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possiblypeachy · 5 years ago

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tea & schemes. (10)

―; summary: An unexpected face pops up while Florence and Jacob are out and about; she should really expect these things to happen at this point.

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 5k (ooh, she’s a biggun)

―; warnings: light swearing.

―; A/N: okay so maybe this took me like a month to chip through but life gets hectic sometime im--

nevertheless!! i love them!! and this!! i’m finally getting into the writing habit again so hopefully you can expect to see this more regularly?? don’t quote me on that, though /:

please tell me what you think bc i’m in constant need of pointers and reassurance!! plus i love talking about this so :))

―; tags: @vamprose (ily <3) (p.s. do ask if you’d like to be tagged in the future!)

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

― ❊ ―

Suddenly, it seemed like the pub wasn’t so important anymore and, what with that Benjamin bloke still glaring daggers at the pair of them a few tables from the bar, the couple decided to shimmy their way out of the establishment and wander the streets for a small while. At the horizon, the sun was setting, painting a strip of pinkish-orange across the early evening sky. There was a chill in the air-- a reminder of autumn settling in-- that made Florence tuck her shawl more closely into her shoulders and encouraged Jacob to walk that little bit closer to her. Well, that required very little encouragement, truly.

There was this strange sense of joy lingering between them; it was the happiness borne from a returned confession mixed with the sudden fear that it had perhaps all been a mistake or some kind of terrible joke. However, the way that his thumb brushed over the back of their hands as they zigzagged their way down the backstreets made Florence feel a little better at least. Jacob found enough comfort in the memory of her smile back in the pub; he was almost certain emotion like that couldn’t be faked-- not even by a world-class actor.

“Jacob,” Florence spoke after a brief period of quiet between them. They’d been speaking idly of things, skirting over the surface of the kiss that had happened earlier and overall quite content with that. However, one might call Florence a cat and curiosity had killed her, “when we kissed…”

She paused to ponder her next words for a few moments but, before she could finish her own sentence, Jacob interjected with that cocky little smile of his and a quirk of his brow. “-- it was magical and you’ll often dream of doing it again?” She gave him an exasperated look but grinned regardless. “Well, dear lady,” Jacob bowed almost crookedly, as if to lower his face down to hers while they were walking, “I am always available.”

She hit his arm and scowled but the light in her eyes told of amusement. “You’re terrible; I’m trying to ask you something serious.” His demeanour softened and he dipped his head to the side slightly, as if to say “go ahead”, straightening his posture. Florence gave his arm a small squeeze in an effort to comfort him-- ensuring that she wasn’t actually bothered by his incessant jesting-- and, as her hand lowered again, he caught it in his own. A little curl came to her lips, gaze caught on the sight of their intertwined hands for a few moments; Thomas Langhorne had never made her heart do that.

Eyes, almost golden in the early evening sunlight, dragged up to his face once again. “What are we?” At this, Jacob’s face scrunched with confusion and Florence pursed her lips momentarily before she rephrased: “Are we doing some kind of… courting now?”

Her eyes glazed slightly at that dreaded word— so did Jacob’s. He opened his mouth briefly, only to close it again and hum, pondering. “Well, labels don’t have to be applied, do they?” Florence frowned, to which Jacob’s heart dropped suddenly, worried that he might’ve disappointed her. “Not those fancy labels, anyhow—“

“It’s just that I might worry about—“

“— because I’d definitely get bullied by Evie if I told her—“

“— exclusivity and the idea of sharing you because I think I—“

“— that I was ‘courting a lady’ but I wouldn’t mind it, if you wanted to call it that, since I—“

“— really like you.”

They looked at each other as those same words spilt clumsily from both of their mouths. There was a moment of quiet between them, then Florence made a ridiculous little snorting noise in the back of her throat and they both began to laugh. She admittedly felt like one of those flustered ladies in those hopelessly romantic books she always read but, for the first time in her life, Florence didn’t loathe that thought so much— in fact, it barely bothered her at all. It simply felt… nice to know that Jacob was experiencing the same things. Well, she assumed, anyhow, what with the gentle pinkness to his smiling cheeks.

Their eyes locked for a few moments as their laughter died down, honey melting into hazel, and Florence’s lips caught in a content, little smile— one that made Jacob feel, for a moment, like all was right with the world. Her gaze broke away from his and she shook her head, huffing out something that sounded like a chuckle through her nose. “My brother is going to keel over and die if he finds out.”

“So we won’t tell him.” Jacob replied, a small squeeze coming to Florence’s hand. “Not yet, anyway.” A certain amusement lit up his features, the kind that she’d come to realise always came before one of his remarks. “Besides, I’d only have you to bully if Freddy’s chucked out of the picture.”

“I’m the one who does the bullying here, thank you very much.” Proudness adorned Florence’s face, nose upturned in a way that made Jacob do a strange, back-of-the-throat chortle. “I learnt from the best—”

“-- me--”

“-- my sister, Emily.” Her expression deadpanned beside the tiny quirk to her lips that proclaimed humour. “I will… allow you to be just as proficient at bullying as me.”

“You’ll allow me?” His eyebrows raised in disbelief, open mouth threatening to break into a grin.

She giggled, nodding. “Yes, I’ll allow you--”

“You’ll allow me, eh? Will you?” One of his hands came up to poke at her ribs, breathing out impish laughter at Florence’s sudden squeal. She half-expected to barely feel his prodding fingers through her many layers but the sudden jab to her side was very much there and it definitely made her jolt to one side. Unfortunately for everyone in the immediate vicinity, Florence began that god-awful snorting of hers. Jacob continued with his assault, repeating his words through laughter, until she was wiping tears away from her eyes, cheeks hurting from smiling far too much.

Disaster came when she wiped the cloudiness away from her eyes and her vision met with a familiar crown of golden hair. She spat something that sounded like a horrible mixture of “shit!” and “damn!”, which froze Jacob up as he tried to search for whatever had so suddenly changed Florence’s demeanour. However, she had already decided to relinquish any control he might’ve had on the situation by bundling them both off into a nearby alleyway, the home of a few-- now visibly worried-- urchins.

Jacob’s brows furrowed and his mouth opened, ready to hurriedly ask her what had gotten her in a twist. Florence stopped him before he could speak with a thin finger smushed against his lips. She muttered a “Willard” and, against her front, she felt Jacob tense, though his face showed no real difference.

“Why is that such a problem?” He whispered back, perhaps a little too loudly for Florence’s liking, using his hand to lower her finger from his lips.

