up the kids in the neighborhood in which he grew up, Owen lifted Deliah with ease and put her on his shoulders. Despite having sat on her father’s shoulders before, since Owen was much taller, it took her a moment to get comfortable with the height. Her little arms wrapped around Owen’s head and he kept his hands on her feet to hold her steady. “How’s the view?” he asked. “Lot of people…” Not wanting her to get discouraged, he asked, “What’s your last name, Deliah?” “Scheer.” In his booming voice, Owen called out, “Mr. Scheer! Mr. Scheer!” A man who was sweating bullets heard the call and pushed his way back toward where it originated. A few yards away, he saw his daughter above the heads of the crowd. “Deliah! Sweetheart!” “Papa!” “Deliah!” As Mr. Scheer emerged from the throng of people, Owen set Deliah back on solid ground. She ran to her father’s arms and he scooped her up, hugging her close. “Don’t ever leave my side, Deliah. I was so worried.” The pair thanked Owen for his help and Mr. Scheer and Owen exchanged business cards. Gloria raised her brows at him when he re-entered the shop. Stopping at the counter, he held Mr. Scheer’s card out to her. “He’s the manager of that restaurant on sixth.” “Fancy.” “He said they get a lot of catering requests for big events and promised to put in a good word for us to do arrangements,” Owen reported proudly. “Big day for you,” she teased with a smile. The rest of the business day was uneventful compared to how it began, but Owen did not mind. The slow pace of working in this florist’s shop was another one of its draws. He could take his time chatting with customers, walk around admiring the flowers, and watch leisurely as people floated by in and out of view as they passed the window. Closing crept up on him and when time came to lock up, he was full of mixed feelings. Although he would normally be on his way home, today he had a meeting to keep with someone. “My pup!” Owen’s father cheered, standing to greet his son. Owen thanked the waiter for showing him to the table and gave his father a hug before taking his seat. “I ordered for the two of us so our wait won’t be long.” Beaming, his father draped his napkin over his lap again. “How was your day?” “Good.” “A lot of business?” “About as much as usual.” His father frowned. “When you were younger, you used to tell me about every single breath you took.” “I also used to call you ‘Daddy.’ Let’s not use the past as a measure for today.” Though he continued to pout, Owen’s father let it go. For now. “Wren and Fig are engaged.” “Wow! Good for them.” “Their parents are planning a big bash.” “I wouldn’t expect any less.” “They asked me if I thought you might be in town for it.” Owen sighed. A familiar crushing weight settled on his shoulders at once. “Tell me when and I’ll check my schedule.” “I already told them you were busy, but you’d try. Be sure to send them something late enough to make it believable.” It did not make him feel any better, but he appreciated his father’s assistance. “Thanks, Dad.” Their food came within minutes. Owen’s father cut into his steak first. A pale red liquid escaped with the slice and the sight and scent had both their mouths watering. Both men groaned happily as they dug in, savoring eat bite. “This is the only place that makes the steaks just right,” Owen’s father commented, tapping the piece of meat with the prongs of his fork. “Still not as good as yours, though,” Owen insisted. Chuckling, his father grinned from ear to ear. “You flatter me. But you are right. I’m the master of steaks.” After their meal, Owen waited outside with his father until his taxi arrived. “When will you be back in the city, Dad?” “Should be...two months?” Owen nodded. “Just give me a heads up and I’ll clear the day. Sorry I couldn’t this time.” “Don’t sweat it. I’m glad for any time with my little pup.” He reached out and tousled Owen’s neat hair, leaving some of it sticking up. “You’re the only one in the world who can call me little,” Owen said with a laugh. “I’ll say it until my last breath. See you soon, son.” “Soon, Dad. Be good.” “Eh. We’ll see.” Winking at his son with a smirk, he climbed into the back of the taxi and headed back to his hotel. Once the vehicle was out of sight, Owen sighed heavily. He loved seeing his father, but the guilt that came with it tired him more than any physical activity ever could. It was not his preference to keep his distance from the people he grew up with, but for the sake of peace, it was a necessity. If he and his mother were in the same room, a celebration of Wren and Fig would turn into some kind of shouting match and that would not be fair to them or their families. Once again, he would be absent from the festivities and have to send an apology gift in his place. At this point, he was sure he could keep delivery services thriving on his business alone. Inside his small apartment, Owen dropped his keys into their dish by the door and hung up his coat. Sliding his boots off, he rubbed his neck to relieve the knots that stress put there. He knew he should change first, but he was too tired to bother and shuffled into his bedroom to flop down on his bed. Face buried in his pillow, he groaned loudly. All in all, it was still a good day. No matter what stress he now felt, today he had managed to create an arrangement worthy of being on display. Rolling over onto his back, he grinned to himself. Next time, he would be sure to awe Gloria with his improvement. He was more determined now than ever. Imaging what kind of face she would make, Owen drifted off to sleep.

#Owen #Lodgers #technically

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reedusdixonfictionaddiction · 8 years ago

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The Summer in Georgia

Chapter 19. Tell Me All Your Secrets and I’ll Tell You Most of Mine, Part 1

After two hours in the pool, Isabella finally mastered the doggy paddle and she could almost float on her back. Daryl told her this was important because if she ever got tired and couldn’t swim anymore, she could always flip over and float for a while, until she got her energy back. They had a good time and both were water logged. Daryl brought up the kiss and told her he thought they should slow down a little. She didn’t want to, she wanted to speed things up, but she kept that to herself. She agreed and things were fine.

They dried off and changed, Isabella asked Daryl if he was hungry and he was, so she made them some sandwiches. After they’d eaten, Isabella asked him if he could look at the television in her bedroom, because she couldn’t get it to turn on. Isabella sat on the bed and watched Daryl work. He finally got it to work after cursing at it for 15 minutes. Isabella laughed at him and that frustrated him. When he was done, he took a seat beside her on the bed.

“What’s this?” Daryl asked picking up her raggedy stuffed monkey.

“That’s George. I think I wanted a Curious George doll and that’s what I got instead, so I just named him George. I’ve had him since before my parents died. He’s the only thing I have that’s been with me that long. He’s gotten me through some pretty tough times, so be careful with him.” Isabella said watching Daryl toss it around.