A myriad of emotions flickered across her expression-- all of which made Jacob frown-- and, in a moment of catharsis, she sighed. “You know why it’s a problem--”

“If he sees us, so be it. Maybe he’ll finally leave you be.”

“And, what? Proceed to kill my brother?” Florence spoke through gritted teeth, gesturing pointedly back to the street they had just been on-- the street where Willard was. “I’m supposed to be going to that… dinner party to entertain the idea of him and I being a couple; I doubt it’d still be going on if he saw me being friendly with you, Jacob.”

Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw clenched despite him trying his best not to seem angry with her. “How long will that go on for, hm? Until you’re both married? When will Florence Molyneux-Herbert’s first child be born, I wonder--”

“Don’t be such a prick, Jacob.” There was something in her eyes that screamed a strange sense of annoyance. “I’ll do what I have to; I need to find solid enough evidence of his plots to get him arrested.”

There was a pause in which the pair stared at each other-- a challenge. Then, Jacob sighed and nodded. “Fine.” Florence released a breath she was unaware she’d been holding, placing her hands on her hips and turning herself away from him, as if she was about to peek back into the street. “I’ll come with you to the dinner.”

“What? No, Jacob--”

“Listen to me.” He gave her a look, all too aware of Florence’s tendency to interject when she was particularly… passionate about a subject. She opened her mouth like she was about to disregard him, then her expression softened and she gestured for him to go ahead. “This Willard bloke-- he thinks I work for your family, yes?”

“I assume so.”

Jacob’s little smile counteracted her confused frown. In a way, his mere energy had formed this kind of… conniving, scheming hope in the pit of her stomach. “Exactly. I am Jacob Frye, your butler and bodyguard, rolled into one. I presume it’s cheaper that way.” He shrugged and Florence gave a laugh, stifled by the back of her hand; it was a shame that he couldn’t see her dimple. “I’ll accompany you and Freddy to his estate and, while you look all pretty and have a munch on whatever little entrées he serves you, I’ll have a nosey about his house--”

“He’ll have guards.”

Jacob deadpanned at her, then gestured-- to make a point-- to all the various weapons strewn about his person. With a nod, a hum, and a laugh breathed out through the nose, she conceded. He muttered something like a “thank you” before continuing on with what he would no doubt tout a ‘nefarious plan’. “-- and collect any scraps of ill-intent he might have lying about. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll even stumble across a secret room with drawings of your brother and little knife marks--”

“You really do test me, Jacob Frye.”

He let out a gleeful little laugh, loud enough for Florence to poke him in the ribs-- or was she serving comeuppance for his incessant jesting? Only God would know, one supposed.

With a small peek around the corner, Florence grimaced when she saw that Willard was still window-browsing at that poncey jewellery shop, rubbing his chin in a way reminiscent of some kind of statue of Adonis. God, why was he so pretty? Her eyes raked up and down the bluish ensemble he was wearing today and--

Jacob pushed her slightly, straight out into the open street and Willard’s attention. The blond turned, intrigued by the little ‘woop!’ and scuffle of shoes, and his expression shifted to one of surprised delight. “Darling Florence! What a gift God has given me for such a beauty to stumble back into my day.”

She stopped herself from frowning at this and wanted more than anything to throw a look over her shoulder towards Jacob; it would’ve either been a plea for help or a reassurance that she did, in fact, dislike being complimented like this. Well, complimented like this by him.

He all but swept over to her, the little cane at his side no doubt merely decorative-- a show of absurd wealth and status that made Florence feel inferior. As always. “What brings you here? Doing a bit of light shopping, are we? If you’d like, we could--”

“Ah, Miss Abberline, there you are! These backstreets are just nightmares to follow someone down-- oh.” Jacob, now having shown himself from the alleyway, drew close to her side, though not so close as to draw any attention. Hazel eyes met with Willard’s green and he bowed his head; Florence knew that, in his heart, Jacob was mocking the man but Willard seemed none the wiser. “Willard, is it? How lovely it is that you and my mistress have run into each other today.”

Florence had to stop herself from laughing at his formalities, lips twisting upward despite her best efforts to remain stoic. She could sense that Jacob felt the same way, no doubt having realised that he would certainly be made fun of later on for this.

It was even more difficult to fight back the desire to turn and look at Jacob’s face when Willard corrected him, a light sense of disgust in his voice, with “Mister Molyneux-Herbert.”

What a prick.

“It is, indeed, a lovely coincidence that our paths have crossed again today. In fact, I was just offering to peruse the shops with the lady--” A green gaze caught Florence’s and he smiled somewhat; that terrible, conflicting feeling began in her soul again, “-- so I suppose you might go home, Mister Frye.”

Jacob kissed his teeth, shrugging. “No can do, I’m afraid; Miss Abberline is due for a dress-fitting later today so we’re on a tight schedule. The dinner party you plan to host would be a far better opportunity to catch up.”

Willard, seemingly disregarding just about everything Jacob had said, took a step toward her, to which she shuffled backwards into Jacob’s arm. He briefly placed a hand on her lower back, though truthfully it did very little to calm her, before clasping his hands together behind his back. “I could perhaps help you pick out a necklace or brooch to compliment your dress for the dinner--”

“Flor-- Miss Abberline can’t--”

Florence’s hand brushed against Jacob’s stomach lightly, as if to ask him to back down so that she could handle the situation. Hopefully, the gesture went unnoticed by Willard. “It pains me to say this, but Mister Frye is doing what’s in my best interests. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I get far too emotional when under tight time constraints; I get it from my mother.”

Willard made a little ‘ah’ noise and huffed out a small laugh. He looked to Jacob, gesturing to Florence, and joked: “Such a typical woman, eh?” Behind his back, one of Jacob’s fists clenched but his face told nothing of his annoyance-- rather his mouth shaped a grin, head nodding in agreement. Willard met her gaze again and took a few steps to the side, as if to let them both pass him on the narrow street. “Well, it was lovely seeing you twice today, dear Florence. I look forward to your presence this weekend.” Jacob was already walking past him when he held out a hand for Florence to place hers in. She did so, as she was expected, and he placed his usual kiss to the back of it, to which she began to feel almost guilty; leading a double life wasn’t for Florence, she had concluded.

Now released from the grasp of Willard, she hurried after Jacob, who’s tense shoulders told of frustration. When he heard the tip-tapping of her footsteps on stone beside him, he half-turned, a mocking smile painted across his expression. “Such a typical woman, eh?” The laugh he released was so hideous and fake that it made her begin her own horrendous giggling. Then, he shook his head, a very obvious frown pulling his lips downwards. “What a prick. Who raised him to be like that?”

Florence upturned her nose so she could achieve an appropriately posh accent. “The Earl of Carnarvon.”

“That would explain it then.” He sighed, rolling his eyes somewhat. “Well, at least you know you can catch the eye of-- what?-- nobility?”

“Oh, I doubt he would’ve even gone within a few feet of me if it weren’t for his murderous intent for my brother.”

Jacob did that kind of hum one does when they’re unsure of something-- the kind that changes pitch as easily as a cat flicks its tail. “I’m not sure if it’s just your brother.” Florence frowned and he elaborated. “To him, I am inconsequential-- a tiny little cog in a sequence that barely even affects him. I met him briefly once however long ago--”

“In the library, yes. He did give you a peculiar look.”

“Exactly. At the time, I assumed it was just because I was an inconvenience to him-- which, admittedly, I still am--” Florence huffed out a laugh and Jacob paused to smile, “-- but he still remembered me today. Bit strange, isn’t it?”

“You are overwhelming clad in weapons all the time and you have a tendency to gnaw at one’s mind.”

“Are you sure the latter wasn’t just you?”

Florence rolled her eyes but a grin broke her exasperated expression. “My point still stands, Jacob: you’re a memorable character.”

There was a pause. Then, he sighed. “Fine. I might be overthinking it. But, maybe my concerns are in the right place too. There’s always another side to the coin.”

“That was a lovely metaphor, Jacob. Have you been reading Evie’s books?”

His shoulder pushed hers and she stumbled to the side, laughing and trying to keep her dress from being trodden underneath her own feet. If she had fallen, he would’ve been dragged down with her regardless, what with how tightly her hand had taken to gripping onto his arm.

“You’re a bully, Florence Abberline.”

“Did I not tell you this earlier?”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head at her incessancy, but said nothing more; she had certainly proved her point from before, he supposed.

---

They had walked for a small while longer, trying their best to distract from Willard and his decidedly strange aura, before Florence decided it would be best for her to get back home, lest she have a small legion of police on the lookout for her. The way in which she’d mentioned this seemed specific but she denied Jacob any further details. Regardless, the thought of Florence having to evade police officers to stay out into the evening made him chuckle; she was a nightmare of a woman but he considered it one of her many charms.

They came to the red door of her home and, seeing that the curtains had been pulled closed, she gave him a chaste parting kiss, holding his face in her hands like she’d been doing it for her whole life. As usual, that little flush came to both of them: Florence’s ears tinged red and a pinkish hue gracing his cheeks. She could only hope that her brother wasn’t peeking between a gap in the curtains; she’d have a lot of explaining to do, if so.

“I’ll visit you again soon?” His voice was quiet-- as though he wanted to maintain a sense of intimacy despite the passersby-- and a hand lingered over her waist, testing to see if that was too much for her.

Florence didn’t object, instead reciprocating with a palm pressed to his chest. His hold on her became more definite and the feeling that rose in her chest made her smile. “The dinner is this Saturday--”

“I meant beforehand, Flor. Need to make sure that you’re not bending yourself over backwards to appease Willard, son of the Earl of Carnarvon.”

The dimple bore into Florence’s cheek-- a beautiful sight-- and she shook her head in that way of hers. “I won’t be; I already know what dress I’ll wear and all I need to do is consult Freddy about it.” Her hand moved from his chest to his bicep, squeezing it in reassurance. “I’ll be fine, Jacob. Don’t get all soppy with me.” She poked him now, little fingernail jabbing into skin, and he groaned, “You’ll remind me of Willard.”

“Don’t say that--”

“I should get inside. Goodbye, Jacob.” There was that cheeky smirk upon her lips as she trailed away, fingers dancing down the length of his arm and she took steps backwards.

However, his hand caught hers just before it left him and he pulled her back in for a delightful little peck. When they parted, it was almost as though her expression had moved from her face to his. “Just look after yourself, love.”

“I’ll try.” With that, she finally left him, sliding herself through the door, but not without looking back over her shoulder and shooting him a smile. As always, Jacob was stuck simply staring at the closed door for a while but that terrible missing feeling wasn’t there like it usually was. God, Evie was going to bully him when she found out.

The smell of chicken immediately overwhelmed Florence as she hung her shawl up. Cutlery clattered a room over and there was a muffled shout of “Hello, dear!” from Lissie. The older woman’s head poked around the corner, a smile on her face despite the napkins in her mouth, and said something that sounded like “Tea’s almost ready” but Florence couldn’t be sure. Nevertheless, she gave a little nod, mind already refocusing on the task of telling Freddy about their dinner plans for the weekend.

“Freddy?” She shouted in that way of hers. From the dining room, there was shuffling and stifled laughter from Lissie. “Fredd--”

“Florrie! Can you not bellow everything you say like a town crier?” He emerged from the dining room, hands tucked into the little pockets sewn into his waistcoat. He looked tired-- and eventful day at work, she assumed-- but he, despite his chiding, greeted her with a lopsided smile. “What is it?” With a hand, he beckoned her toward the table, shifting past Lissie, who was diligently trying to plate up their food.

Florence made her way to a seat-- across from her brother as always-- and clasped her hands together before her, careful not to keep her elbows on the table in an effort to appease Lissie. “Willard--”

“Oh, yes, you were due to meet him today, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was--”

“Though I’ve also heard that, by the grace of God, you bumped into him another time-- by the jewellers.” Freddy leant back in his chair, thick eyebrows raised to the heavens. Florence pursed her lips. “I also heard that you were there with a man about my height, bit of stubble, flat cap, that had the same flighty disposition as a certain Jacob Frye--”

“Perhaps I was but that isn’t what I need to tell you.” Florence placed a hand on the table between them-- as if she was trying to calm a slowly angering beast. Much to her surprise, Freddy gave a little nod that asked her to continue, though the look in his eyes said that that conversation wasn’t over yet. “He has apparently heard rumours of his own ill-intentions toward you and wants to prove he doesn’t share the same will as his brother--”

“-- the doctor that was particularly nasty to his patients?”

Florence did a disgusted little nod, a sudden discomfort rocketing across her body knowing that such a monster’s brother could have similar intentions for her own family. “-- so he’s graciously invited us to dinner this coming Saturday.” She, mirroring her brother, slouched back in her chair, quite obviously at unease with the whole prospect.