“I ain’t got nothin’ from when I was a kid. I remember I had this little pink pig with a curly tail. Merle kept rippin’ off the tail and my mom had to keep sewin’ it back on. I don’t know whatever happened to it. One day it was just gone.” Daryl said sadly. Isabella gently brushed the hair back from his face. He turned and smiled sweetly at her.

It was getting dark outside and Daryl asked Isabella what she wanted to do. She shrugged her shoulders. Then Daryl had an idea.

“Go get some shoes on. I’m gonna’ take ya’ somewhere. I want ya’ ta’ see somethin’.” He said “Come on rabbit, let’s go.”

Isabella got her shoes on and they were out the door. He stopped at a gas station and bought a six pack of beer and then drove off in the direction of his house, about a mile before, he turned on to a road that went up the side of a small mountain. It wound around for a few miles, steadily going uphill. Finally, Daryl came to a small dirt pull out area on the side of the road, he stopped and backed up into the dirt area. He told her to get out of the truck. They walked to the back of the truck and Daryl pointed. Isabella’s mouth fell open. You could see the entire town and then some. Everything was lit up. You could see the lake, the town park, everything. It was beautiful. Daryl put the tailgate down and lifted Isabella up onto it. He got the six pack out of the front seat and hopped up beside her. He opened them both a beer and they just sat there staring at the lights. The air was cooling down and there was a nice breeze blowing, the moon was full and everything was perfect. Daryl glanced over at Isabella, she looked beautiful in the moonlight, you could see the stars in her eyes and moonbeams made her long hair shine. She looked purely happy.

She told Daryl that she’d never been out like this before, in the country on the side of a mountain. She said, she couldn’t see the stars and the moon in New York. Daryl said that it was one of his favorite places. He said he liked to come up there when he wanted to be alone. Nobody came up the road because of rockslides, so no one ever bothered him. He said he’d even slept in the back of his truck up there a few times. Isabella told him that she’d never slept outside before. He asked her if she’d ever been camping. She rolled her eyes and reminded him where she was from.

“Maybe I’ll take ya’ camping. There’s a clearing, surrounded by a bunch of pines on the back of my land. It’s right by a stream and it’s got a swimmin’ hole, with a little waterfall and everything. I swim butt naked out there.” He said, winking at her.

“Reeeallly!” She said in a sultry voice. “Then count me in.” And they both laughed. “No, really. I would love to go camping. We can really swim there and everything? Would we sleep in a tent? Would we cook over a campfire? Ohhh, ohhh. Can we roast marshmallows?”

Daryl laughed. “Yeah, course. I ain’t never done that before, but I guess we can. Ya’ ever eat rabbit, rabbit?” He asked.

She giggled at his play on words and told him ‘no.’ He told her he’d take his bow and they could hunt rabbits and he’d cook one up on their campfire. He also said, he’d teach her how to fish. She was thrilled.

“I’ll talk ta’ Rick about takin’ a few days off. It ain’t gonna’ be a problem, I ain’t never took a day off or a vacation. I got like 10 weeks’ vacation time saved up.” He told her.

“Yay, I’m going camping.” She cheered, pumping her fists in the air. Daryl laughed. This was going to great, he thought. A few days alone in the forest with her, swimming and fishing and sleeping in a tent together. Yep, this was going to be great.

“How come you ain’t gotta’ boyfriend.” Daryl asked out of the blue. Isabella was caught off guard.

“Because I’ve never found anyone I was interested in that way and guys don’t really pay attention to me all that much. I mean they check out my butt, but most everybody thinks I’m weird because I’m so young and smart. People just ignore me.”

“So, you never had a boyfriend? Ever?” Daryl asked surprised.

“No, never. When you kissed me this afternoon, that was my first kiss.” She said shyly.

Daryl was floored. He figured she’d at least had one boyfriend, let alone being kissed before. He couldn’t understand who in their right minds would not want to be with her and then it dawned on him. She was a virgin.

“You ain’t never been with a guy before?” He asked carefully.

Isabella was embarrassed. She thought maybe he was turned off by this, but it was the truth and there was no getting around that.

“No. Is that bad?” She answered unsure of herself.

“Nah, that’s good. I just can’t believe it. I never known a virgin before. Whatta’ ya’ waitin’ till ya’ get married or somethin’?” He questioned.

“No. I’m just waiting for the right guy.” Isabella answered.

“How do ya’ know if it’s the right guy? I mean how will ya’ know?” Daryl asked.

“I’ll just know. There’ll be a connection from the very beginning. We’ll be drawn to each other, like a gravitational pull. He’ll get me and I’ll get him. I’ll know from the very first minute I look into his eyes.” She explained, then she remembered him sliding into the booth at the restaurant that first day. Their eyes met and she knew.

“Huh!” Daryl said, pondering what she said. He wondered if she was talking about him. They had been drawn to each other from the very start. They had a connection. She got him and he got her and he loved that. “Ya’ believe in all that soulmate bullshit?” He asked.

“Yes. Don’t you?” She asked back.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and said, “I dunno?”

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend? Charlie said you hadn’t been out with a girl in 5 years.”

“Oh, Charlie said that, did he? What else did ol’ Charlie say?” He asked angrily.

Isabella could tell she’d hit a nerve, but it was out now, so she was going for the gold. “He said you’d been with a lot of girls, more than your fare share. But you’d never been in a relationship.”

“What the fuck? Charlie ain’t got no business talkin’ shit behind my back. Mother fucker. Is that all he told you?”

She lied and said, “Yes. Is it true? Have you been with a lot of girls?”

“I dunno’, I guess I been with a few. But nothin’ serious. I didn’t want no girlfriend.” He answered.

“How many are a few? You just had sex with them and that’s it?” Isabella asked.

“A few, I don’t know. A lot I guess, but I ain’t like that now. I didn’t wanna’ do that shit no more. That’s why I quit messin’ with ‘em.” He said, defensively.

Isabella knew he was upset, so she made sure he knew she understood. She brushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled sweetly at him. He immediately calmed down. He smiled back and then he sat back against the wall of the truck bed and told her to scoot toward him. She did and he turned her around and pulled her up between his legs. She laid back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Daryl thought about how good it felt. He’d never been a hugger or touchy feely with anyone and he didn’t like for anyone to touch him or even enter his personal space, but this was different. This felt good, it felt right. He squeezed her gently and she snuggled into his chest. He couldn’t help but put his nose down into her hair.