Freddy hummed, nodding a thanks to Lissie as she placed a gravy boat in front of him, a little frown tugging at his lips. “Maybe we misunderstood him?”

With such certainty in her movements that Freddy fully believed her for a second, Florence shook her head. “He’s likely covering up; he lost that little note of his and now he has act particularly saintly lest I ruin all his plans.” She twirled her fork between her fingers then poked a breast of chicken. “Besides, Jacob thinks that he’s up to more than no good and, quite frankly, I trust his intuition.”

At the mention of the Frye, Freddy sighed. Florence went to speak before he could but he held up a hand to stop her. “Attending the dinner will be fine, if only to help us ease any worries we have. I have yet to meet the bloody bloke so maybe I’ll be able to draw some of my own conclusions about him.” A moment of quiet passed over them both, a thick cloud of questions travelling with it. Then, Freddy gave her a certain look-- the kind that desired a level of sincerity. “What were you doing with Jacob today?”

Florence pushed a roast potato about on the plate, slathering it in gravy, then took a careful bite out of it. It was almost like she was trying to avoid the question. Sometimes, Florence Abberline was a foolish woman.

“We ran into each other and--”

“Do not--” He paused, sucking a breath through his teeth, “-- lie to me, Florrie. I won’t be angry.” Florence looked unconvinced-- worried. Freddy’s expression softened; she was his little sister and he should be kinder. “I promise.”

She rolled her lips inwards and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in that nervous way of hers. “Fine. The truth is that I might, perhaps, in theory--”

“Florence.”

“I like him. A little bit.” They both stared at each other for a few moments and she groaned. “Alright, a lot more than I expected.”

Much to her surprise, Freddy simply smiled. It was one of those strange, unreadable smiles but a smile, nonetheless. “That’s… alright. He’s been doing good work for me recently and, despite his incessant joking and insistence on calling me anything but my name, I trust him to not go out of his way to manipulate you. He’s too dopey, the poor lad.”

Florence had the kind of expression one would adopt if they were told they were the Queen’s long-lost sister. “What? Why are you-- hold on--”

Lissie moseyed on over to take the emptied gravy boat, a scheming little grin plastered across her dastardly face. “I told you that your brother would be okay, didn’t I?”

Puzzle pieces visibly clicked together in Florence’s mind and she uttered a furious “You”, finger pointing accusingly toward the housemaid. “You told him, didn’t you? Oh, you are such a--”

“-- treasure to society? Helpful friend?” Lissie pulled the towel from her apron and slapped Florence with it. “I am the mastermind behind this whole ordeal and, without me--”

“-- without her, I would likely not be as accepting of your choice in men, dear sister.” Freddy finished, hoping to quell any potential bickering between the two women. “She mentioned how torn up you were about telling me-- and him for that matter-- and it made me realise that I’m perhaps too harsh on you; your carelessness is one of your many charms, I suppose.”

“I also asked him if he’d ever govern Emily the way he does you, to which he begrudgingly replied ‘No’.” Lissie raised a brow at Freddy and, despite this being a jab at him, he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head.

“Jacob Frye is not the worst choice in husband, I suppose. I think mum would prefer that you marry for love too; it’s not like the Abberlines have any immediate desire to become nobility.” Freddy dipped his head to the side in the way that one does when they decide to allow something, eyes lost in some distant vision of the chaos that an Abberline-Frye wedding would involve.

Florence huffed out something that sounded like a laugh. “I still have no immediate intentions to marry the bloke; calm down.” She cut into a slice of carrot with her fork, refusing to look her brother in the eyes while discussing marriage. “Jacob is just a… nice fellow that I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.” For a moment, it seemed like Lissie was about to say something horribly filthy so Florence quickly interjected to keep the conversation focused, “So… you’re okay with Jacob and I?”

“Yes, so long as he doesn’t become too forward and at least tries to follow the proper rules of courting--”

“Because we kissed today and--”

“Damn it, Florrie! Can you do anything normally?” Despite his words and the hands that rubbed across his face, she could tell that he was fighting back a smile.

Lissie erupted into satisfied giggling, clapping her hands together like she’d just watched a world-class play at the theatre. “That’s my girl! How was it? Was it as romantic as we’d discussed?”

“Well, there wasn’t any rain or flowers involved but--”

“Right, I’m off to bed.” Freddy rose from his seat, rubbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Florence smiled in that impish way of hers, dimple boring into her cheek when Freddy gestured between the two women. “I’m okay with the idea of you and Jacob being together but, I beg of you, I need no details; you should reserve those for letters to our sister.”

Florence and Lissie broke out into laughter, watching Freddy walk dejectedly up the stairs. Lissie collected up her skirts and plonked herself down beside Florence, grabbing the opened wine bottle from across the table and pouring some for herself and Florence. “Well, you have to tell me all about it now. I might die if not.”

A slap came to the maid’s arm. “Don’t be so melodramatic.” Then, there was a pause during which Lissie stared at Florence, swirling the wine in her glass. Florence looked just about ready to burst, a sudden grin splitting her face. “God, it was lovely-- he was lovely. Right, we were at the pub and we’d gotten our drinks when--”

Lissie listened to Florence’s babbling, a warmth in her chest that proclaimed pride, smiling at this tale of budding love. It was a wonder how, only a month or so ago, this same girl loathed the idea of romance; he had cracked her well and fully, much to both of their joy, it seemed. A gentle flush grew on Florence’s face, that little dimple of hers never disappearing, as she explained the events of the day.

Call it a psychic inclination or just a gut feeling but Lissie knew that he would be good for her. It was only a matter of time before she’d be making wedding preparations. Oh, the thought alone made her giddy.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed: syndicate #ac: syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x oc #jacob frye x reader #florence abberline #writing #i'm feeling rather meh about this one #but i'm putting it out there in hopes that everyone else will enjoy it #but regardless they are all baby #freddy is okay but he's also gonna be like a looming big brother whenever jacob is about #which is funny to think about tbh ksdjskdjs

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old-souldier · 7 years ago

Text

#5 Prank

It was the 21st, Fifth Astral Moon, 1553 6AE.

Jordan woke up, bruised, hungover, and chilly. She rubbed her eyes. She sat up, pulling away the burlap blanket and felt a cold breeze.

It was then she realized the following:0

She was naked.

She was in a jail cell.

She had a killer headache.

She covered herself up again in the burlap blanket, the rough cloth brushing against her skin like sandpaper.

"What in the Seven 'ells..." Jordan said aloud.

"Finally awake, are we, Private Kennedy?" a husky voice said. It was a tall Sea Wolf woman in a Barracuda Knight outfit. Jordan Immediately recognised the insignia of a Sergeant

"I... Aye, marm..." Jordan looked down, before asking in a raw voice, "Wha' 'appened ta me clothes?"

"Navigator only knows..." the Sergeant sighed. "We found ye at the Anchor Yard splayed on top of the gull statue making "whooshing" noises and calling out for, accordin' ta witnesses, quote 'ma sweet Emmie baby girl, I miss ye and so does me tongue'."

Jordan froze for a minute, trying to process the words she just heard. "Ah, shite..." she finally replied.

"Shite indeed, Private." The sergeant stifled a laugh before correcting herself. "Can ye even recall what ye were doin' last night, lass?" the officer asked.

Jordan brushed a hand on her short, buzzed hair. "Well, I just came back inta town after a stint patrolling the Northwest La Noscea and the cliffsides 'round O'Gohmoro..".

The night before Jordan and a trio of young men sat around a table in a small dockside bar, the Navigator's Bosom. They were passing around pints of dark beer. After a rough clink of cups, spilling some foam on the table, they all downed their pints in one swig before slamming the cups down. On the table. At once they all cried out with a satisfied "oh!"

"Aye, that 'it the swivin' spot!" Jordan exclaimed, wiping some of the residue from her face.

"Nothin' like that first pint after comin' 'ome ta ease yer troubles." Salulu Pilulu exclaimed, the Lalafellin man remarked before lighting a pipe.

"First cups' always the best one." Bluomwilf added.

"Aye, just like the first woman ye 'ave when ye get inta town too!" A Midlander, Redmond, remarked to raucous laughter from Jordan and Bluomwilf, and a mild nod from Salulu.

"Ye don't 'ave t' get quite so vulgar just because we're in a place like this, Red..." Salulu remarked, taking in a bit of pipeweed.

"Ah, yer no fun," Redmond added, "Kennedy understands what I'm talkin' 'bout, aye?"

Jordan laughed, "Aye, aye/ Though tonight I think I'd rather spend it with good friends than trying me luck at the Member."

Bluomwilf laughed, "Ye gotta get back in there sometime, shrimp! This is where ye n' I differ. Ye can't keep 'oldin a torch for a lass that's off n' been married for two cycles."

Jordan nodded, "Aye, aye... when ye fall fer a lovely raven-haired byoot 'ard and then lose 'er, I'll listen ta ye, ye fat bastard."

Bluomwilf smiled. "Red n' I were thinkin' about goin to a show tomorrow night. Yer welcome ta join. I 'eard the dancers like performin' fer interested lasses, even willing ta go 'the extra malm or two'." He raised his eyebrows in an overly suggestive manner.

Jordan thought about it for a moment. "May'aps... but I need more drink in me first." She looked out to a barmaid, "Lass! Another round fer the table! On me gil!"

As they drank another round, Jordan said. "Aye, this is what I'm achin' for tonight! Say Bluomwif, let's see if'n I can drink ye under the table."

"Yer already 'alfway under the table, shrimp."

"The only thing that's shrimp-like 'ere is that thing ye call a cock."

Bluomwilf laughed. The Sea Wolf waved the barmaid over. "Two bottles of whiskey and two cups. We're celebratin' this eve!"

An hour later, Redmond and Salulu sat amused. The Midlander was half-asleep from drink and Salulu was having a laugh as Jordan took her tenth shot. She bobbled left to right like a buoy in choppy waters, but, after a second to steady herself, she slurped the last few drops in the shot glass and violently slammed it upside down on the table in front of her.

Bluomwilf, looking about as worse for wear somehow, slurred, "Twelve Dammmit... if'n I grow up with ye... I'd swear ye was a Sea Wolf in a Lalafell glamour....:

Jordan countered, "Enh, ye've always been a lightweight....n' a coward... nex-next round... what number issit?"

"11, Jordan." Salulu pointed out helpfully as he poured whiskey in Bluomwilf's glass.

"Aye 'leven. Gooo 'wilfy"

The young Sea Wolf grunted and took the shot glass. He stared at the glass, concentrating as he brought it to his lips and drank, his eyes shut. Looking at the table, he moved to place the glass down, but missed and dropped the glass on the floor, the glass clinking and rolling under his chair as he leaned back and let out a groan.

"Well," Red piped up. "Looks like the whiskey's swallowed 'im up."

"Wand'rer blesssss me iron liverrrr," Jordan said as she raised her arms to polite applause from the conscious companions.

After sighing in satisfaction, Jordan brushed her fore'ead, "Gods, it's gettin' mighty warm in ';ere." She stood up and, with a wobble that looked like would keel over at any time she stumbled outside.

"Ah, that's nice, " Jordan thought as the crisp fall air his her face. "'Tis a nice sky... I member when Emmie n' I use ta gaze at the stars after we did it in her room... she wore this lovely filly robe and I was in just me britches when we sat on the roof of 'er 'ouse 'n'... *hic*"

Jordan began stumbling up towards the Upper Decks. She wandered the oil lamp-lit streets and found a lit building. Outside a lone young woman stood outside. She was a Midlander, a bit on the short side, but with long black hair and a low cut tunic that advertise ample décolletage.

Jordan took a look at her and let out a long low whistle as she walked by.

"Like what ya see, sailor?" the woman asked.

Jordan covered her mouth with her hands. She swayed from the momentum for a bit until she settled and said, "pardon.. S'not polite ta be catcallin', but yer a byoot... a sight fer me sore eyes."

"I can make a few other things sore, if ya 'ave the gil, missy." the Midlander woman replied with a wink and a wave of her hand, making a point of showing her beautifully painted, but short nails.

Jordan stopped for a moment and reached into her pockets. "I shouldn't but. enh, just got me pay, I can live a little."

"Why don't we step in, 'ave a drink, and a nice talk. Just us gals," the woman giggled and as though using conjury, beckoned Jordan inside, the Lalafellin woman easily pulled in behind her.

In a small parlor, the woman poured Jordan some brandy in a glass over ice. "This is a nice one, Flight of the Fish Gull, they call it. 'Ave a drink."

Jordan looked a bit nervous now, having sobered up a tad. "Aye, looks good. What about you?"