“Ya’ smell good. What’s that perfume yer wearin’?” He asked.

“Thank you. It’s Shalimar. It’s my favorite. It was Lori’s, she hadn’t even opened the box yet.” She answered.

“Shalimar.” He said, “I like it, it suits ya’. Did ya’ put it in yer hair?”

“I sprayed it on my brush and ran it through my hair. I’ve seen that done in the movies and I always wanted to try it. This is the first time I’ve ever had perfume before, I feel fancy.” She giggled. Daryl thought that was cute and laughed quietly into her hair.

“I’ve had a lot of firsts since I’ve been here. My first perfume, my first time in a pool, my first flowers…” Daryl cringed at that one. “my first kiss and my first gift ever.” Isabella told him.

“Yer first gift?” He said confused.

“The phone, that was my very first present.” Isabella answered.

“Ya’ ain’t never got a present before? Whatta’ bout Christmas and yer birthday? Didn’t ya’ get nothin’ for them, not even from yer brother?”

She told him that she’d never gotten a birthday present before, she explained that her brother never gave her anything because he was already giving her $200.00 a month and he felt that was gift enough. She told him that all the foster homes she’d lived in were poor and overcrowded. There were so many kids and the foster parents didn’t get enough money from the state to celebrate Christmas or birthdays and stuff like that. She said she’d never had a Christmas tree or stocking and that each year they’d write Santa a letter in school, but he never visited. Isabella told him that one Christmas, her foster parents took all the kids to a church Christmas party and they gave every child a coloring book and crayons. She’d never had one before, so she was thrilled beyond belief and to top that off, it was a Barbie coloring book. She had always wanted a Barbie and getting a coloring book was as close as she’d been. One of her foster brothers, who was a troubled kid was upset because he didn’t like his coloring book. He saw how happy Isabella was with hers and he was jealous, so when she went to sleep that night he got her book and tore all the pages out of it and broke all her crayons. Daryl told her that was a fucked-up story and if he’d known that kid, he would’ve kicked his ass. Isabella acted like it didn’t bother her, but Daryl knew better. It hurt him to think of her so young and innocent, loving that coloring book and then that asshole tore it up. It made him sad.

Daryl said that he’d never gotten anything from Santa either. He said, they never had a Christmas tree or stockings and that his dad sometimes wouldn’t even come home. He told her that one year, his mother saved up a few dollars and bought him the Hulk arms at a Goodwill store. He thought he’d hit the lottery. He loved those arms more than anything, but when his dad found out his mom had spent money on something so stupid, he took the arms and threw them in the fireplace and burned them. Daryl said he didn’t care, but Isabella knew it wasn’t true. He said, he’d never had a birthday party, but a couple times his mom made cupcakes and she’d always let him lick the bowl and spoon. He told her that was one of the best memories he had of his mom. He got kind of quiet for a while after that, so Isabella carried on the conversation.

“When I have a family, I’m going all out. I’m going to spoil them rotten. I’ll make the same holiday treats every year and it’ll become a family tradition. Each one of my children will have a homemade stocking with their names on them. We’ll have a big tree with lots of lights and a beautiful angel on the top. We’ll buy the angel our first Christmas together and then we’ll have the same one our whole lives, even when we have grandchildren. The outside of the house will be decorated in twinkle lights and it’ll have one of those big plastic Santa’s’ on the roof. You know, the ones with the reindeers?”

“Sounds like ya’ got it all figured out.” Daryl said.

“We’ll throw big birthday parties in the back yard and all our friends will come. My kids will have a ton of presents and a big piñata full of candy. On Halloween, they’ll always have the best costumes, because I’ll make them myself. They’ll make jack o lanterns and we’ll decorate the yard really scary. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait.” Isabella said enthusiastically.

Daryl thought about all this for a moment. It was a life that he’d only dreamt about as a child, something that was never attainable. He had friends and went to school with kids that these kinds of lives and he’d always been envious of them. He longed for a little normality in his life as a child. When he grew up, he let go of all those fantasies, but now hearing all of Isabella’s plans that yearning came back.

“If I ever had a kid, he’d have a bike. Not just any bike, but a BMX bike. I never had a bike when I was a kid, everyone had one except me.” Daryl told her. She agreed.

“What’s your favorite thing to do?” Isabella asked.

“Anything outside. Huntin’, shootin’, trackin’, shit like that. I gotta’ be outside everyday. I like to walk around on my land, through the trees, just lookin’ at shit. I like the way the dirt smells when it rains or the sounds the trees make when the winds blowin’. You probably think that’s stupid, but I gotta’ be outside, free, ya’ know?”

“I think that’s wonderful. I like that you can do all those things. I like that you know so much about nature. I’ll bet you’re really good at your job. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. It’s better when I get to go in the field, ya’ know? Outside. I mean when I’m doin’ that is when I feel the best. The office crap and paperwork and shit’s a pain in the ass, but bein’ in the field makes it worth it. What’s your favorite thing to do?” Daryl asked.

“I like watching people. Sometimes I go downtown to a deli or something and sit in the window and just study people. I try to figure out what they’re thinking or feeling. I can observe there body language and interactions with other people and kind of get a sense of who they are. There so many different types of people in New York, so many different cultures, races and classes and everybody has a story. Each one is significant in their own little world, yet they’re all together, interacting out there in the streets and buildings, subways, buses, everywhere with the rest of the world. They all touch other’s lives in some way and they may not even know it. It’s fascinating. Now you probably think I’m stupid, huh?”

“Nope! I get it. I like lookin’ at people too. You can learn a lot about a person by watching them when they think no ones watchin’. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I’ve seen.” Daryl told her.

“I’ll bet. That’s cool we both like doing that. Okay, tell me something personal.” She said.

“Like what. Whatta’ ya’ mean personal.” He asked her.

“Something you do, when no ones looking.” She explained.

“Hmm? I dunno. Like somethin’ I do by myself, like at home?” Daryl questioned.

“Yes, like that.” Isabella answered.

“I dunno. Oh, okay, here’s one. I like chocolate. I eat a chocolate bar almost every night before bed. Don’t think nobody know that, at least they ain’t said nothin. Like that? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, exactly. I think that’s adorable!! What’s your favorite?” She asked.