"Oh, I've been nursin' a cheap rosé. Ye'd much prefer the brandy, love." The woman smiled and poured herself a glass of wine. Before sitting down quite snugly next to Jordan, letting the Lalafell rest her head on her bosom.

"Cheers 'en, "Jordan said raising a glass and taking a hearty swig.

Five minutes later, Jordan was passed out asleep. The woman stood and smiled as sealed the cap on the brandy.

"Poor sod, well at least she'll learn 'er lesson." The woman took no time grabbing Jordan's coin purse, stripping the young woman and throwing her out on the street. Jordan staggered about the only road she could see before ending up at a dead end.

"Oh, I'm a bleedin' fool I am..." the young woman moaned. She looked up and saw the white stone statue glisten in the moonlight. "Ye's da only one 'oo understands me, tiny bird. Les' fly away from our trubblezzzz..."

"Enh, last I remembered, I was drinkin' with me squadmates. The rest's a blur." Jordan finally answered after thinking on it for a few minutes.

The Sergeant sighed. "Well, he're some loaner clothes that should fit you, Private."

"Aye ma'am. Thank ye ma'am."

"Normally we'd fine you for disturbing the peace n' public indecency-"

Jordan winced. "Aye?"

"But due to your status as a Private in the Knights of the Barracuda, we've decided to discipline you internally. Your immediate superior officer, Sergeant Styrnskoefsyn has already taken responsibility for your action and will be dealing with you as is considered appropriate.

Jordan nodded. She knew six months of Latrine Duty was in her future.

#FFxivWrite2017 #entry five #I'm running behind #entry six will be a haiku at this rate

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neomikey · 7 years ago

Text

DashCon

Some years ago, I frequented the convention circuits, mostly in the American midwest. Anime Central was a common staple, but thanks to a cadre of friends and contacts, I went to a whole host of others, such as JAFAX, Anime Crossroads, Youmacon, Anime North, and a bunch whose names I’ve forgotten over the years. I’m incredibly grateful that I was given the money to attend all these different conventionss during that time in my life, and nowadays, my time, money, and interests are diverted elsewhere (though mostly to paying bills). I was even a cosplayer that people remembered from con to con -- Samurai Pizza Cats, the Supreme Catatonic, Soldier A, and Death.

With all the recent talk of the travesty of Fyre Festival, comparison to a similar event has been making the rounds.

DashCon....

I was still something of a Tumblr neophyte at the time, both interested and curious about the culture in general. I mostly stuck to my humble corner, following a couple artists I knew and being happy about it. Occasionally I would hear talk of how huge Benedict Cumberbatch or Supernatural or whatever would be elsewhere, but I thought nothing of it.

Then, some way down the pipeline came talk of a new convention there in the Chicagoland area, catering to general nerdery, but also was tailored specifically to Tumblr fans. Glancing through their panels, there were the usual fandom things (such as Sherlock and online roleplaying), but there were other panels too, including battling depression. I thought it all sounded great!

What really clinched my decision, though, was this man.

Doug Jones was a convention guest.

Known for portraying Abe Sapien in Hellboy, various creatures in Pan’s Labyrinth, Silver Surfer in Fantastic 4: Rise of the Silver Surfer, and a bunch of other stuff...and he was gonna have a panel on Saturday! What particularly interested me was that I remembered reading that he had my medical condition of Marfan syndrome, something that makes people lanky, bendable, and a bunch of other stuff. He would later tell me he didn’t have it, but I didn’t know that starting out. For a good deal of my school career, I’d been labeled a freak for how I’d looked, so to get to meet someone like me and go to a convention? Sweet, I’m in!

I invited my good friend @spazztasticxairhead to come along for the Saturday I was going to be in attendance, and while curious, she had to decline. However, as I did my Friday evening work shift of delivering medicine throughout Indiana, she sent me something odd. There’s only so much you can say in text message, but she told me that she had heard news that the convention was asking people for money. Well...c’mon, of course they would, we live in a capitalist society! Commercialism! Et cetera!

I wasn’t going to press her for details, since I was busy driving all over the state (plus texting and driving kills), so I finished my shift, got home, and had a couple hours sleep. And then...it’s go time.

...oh.

So I’m driving in this rainstorm of nigh biblical proportions, the highway is backed up, and I’m barely moving. I thought about how I had to work another shift that night and how I’d only have a couple hours at the convention, but there was something inside of me telling me it was going to be important that I go to this thing. I had to meet Doug Jones.

Eventually the rain eases up and I get out to the hotel. It’s a bit farther out than I usually go in Chicago, but at least I’m at the right place...or at least I think I am.

The thing with conventions is that generally, you see a lot of attendants (a lot of them in cosplay) milling about, including the parking lot. There? It was...like....

I had to drive a bit to find two girls walking by the hotel to ask if that was DashCon. They confirmed, I suited up in my Death cosplay, and headed on in.

It was...quiet. Abnormally so. I later on found out that it was mostly because right then, everyone was in the main event hall waiting for Welcome to Nightvale to perform. I went to the hall where there was registration, and holy criminy was it gigantic...and empty. Emptiness was a recurring theme during the convention. It took me virtually a full minute to cross from one end to the other to the completely open registration table. I remember thinking that while the badge was pricier than I wanted, dangit, Doug Jones.

I had good timing, because it was directly after Night Vale that Doug Jones was going to have his panel. I decided to kill time by first checking out this bouncy house they had going, because...come on, free bouncy house. There was also...the infamous ballpit. No, nobody urinated or had sex in it. It seemed to me like a small inflated raft with just some plastic balls thrown in and it was also very, very tiny. When I first came upon it, there were a cadre of Homestuck cosplayers jam-packed into there with absolutely zero room for me to join them.

I then meandered into the artist alley, where...there was nobody. I mean, the artists were there, yeah, plus a bunch of vendors, but I think there was next to nobody else.

I imagine that it didn’t paint the best picture for those in attendance for me to be walking silently down the empty aisles.

(pic not from DashCon)

Eventually, it was about time, so I found myself a seat in the back of the Welcome to Night Vale panel, where noticeably nothing was happening. It was about time for the “panel” to end when someone came up to the front and announced that they would not be performing, due to the financial whatnot. There was an instant rumbling of despair and disappointment from those in attendance. It was also announced that Doug Jones was coming up next and people were welcome to stay for that, but about 4/5 of the room was having none of that and just headed out.

Sweet, I get good seating! :D

After things thinned out, Mr. Jones took to the stage. The first thing I noticed about him was how freakin’ articulate he was. He jovially sat on the table onstage and kicked his legs about, and it was controlled. I know that’s a weird thing to say, but he was doing it!