“Hershey with almonds. I like dove milk chocolate too and Hershey Kisses with almonds. Those are my favorites. It’s gotta’ be milk chocolate though. I hate that dark shit.” He said, shaking his head. “Now I want a chocolate bar.”

Isabella laughed. “Well, we’ll get you one on the way home.”

#daryl dixon fan art #carrion trilevel #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd fanfiction #the waking dead #norman reedus #bigbaldhead

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ninabonita4 · 8 years ago

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Christmas Special Delivery

Merry Christmas @belletheoutsider I am your OUASS! I’m sorry this took so long! With having vacation and the holidays and work it has been hard finding time to write this! I tried to make it longer than it originally was going to be because I owe it to you since it is late! I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: It’s Christmas morning and Belle and Rumple are spending it with their two children. Belle is heavily pregnant with baby #3. Unbeknownst to them, Belle and Rumple are in for a big surprise!

FFN AO3

(There are some slight differences between the version here and the version published on the sites above. Differences include improved wording and grammar)

Christmas Special Delivery

The morning sun streamed through the windows of Belle and Rumplestiltskin’s bedroom. Rumple was awake first, as usual. He looked over to his beautiful wife sleeping peacefully and smiled at her. He liked watching her sleep. Her face was free of any tension and she had a cute smile on her face. He took the back of his fingers and lightly stroked her cheek. This made Belle giggle and open her eyes. “Good morning, handsome.” She crooned, her voice still thick with sleep. Rumple leaned over and kissed her.

“Merry Christmas.” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

“Merry Christmas.” Belle smiled and kissed him again. “What time is it?” Rumple looked behind Belle’s shoulder at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “It’s 7:30.”

Belle’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “7:30?! They must have slept in. That’s not like them at all.”

“I know, my love. However, don’t get used to it. Pretty soon they will wake up and realize that it’s not 5:30 and that they missed Santa coming.” Rumple chuckled then he heard small footfalls on the floor getting increasingly closer to their bedroom. A few seconds later the door swung open.

“Mummy! Daddy!” Said two small voices as they jumped on Rumple and Belle’s bed. “It’s Christmas morning!”

“Yes, it is. Merry Christmas kiddos.” Rumple said kissing each of their heads. “Now go downstairs and wait for me and your mum. And no opening any presents until we get there.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Said 4-year-old Gideon. Belle got out of bed and put on her dressing gown. Rosalee, who was almost three, hugged her mother’s legs.

Belle ran her fingers through the toddler’s curly brown hair. “Merry Christmas my little princess. Go on with your brother and we’ll see you downstairs.”

“Okay, Mummy.” Rosalee reached her small hands up to touch Belle’s heavily rounded stomach. She stood on her tippy toes and placed a kiss there. “Baby sister.” The little girl smiled up at her mother then grabbed her brother’s hand and they went downstairs.

Rumple got out of bed and stood behind Belle, wrapping his hands around her middle. Just then they heard a loud “Whoa!” from downstairs as the children stared at the amount of presents in awe. Belle and Rumple laughed.

“You’re only two weeks away from your due date. Do you think this baby will come today?”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t.” Belle chuckled and the baby kicked her.

Rumple laughed. “Hmm, is that a yes or a no, little one?”

“Let’s hope it’s a no.” Belle turned around in to Rumple’s arms and kissed him. “Come on, the kids are waiting.” Rumple put on his robe over his pajamas and the two headed downstairs.

When they get downstairs two excited little ones are waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. “Mummy, look at what Santa left!” Little Rosalee cheered and jumped up and down.

“Wow, sweetie, look at all the presents!” Belle enthused.

In the left hand corner of the living room was a large Christmas tree covered in multicolored lights and ornaments of all kinds: handmade, glass, simple designs, intricate patterns, snowmen, snowflakes, and even antique ones. There were even ones shaped like small books with numerous classic titles. The tree was topped off with a large silver star. On the wall against the stairs, half way between them and the tree was a fireplace. There were presents lined up from the fireplace to the tree and all around the tree base. The presents were all different sizes and wrapped in different wrapping paper. The children’s presents were wrapped in paper according to their interests. Rosalee’s were wrapped in Disney princesses, Frozen, Doc McStuffins, animals, and books. Gideon’s were wrapped in Paw Patrol, dinosaurs, Mickey Mouse, Finding Nemo, animals, and books. Belle’s gifts were obviously wrapped by Rumple as only a few had bows and the wrapping wasn’t completely perfect. Rumple’s were very nicely wrapped and all of them had bows and ribbons. They shared wrapping paper of shimmering colors, wintry designs, and fancy patterns.

An empty plate of cookies and an empty glass of milk lay in front of the fireplace along with a copy of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. “Let’s see what message Santa left for you in the book this year.” Belle said and the family gathered around the presents. Each year Belle and Rumple left Santa a Christmas book and he left the children a message every year. Gideon grabbed the book and handed it to his mother. Belle opened it to the flyleaf and read out loud. “Dear Gideon and Rosalee, Merry Christmas to you both! Every year you become better and better and move up on the “nice” list. Gideon, you are a great big brother and are wonderful to your little sister. I know you will be just as great with your new baby sister. You are a fun, happy, and smart boy and I can’t wait to see how you grow this year. Rosalee, you are such a sweet, happy, and intelligent girl. I’m glad you actually know who I am this year. I know you are so excited to be a big sister and you will be a wonderful one. Make sure you and your brother help Mummy and Daddy out as they will be very tired with your new sister, but that doesn’t mean they will love you any less. Thank you for being such good children this year and I hope you enjoy your presents, but more importantly don’t forget to always give thanks, show love, have courage, and be kind. Love, Santa.”

“Yay, Santa remembered us! I’m glad we’re being nice and good.” Said little Gideon.

“Yeah, Santa really likes you two.” Rumple said to his children. “Are you ready to open your first presents?”

“Yeah!” The kids yelled in unison.

“Ok, sit in front of the tree!” As soon as Rumple finished speaking the kids trotted to the tree and sat down still full of wiggles. Belle sat across from Gideon and Rumple sat across from Rosalee. Each child grabbed one of their presents and Gideon almost tore the paper of his, but Belle stopped him.

“Gideon, let your sister open hers first.”

Gideon looked upset at first but then smiled and nodded. “Yes, Mummy. Go ahead sissy.”

Rosalee smiled and ripped the princess paper off her present with glee. When she was finished unwrapping she grinned from ear to ear. “It’s a piano, Mummy!”

“And a xylophone. And what animal are they shaped like?” Belle asked her daughter, who looked at the box quizzically.

“A doggy!”

“Yeah, a doggy!” Belle turned to her son. “Okay Gideon your turn.” Gideon smiled and ripped the Paw Patrol paper off of his gift. “What is it, buddy?”

“Mickey!”

“Uh-huh, and what is he?”

“A rock star! He’s got a guitar!”

“Yes, he does!” Rumple said to his son. Rumple grabbed a square gift for Belle. “For you my love.” Belle gasped as she took the gift from her husband. She opened it neatly. It was a baby book for their new baby. It had a custom cloth cover with pink satin, ribbon and room for her name and birthday.

“Oh Rumple, it’s gorgeous! Thank you.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss. “I have something for you, too. Giddy, could you get me that small box right there for Daddy.” Gideon handed her the box and Belle handed it to Rumple. He opened it slowly and with caution. Inside was an antique gold Rolex watch.

Rumple gasps, “Belle!” He looks at her in shock. “You found it!”

“Yes, I did. It took many Internet searches, but I found it.”

“You are simply amazing. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Belle smiled at Rumple and he leaned over and kissed her.

“Ewwww!” Gideon and Rosalee screamed at their parents. Rumple and Belle just laughed.

The presents continued to flood the living room and Rumple had already filled a whole garbage bag full of wrapping paper. The kids received toys as well as things like books and clothes. Rumple and Belle had one more gift for the children. “Okay, kids open them!” Rumple said with a smile. The kids hurried and opened their last presents. They both gasped as they saw what they got. They both got a Micro Kickboard Mini2Go Scooter, Gideon’s in blue and Rosalee’s in pink.

“Scooters!” The kids screamed and ran around the living room and hugged Rumple and Belle. “Thank you, Mummy! Thank you, Daddy!” They exclaimed.

“Can we open them, Daddy?” Asked Gideon.

“Ask you mother.” Rumple answered. Gideon turned to his mother.

“Can we, Mummy?” He asked with his big brown eyes.

“Oh, alright, but after breakfast. Fair?” Belle asked her kids. They sighed in disappointment, but nodded their heads because they were hungry. “Rumple, love, will you get started on breakfast? I am going to go lay down until it’s ready.” Belle took Rumple’s offered hand to get up off the floor. Rumple thought her going to lie down was unusual, but he just figured that she was tired.

Belle went upstairs to her and Rumple’s bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed as an intense pain went through her. She has been feeling contractions not long after the family started opening presents, but tried to hide her pain the best she could. When the contraction ended Belle went in to the bathroom and drew herself a bath. When she was in labor with Rosalee a bath helped her get through the pain. Once the water was high enough Belle took off her pajamas and lowered herself in to the tub. The warm water quickly eased the pain of the contractions. Belle could still feel them, but at least the pain was less intense. She was able to relax and even close her eyes. She breathed through every contraction using the breathing methods she was taught in birthing class.

Belle didn’t know how long she had been in the tub, but the water suddenly got quite warm and she felt a slight release deep in her belly. Her water had broken. “Oh no” She said to herself. She immediately felt an intense contraction. She had to get up to change and tell Rumple. She didn’t want to ruin Christmas for the kids, but it seems the baby had other ideas. Belle slowly got up and patted her body dry with a towel. She changed in to comfortable clothes. She grabbed the baby’s bag for the hospital since hers was too heavy for her to carry. She put on her Ugg boots, grabbed her coat and slowly made her way downstairs.

When she got downstairs she saw the children playing with their Christmas presents. Rumple was cleaning up and the kitchen smelled of eggs and bacon. She didn’t want to worry the kids and got Rumple’s attention when he looked over to her. He left the kitchen and came to Belle. The kids didn’t seem to notice, they were too busy with their new toys

“Belle, what’s wrong?” Rumple said, slightly panicked when he saw her with her coat and the baby bag.

“I started feeling contractions during presents. I went up for a bath and my water broke. The contractions are strong and are every ten minutes. Can you call Snow and David and tell them? They can bring Neal over too. I’m sure Gideon will gladly share his new toys with him. “

“Okay, I’ll call them. Will you tell the kids?” Rumple asked and Belle nodded. He gave her a kiss on the head and helped her over to the couch. He took out his phone and went in to the kitchen. The kids noticed that Belle was dressed and looked ready to go somewhere. Gideon came up to his mother.

“Mummy, are we going somewhere?”

“No, baby, but Mummy is.” Rosalee heard this and came over to her.

“Where are you going Mummy?” She asked looking like she was about to cry.

“Well, your little sister decided to come a little early. Uncle David, Auntie Snow, and Neal are going to come over to watch you. Is that ok?”

The kids looked at each other and started jumping up and down shouting “Yay!” Belle wasn’t sure if they were cheering because of their sister coming, or Snow, David, and Neal coming over, but she let them celebrate. “Now make sure you share your new toys with Neal. He is being pulled away from his new toys so make sure you share them. Daddy is going to take Mummy to the hospital once they get here.”

“Ok, Mummy.” The kids said in unison.

About forty-five minutes later there was a knock at the door. Rumple opened it and she heard Snow and David say “Merry Christmas” in unison. Rumple returned the greeting and told them to come in. Rosalee and Gideon stood up and ran up to give Neal, still in his pajamas, a hug.

“Hi Neal. Did you get that for Christmas?” Gideon said, referring to the Optimus Prime toy in Neal’s hand.

“Yeah. Santa got it for me.” Neal said with a smile.

“That’s so cool! You can play with my toys too if you want.” Gideon took Neal’s hand and took him over to the Christmas tree where their toys were sprawled on the floor.

While David and Rumple talked, Snow came over to Belle and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, sweetie, how are you doing?”

Belle looked up at her. “Hanging in there. Contractions have gone from ten minutes to seven in the last hour. It’s moving faster than Rosalee’s labor. She’ll probably be here in the next few hours. You don’t mind staying that long do you? And the next night or two?”

“No, of course not. Neal loves hanging out with the kids. It’s kind of lonely for him at our house when Henry isn’t visiting.”

“Thank you. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen for lunch and snacks. If you have to make dinner too that’s no issue. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course. We’re family we do anything for each other.” Snow looked back to see Rumple walking over.