From there, the panel was pretty awesome. He talked about his history with Guillermo del Toro (including a hand-made business card that del Toro held onto for years), adventures in make-up with Hellboy (his favorite quote was, “If there’s trouble, all us freaks have is each other”), perfecting moving like specific creatures in a gym’s studio, working on Pan’s Labyrinth, and a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember these years later.

The dude is super cool. After the panel, he had an autograph session in another room. It turns out where I sat in that room was rather fortuitous, because I was the third in the room who got to meet him. As soon as he sees me, he breaks into a big grin. “A fellow guy who’s tall and skinny, eh?”

We make brief smalltalk, I mention that he met my wife @ryukodragon at another convention, I ask him about Marfan syndrome, and he tells me doesn’t have it (but that this actor did!). He signs the picture I chose from his table (his role as one of the kangaroo people in Tank Girl), and then just like the two people before me, he gives me a big hug. Something I didn’t expect?

“You’re beautiful.”

When he let go, he told me to keep being skinny and awesome, and that was that, on to the next person. I’m sure he said that to all the people he met there in the autograph session, but...I was a 32 year-old man then, and to my recollection, no one had said those specific words to me, especially in reference to me being irrevocably skinny (”freakishly so,” some would say). Simple words, I know, but I still walked away utterly stunned...and honestly elated.

I meandered about the convention a bit more, checking out things here and there. I don’t like Ed, Edd, & Eddie at all, but I was utterly blown away by the best Ed cosplayer that I’ve seen (even had a spatula). There was also a phenomenal Maleficent cosplayer who found my in-character Death banter with her to be utterly hilarious. There were also some dwarves I encountered....

Spoiler: They don’t survive the third movie.

During this time, I notice that the hotel is also setting up an area for a wedding...and it looks like it’s going to be a big one. Bless whoever was in attendance for that, because I’m sure they left with plenty of stories and pictures. I hop into a couple panels, a lot of which are surprisingly empty. I then see that there’s a panel going of which I’m rather curious....

FEMINISM.

So for those not in the know, Tumblr can be known for having a particularly...misandristic attitude. I needed to see this panel for myself, to see if that was going to be on display at this panel. And on the way there, I ran into a friend of a friend.

So this guy cosplays as Jesus.

Granted, he wasn’t cosplaying then, and I believe that was the first time I had actually seen him wearing normal clothes, but either way, he wanted to hang out. I told him I’m on my way to the feminism panel and he was so in.

All right, there were two highlights to my time there at DashCon -- meeting Doug Jones...and this panel.

Because.

DUDE.

REAL HEROES.

I cannot say enough good about this panel, and ladies, whoever you are, you were amazing. The folks who ran this panel were incredibly even-keel, they were definitely not the “kill all men” types that so many associate with Tumblr (though I suspect a couple in the room were, including a lady in front of me), were well spoken, and were very knowledgeable. Granted, I got in towards the end of the panel, but what I was incredibly impressed by what I heard in there, including the ramifications of the then-recent Hobby Lobby ruling. All brands of ladies were represented in there, including a hijab-wearing lady who reinforced that feminism is about having the freedom to do with your life as you like. At one point, a guy had a question about why birth control is so important, the forum-holders quickly quelled the mild room eruption, and answered his question in full.

I’m a feminist myself, and to see in-person social justice portrayed intelligently and knowledgeably, and in a well organized forum (instead of the sometimes cartoonish, stereotypical “SJW’s”) was amazing to me.

Seriously, whoever you ladies were that held this, I wish I could shake your hand. Thank you for doing what you do.

Anyways, after that, I meandered about a bit more, and word was getting around that things were pretty shaky at the con. I had heard about the craziness of the previous night’s fundraiser, plus there were plenty of signs around me that were symptomatic that things weren’t going well.

I have to stop and give kudos to the staff here, because despite everything...they pressed on. They were running a convention that was falling down around them, they knew it, but they held their ground. Props to ‘em.

Anyways, I found little else that really interested me (aside from finally sitting in the now-empty ball pit, just to say that I did it), and decided to head out a bit early, so I could have a nap before that evening’s work shift. The sun had come out by the time I had hit the road, and...that was that.

It was only later that I learned that the convention had garnered the infamy that it did. I’m happy that I got to go and I’m very thankful for what I experienced. It was far from a well organized convention, but that mess has been well documented plenty of other places online.

Anyways, so that’s my experience with DashCon. I just wanted people to know about the good that was there, instead of just its reputation of...well....

#dashcon #doug jones #feminism #neomikey

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ellowthescarred · 7 years ago

Text

“I’m dead. Revive me.”

Those words were said last night as a partial complaint, partial joke. His response, was most certainly unexpected but not in a bad way...

Fereden had her training in her flight form, to strengthen her ability to fly as it is one of her weakest forms she can shift in. It wouldn’t have been as terrible, had she not decided earlier that she could fly from the thick forests of Val’sharah to the high peaks of Highmountain all on her lonesome earlier in hunt for Fereden. Nor had she decided to try to stick a trick landing in order to startle Fer once she did find him, which resulted in her failing and bouncing off the canopy onto the ground.

Yeah, she was pretty sore before the training even started. When the training was over and they landed on a currently unoccupied scout post for the night, Ellow shifted out of her flight form and pretty much keeled over right then and there upon her back. No trying to go to the canopy or waiting for camp to be made, she just flopped over. Fereden meanwhile had enough energy to pull over furs to be bundled into pillows and used as blankets, and proceeded to get himself comfortable. She watched as he stripped out of the upper part of his armor, down to his fading war paint, before she attempted to at least remove her own pauldrons. A groan escaped her, her muscles screaming at her for even attempting to lift her arm, before she gave up and announced to Fer:

“I’m dead. Revive me.”

He played along, gasping out in horror before unexpectedly springing himself over top of her. The Kaldorei had done everything he could to ‘save’ her. His hands glowed green as he drew upon nature magic; he honored her quote ‘last request’ by removing her pauldrons for her so she was more comfortable; he even placed his ear upon her chest to listen for her heartbeat - which was obviously there, beating erratically but she still didn’t budge. Finally he moved to her face, tilting his ear to her mouth so he could check for breathing. It was then that Ellow couldn’t help herself, she blew a stream of hot air into his ear.

Sensitive as elf ears were, Fer’s twitched violently as he tilted his head to look down at her.