“Hey, honey. How are you doing?” Rumple asked, helping Belle up off the couch. “Easy, now.” He rubbed Belle’s back as she balanced herself. Rumple held out her coat for her. “You ready to go?”

“Yes. Just want her to get here. “ Belle said flipping her hair out of her coat. “Let’s get out of here. Thanks again, Snow.”

“You’re welcome, Belle. Good luck.” Snow said as she gave Belle a hug. Rumple got the bags ready.

“Children, we’re leaving now. Give your Mummy a hug.” Rumple told to the kids, who raced over to Belle. Rumple went to put the bags in the car. Gideon hugged one side of Belle and Rosalee hugged the other.

“Bye, Mummy. Will we see you soon?” Gideon asked his mother.

“Of course, baby. Hopefully tonight, or tomorrow.” Belle told her son calmly. She then heard little Rosalee crying. “Rosie, come here.” Belle told her daughter while patting the couch. Rosalee stood on the couch and the two faced each other. “What’s wrong, little one?” She took her hands.

“I don’t want you to go, Mummy.” Rosalee said through tears. It would be the first time she had been away from Belle for more than a few hours.

“Oh, it’ll all be okay, honey. You will see Mummy soon. Mummy’s going to miss you so much, but I will be thinking of you and your brother. When you see me next you’re going to have a new baby sister. I love you straight to the stars, my darling.” She gave Rosalee a hug.

“And back, Mummy.” Her tears started to dry as she completed her and Belle’s way of saying “I love you.”

“Be a big, strong girl for me, ok?”

“I will, Mummy.”

“That’s my girl.” Belle pulled away from the hug and placed her forehead against her daughter’s. “Kisses.” Her and her daughter gave each other a kiss. “Bye, my darling.” She held her hand out to help Rosalee off the couch. “Gideon, come give mommy kisses.” She called to her son. Gideon came over to her and stood on the couch facing her.

“Bye, Mummy. I love you.”

“I love you too my sweet boy.” Belle gave her son a hug. “Be good and keep an eye on your sister.” She pulled back from the hug and held his hands. “You will always be my special baby boy. My little hero.” She smiled at Gideon’s giggle and blush. “Give me kisses.” She leaned forward, pressed her forehead against her son’s. They gave Eskimo kisses, then a normal kiss. “Bye, my prince.” She smiled and Gideon went back to playing with his sister and Neal.

By that time, Rumple had come inside and was ready for Belle to go with him. As she was walking to him, he could tell Belle was having a contraction though she tried to hide her pain as much as possible. “Bye Snow, bye David. Thank you. I know it was last minute.” Rumple said to them and put his arm around Belle.

“Keeps us posted!” David called to them as they reached the door.

Rumple helped Belle in to the car gingerly. “Are you alright?” He asked cautiously. Belle chuckled and smiled.

“I’m okay, Rumple. You’re getting all freaked out like you did with Rosalee.”

“Am not.” He said sarcastically. “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He leaned in and kissed her then closed the car door. He got in on the driver’s side and started the car.

Rumple and Belle got to the hospital about twenty minutes later. Belle was admitted and placed in a room to be monitored. The baby’s heart rate was good and contractions were every five minutes apart. Belle was six centimeters dilated when they arrived. She was told to try and rest, but that was difficult to do because of the strong contractions, and she was refusing all drugs. Soon she started to cry. Rumple rushed to her side and grabbed her hand. “Belle, what’s wrong? Is it the pain?” He asked. Belle shook her head “no.”

“No it’s not that. Well it hurts, but that’s not why I’m crying.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“The kids. I miss the kids and I’m afraid of how they will react to the baby. Will they think we don’t love them anymore? We’re going to be up with the baby, what will they think.”

“Oh, my love.” Rumple kissed her hand. “I’m worried about that too, but they seemed to understand from the message we left in the book. I think that it may be difficult the first few days, maybe weeks, but it will get better. We will take turns each day spending time with Gideon and Rosalee. You can wear the baby and play with the kids. Read to them. They will love her. Gideon was lovely with Rosalee and I think he will be just as good, if not better. And Rose? Well, I think she will be good with her. She’s been practicing with her baby dolls. She will love helping you. We have two wonderful, healthy, intelligent children. They will be fine.” Rumple squeezed her hand in reassurance. He immediately felt her hand relax in his. He took his other hand and rubbed Belle’s head. “We’re going to have a third baby.”

Belle smiled back at him. “And if we’re lucky she will be born on Christmas.” She chuckled. “I guess you were right this morning when she kicked me.” Belle groaned as another contraction ran through her. Rumple rubbed her back since she was lying on her left side. Belle breathed through the contraction. “Thank you. Can you have them come check me?”

“Do you feel like you need to push?” Rumple tried to not get too worked up.

“A little. I’m sure I’m close.”

“Okay, I will go get them.” Rumple gave Belle one last kiss before he left the rom. Minutes later Belle’s midwife came in to check her progress.

“You’re eight centimeters, her head’s right there. Let’s try pushing to get you to ten.” The midwife said as she removed her glove. She put on a new set. “You can just sit up for now. We’ll move you when you get to ten.” Belle pushed for about twenty minutes when the midwife announced, “That’s ten and you’re fully dilated. I’m going to get the rest of my team then we will have a baby.” She left the room to get the rest of her team. The room was then filled with some nurses and three student midwives. The midwife was gowned and gloved, a tray of instruments was brought over to her and the warmer was readied. “Alright, Belle if you want to slide up to the front and dad you can sit behind her if you want.” The midwife instructed. Rumple looked at Belle, who nodded. He settled in behind her and rubbed her sides. “Okay Belle, next contraction push.” Belle took some deep breaths as she waited for the contraction. “Alright, push.” The midwife instructed.

Belle took a deep breath, held it, put her chin to her chest, and gave a big push. She groaned slightly and let out her breath. She leaned her head against Rumple’s shoulder, breathing heavily. “Good job, Belle.” Rumple whispered in Belle’s ear and kissed her cheek. She leaned in to his kiss and snuggled Rumple’s neck. She felt comforted having Rumple sitting with her. It took some of the pain away and it made the moment more intimate between them. Belle was able to breathe for a minute before she felt her next contraction.

“Okay, push.” The midwife said calmly. Belle gave another big push then relaxed against Rumple again.

“Just a few more and we’ll have our little girl.” Rumple whispered in Belle’s ear and he saw a small smile on her face. “Big push, now, Belle.” Rumple’s words motivated Belle and she gave the biggest push yet and felt stinging. “Here she comes, my love.”

“Okay, her head’s out. Don’t push.” The midwife said as she cleared out the baby’s nose and mouth. A nurse put a blanket on Belle’s chest. “Alright, Belle, small push and she’ll be out.”

Belle looked up at Rumple for his reassurance and comfort. He rubbed her shoulder “One more, my love. You can do it.” He kissed her cheek and held her for the last push. “Push, push her out.” He whispered to her. Belle gave one last push and the baby’s shoulders slipped out and in to the midwife’s hands. “Here she is, there’s your baby!” The midwife placed the baby on Belle’s chest and her arms immediately went around her. The baby gave her very first shrill cry.

“Hey, baby girl!” Belle beamed at the baby as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“You did it, Belle.” Rumple kissed her cheek and put his hands on the baby. “She’s beautiful.” His eyes welled with tears. Nurses came over with towels and dried the baby off. Belle and Rumple wrapped the blanket around the baby as she continued to cry. “Look at her. Hi little one.” Rumple took the small baby’s hand. He noticed Belle was strangely silent. “Belle, are okay, darling?” He asked her. She looked up at him with happy tears running down her face.

“I’m okay. She’s just perfect.” She looked back at the baby.

“Yes, she is. Just like her mother.” Belle looked back up at Rumple when he said those kind words. They leaned in and kissed each other as they held their new baby. “With each baby you have the more beautiful you get.” This made Belle laugh. “I’m serious. I have never seen you look more beautiful than you do right now.” He kissed her again. They looked at their baby in beautiful silence as they stroked her and kissed her.

The umbilical cord was clamped when the afterbirth was delivered. Rumple did the honors and cut his baby’s cord for the second time. The midwife had unbuttoned Belle’s gown so she could hold the baby skin to skin. The baby curled on Belle’s chest and Belle placed the blanket over her. The baby had settled down now that she was warm against her mother. Rumple rubbed his hand along the baby’s blanket covered back. Belle leaned her head down and kissed her daughter’s head. “She looks like Rosie.” Rumple observed.

“Yeah, she does, but she has your nose.”

“Aye, she does. Look at me for a second.” Rumple told Belle, who swung her head to the right to meet Rumple’s. They were nearly touching foreheads. “You did amazing. I’m so proud of you. Thank you for letting me be with you and hold you again.”

“It’s what I wanted, my love. This makes it more intimate between you and me. We shared the experience of bringing our daughter into the world.”

“I forgot how much I loved sharing this with you.” Rumple kissed Belle sweetly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Belle whispered.

“So what are we going to name this little one?” Rumple asked as the baby started to wiggle on Belle’s chest, wanting to breastfeed. Belle situated the baby at her breast and coaxed the baby to feed, which she did right away. The midwife checked to make sure the baby was latching correctly.

“I don’t know. It’s like she knew we were talking about her.” Belle gave a chuckle when the midwife left. “Well, since she was born on Christmas, should we give her a Christmas name?”

“Do you have any in mind?”

“Yes, Noelle.”

“Noelle?” Rumple said the name out loud and when he did the baby’s eyes went from half closed to wide open, looking up at Rumple. He and Belle couldn’t help but laugh.

“I think she likes it.”

“Noelle is perfect.” He leaned his head against Belle’s and they watched the baby feed.

After an hour the baby was taken to be measured, 19 inches, weighed, six pounds, twelve ounces, and taken to the nursery to make sure she was healthy. Meanwhile, Rumple called Snow and David.

“Hello?” Snow’s voice said on the other end. They both had their phones on speaker so they could hear the children playing in the background.

“Hey, Snow, are the kids there?” He asked.

“They’re right here.”

“Hi Daddy.” Said both children one after the other.

“Hey Gideon, Rosie. Guess what?”

“What?” The kids asked, excited.

“Your baby sister is here!”

“Yay!” The kids cheered causing the room to explode with noise and Belle to laugh.

“Say hi to Mummy.”

“Hi Mummy!” They called to Belle and Rumple handed the phone to her.

“Hi kiddos, are you being good for Snow and David?”

“Yes.”

“Good. They’re going to bring you up to meet your baby sister soon. Are you excited?”

“Yeah!” The kids screamed in unison.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Mummy.”

“See you soon.”

“Bye, Mummy.” The kids then scurried away from the phone. Belle handed the phone back to Rumple and he told Snow the details of bringing the kids to the hospital. When he hung up the phone he came and sat next to Belle on the bed.

“They will be here in an hour.” Rumple sighed as he got on the bed.

“Ok, my love. I can’t wait to see them. It’s going to be hard watching them leave though. Do you think Snow and David can keep them for the night?”

“They were going to anyway when this happened, it just happened two weeks ahead of schedule.” He chuckled.

“That’s true. I’m trying not to worry, but it’s hard.”

“Yeah, it is, but they will be okay.”

“Yeah, they’re strong kids. They will probably be still in their pajamas.” She laughed at the thought. “I hope they bring Noelle back soon, she’s going to need to eat.”

Almost on cue the midwife wheeled Noelle in to the room in a plastic bassinet. “Here’s your baby.” She said in singsong. She wheeled the bassinet next to Belle’s bed, lifted the baby out and in to Belle’s arms. She was swaddled in a pink blanket and was wearing a baby hospital hat with a bow. “There we go. She’s very hungry.” She chuckled as the baby started rooting as soon as she was in Belle’s arms. Belle started to feed the baby and the midwife helped her. “Good. She’s latching perfectly. The pediatrician gave her a clean bill of health. All tests are normal and she’s healthy as a horse. Are the siblings coming up soon?”

“Yes they will be up in an hour.” Belle informed her. The midwife wished them well and said her goodbyes. Belle looked down at the baby while she nursed and tears started to well up in her eyes.

“Belle what’s the matter?” Rumple asked as he rubbed her shoulder.

“I’m just happy.” She smiled at him. “I’m happy that we had a great Christmas as a family this morning. I’m happy that she’s here even though we didn’t plan it. It just seems like everything is perfect and fell right in to place.”

“Well, it has. She was meant to be born today. That’s why she came.”

“Yes I believe that’s why she did.”

About an hour later there was a knock at the door to Belle’s room. “Come in.” Rumple announced. In walked Snow, David, Neal, Rosalee, and Gideon, the children still in their pajamas. Belle sat up in her bed, smiled widely and the kids ran up to her.

“Hey you two come here!” The kids hopped up on Belle’s bed and she hugged each kid with one arm. “I missed you!” She kissed each of them on the head. They cuddled on the bed for a couple minutes.

“Do you guys want to meet your baby sister?” Rumple asked. The kids both nodded and got off the bed. They each got on a side of the baby’s plastic bassinet. They had to get on their tiptoes to see her and Rumple got a precious picture of the kids looking down at their baby sister. “There she is, you guys. What do you think?”

The kids looked down at her before answering. “She’s cute.” Said Rosalee with a smile.

“I think she’s beautiful.” Gideon smiled too.

“Do you want to hold her?” Rumple asked and both kids nodded. “Okay, sit on the bed here and I will hand her to you. Both the kids got on Belle’s bed and sat cross-legged. “Since Rosie is a first time big sister she gets to hold her first.” Rumple lifted the baby out of the bassinet. “Now, Rosie, hold your arms out the way you and Mummy practiced.” Rosalee held her arms in an odd oval shape and Rumple gently placed the baby in her arms. “Support her head with your elbow. There you go, good job.”

Rosalee held her baby sister and looked down at her smiling widely. The baby had woken up and was looking up at her new big sister. “Look, Rosie, she’s smiling at you. She likes you.” Belle said as she saw her daughter hold her sister. She couldn’t help but get teary-eyed. “Do you want to know her name?” She asked and both the kids nodded. “Her name is Noelle, which means Christmas.”

“Noelle.” Rosalee said out loud down at her baby sister. “Hi, Noelle.” She leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head.

“Aw that was sweet, Rosie. Okay, it’s Gideon’s turn.” Belle said. Rosalee frowned, but knew she had to give her brother a turn. Rumple took the baby from Rosalee and gave her to Gideon.

“Do you remember how to hold a baby, Giddy?” He asked. Gideon smiled and held his arms out proudly. “Good job, buddy.” He placed Noelle in his arms. Gideon smiled and gave his sister a kiss.

“Hi, Noelle. I’m Gideon, your big brother. I love you.” Gideon said in his sweet voice. Belle had a few tears run down her cheeks as she saw the positive reactions from her kids.

“She likes you, Gideon. You’re a great big brother. Do you like having two sisters?”

Gideon nodded. “Yeah, I do. It’s so fun.”

“I’m glad, buddy.” Belle said, proud. The baby then began to cry and Gideon’s face dropped.

“Did I do something?” He almost started crying.

“Oh, not at all, sweetie. She just needs to be changed. Do you two want to help me?” Gideon went back to smiling and let his dad take the baby from him. Rumple handed the baby to Belle. “Here, come get on either side of me.” The kids got on each of Belle’s sides. Rumple brought over baby wipes and a newborn diaper to the bed. Belle unwrapped the baby from her tight swaddle. She was wearing a white side snap shirt and a diaper. She was crying and wiggling. Rosalee rubbed the baby’s belly and hushed her.

“It’s okay, Noelle.” She said sweetly.

“Aw thanks, Rosie, she likes that.” Belle praised her daughter as the baby settled down. “Gideon will you unfold that diaper for me?” Gideon nodded and unfolded the diaper like a pro. “Thank you, buddy.” She undid the dirty diaper, slipped it out from under the baby, and replaced it with the new, fresh one. She pulled a wipe from the case. “Rosalee, do you want to wipe her?” The little girl nodded and took the wipe. She wiped the baby from top to bottom like Belle had shown her. “Excellent, baby.” Belle undid the tabs on the diaper and she lifted the front over the baby’s belly. “Alright, Gideon, you pull this tab,” she pointed to the tab on her left, “and Rosalee, you pull this tab.” She pointed to the one on her right. Each child took their tab and pulled them up to meet in the middle. “Look at that! You two helped change her diaper. You did so good.” Belle hugged her two little ones close. Now go with Daddy and wash your hands.” The kids got down from the bed and Belle used the hand sanitizer on the bedside table. She didn’t want to get up and ruin the moment.

When the kids returned Belle showed them how to swaddle the baby. They were so enamored by her and that made Rumple and Belle very proud. Their family finally felt complete. Snow and David returned a few minutes later to see the baby and hold her. Even little Neal took a turn and gave her a kiss. Snow took their first photo as a family of five. By the time visiting hours were over it was hard for Rumple and Belle to say goodbye to Gideon and Rosalee. However, they were getting cranky and it was close to dinnertime.

By the time Rumple and Belle were settling in for the night, the baby was fed and already asleep. They were sitting on the bed facing each other, holding hands. It felt like they were teens looking in to each other’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you, my Belle. Seeing you with our three children made my heart swell. You are the best mother any child could ask for. I have wanted a family with you for longer than you know and I finally have it. I couldn’t be happier. I have felt like I lost you several times and never thought I’d have the family with you that I dreamed of. I go to bed each night and wonder how an old monster like me got so lucky.” Rumple started to tear up and Belle rubbed his hands.

“Rumple, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that you’re not a monster. There were times when I was convinced that you weren’t what was best for me, but I have been proven wrong many times since then. Seeing you with our children always makes me smile. Seeing how gentle you are with our new baby girl only shows me that you are the best father I could have ever wanted for our children. I’ve never been happier than I am right now. Our family is finally complete.” Belle and Rumple were both in tears and they hugged each other tightly. “I love you so much, Rumple.”

“I love you too, my beautiful Belle.” Rumple whispered to her. They pulled back and shared a passionate kiss, one full of love, hope, and understanding. “Now you get some sleep. You had a baby today. A baby that will be awake in a few hours wanting to be fed.” He kissed her head. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, husband.” Belle gave her husband one last kiss and she settled in to bed.

As his wife fell asleep Rumple stayed awake and looked upon his wife and sleeping daughter’s faces. He smiled to himself, for once not questioning why he was so lucky. He finally realized that he was lucky, he deserved this, and he had finally found his happy ending. The entire day was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.

#onceuponasecretsanta #belletheoutsider #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumbelle fanfiction

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