“It worked! I was going to remove your crescent moon off your forehead as a last resort.”

Ellow was more focused on the fact this man’s face was so close to her own, to the point she was having to look cross eyed at him to even focus on it. As much time as the pair spent together, the young woman had grown...rather attached. His boyish charm, the fact he didn’t see her scars or wooden arm when he looked at her, nor did he judge her for her vices or history. She couldn’t help the blush coming to her cheeks as his forehead settled against her own and their noses touched.

“What would ya ‘ave done if removin’ my moon didn’t revive me?” “I would have kept trying everything I knew to make you breathe. There is a traditional way to breathe life into someone...”

Fer then demonstrated, by first moving the hand he wasn’t using to support his weight to press against her sternum. Shortly after, he brought that hand up to cup the side of her face and tilted his head to bring his lips closer to her own. He hesitated when their lips scarcely brushed, waiting to see if this was even okay.

Ellow’s face turned even redder in realization. Ooh fuck, this was really happening. Here she had been swallowing down her attraction to Fereden, fearing he’d not think twice about her in that way. Not only for reasons like, she wasn’t pretty compared to others, but because she was human and only eighteen. He was young by Kaldorei standards, but still considerably older than her by human standards. Yet here he was waiting to get the go ahead to kiss her. She gave it, by not pushing him away and instead sliding her hand up - despite the fatigue of her muscles - to cup her hand against the nape of his neck. He would have to lead in the kiss, however, as she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

He did, taking things slow as Ellow awkwardly fumbled through it until instinct kicked in for her. She readily met him in a second kiss when he parted then went in for more. Nothing over the top, but enough of a kiss that pretty much stole the young woman’s breath away. Which, she exclaimed when he parted the second time and rested his forehead against her own.

“That did tha exact opposite of what ya were intendin’. Ya took my breath away.”

Fuck, that was cheesy. Ellow physically grimaced at her own words.

Fereden chuckled and moved his hand around her back so he could flip them, her laying on top of him so she could rest her head on his chest for sleep.

“We can not have that, I enjoy your voice and laughter too much.”

Once again Ellow found herself blushing, grinning stupidly at Fereden’s just as corny comment. As cheesy as it was, it made her feel butterflies in her stomach and this warm fuzzy feeling everywhere else. “I’d miss ya too, your uh...charm and just you in general. Yer one o’ a kind.” Turning some morbid joke about her dying of exhaustion into something as cute as this? That...seemed about right for them.

That stupid grin followed her into her sleep and on through the morning, at least up until he kicked her into more training. After all, he was still her mentor and she still needed training to hone her skills as a druid. So long as there were kisses at the end of training, Ellow couldn’t complain....too much.

#journal #the mentor & apprentice

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paulsolorzano · 6 years ago

Text

12.09.18

Starbucks. Ribeyes. Storage space. Habits.

Sorting through the space a little. I need to make some room for the giant Game Cube display my brother is bringing up

To discuss still:

Mother had a heart attack

Rachel getting a divorce

Back to Orlando

Becoming awesome

the ‘roast’ culture Yaqeen and I cultivated to keep morale up

Managing Tokyo Elvis

Escape as a coping mechanism

Minus the bear farewell concert

Sleeping on couches when under emotional distress

“Inventory” night

10 second romance (rearview mirrors at red lights)

Notable places visited:

Listening to:

Gwen Stefani - love angel music baby

Jeff Rosenstock - I look like shit

My chill mix

Fake problems - real ghosts caught on tape

Antarctigo Vespucci - soulmate stuff

Antarctigo Vespucci - love in the time of email

Kanye west - life of Pablo

Kanye west - graduation

Watching:

Somm on Netflix

Reading:

Eating:

Apple cider vinegar shot

Wheat grass juice powder

Kale/spinach/radish/parsley/celery/lemon juice/stevia drink

Outback ribeye and wedge salad and green beans

Playing:

Purchases:

Final Fantasy crystal chronicles, Japanese version for Game Cube

Squid head - vintage Star Wars

Packages received:

No post on Sunday

But I opened these:

Devil boy by Iconoclast

eBay obsessions:

Lyric of the day:

Quote of the day:

8 ball questions and answers:

Hashtags:

12.08.18

Sommelier course, day 2. We take the exam at the end of the day today. Fingers crossed dammit.

—-

Passed the exam! Hard work paid off. A vision planned out and executed. Nice win for me. And my boy Mac is all about it also. The wants to keel going and the wants me to come with him.

To discuss still:

Mother had a heart attack

Rachel getting a divorce

Back to Orlando

Becoming awesome

the ‘roast’ culture Yaqeen and I cultivated to keep morale up

Managing Tokyo Elvis

Escape as a coping mechanism

Minus the bear farewell concert

Sleeping on couches when under emotional distress

“Inventory” night

10 second romance (rearview mirrors at red lights)

Notable places visited:

Went to Axx Sxxxx’x house in winter garden, after going to outback. Lots of steak this week. Took a weird long way home through Apopka.

Listening to:

Watching:

Reading:

Eating:

Starbucks

Playing:

Purchases:

Packages received:

eBay obsessions:

Lyric of the day:

Quote of the day:

8 ball questions and answers:

Hashtags:

12.07.18

Sommelier level 1 course: day 1. My boy Mac who I work with and I are here. Ritz-Carlton off of Koh young pkwy in Orlando. Way too early for me to be awake. I ended up waking at 5:30 to get moving. On a little break just now, after the first leg of slides. They gave us a physical copy of the huge pdf they emailed us. I’m scribbling notes as they lecture.

—-

Hell of a long day. Got maybe 3 and a half hours of sleep? Came to the Ritz Carlton and downloaded 10 hours of information. Me and my boy Mac are as ready as we’re gonna be for tomorrow.

After some introductory shit, It was pretty much all France today. We also tasted 12 different wines today. Surprisingly I’m not wasted. I pretty much spit everything out for the most part.

Feeling more confident after today. But tomorrow is gonna be most of everything else: Germany, Spain, Italy, America and Australia I think. I didn’t even touch America or Australia.

70 questions. I only need 60% to pass. That’s 42 correct questions. I can do this.

To discuss still:

Mother had a heart attack

Rachel getting a divorce

Back to Orlando

Becoming awesome

the ‘roast’ culture Yaqeen and I cultivated to keep morale up

Managing Tokyo Elvis

Escape as a coping mechanism

Minus the bear farewell concert

Sleeping on couches when under emotional distress

“Inventory” night

10 second romance (rearview mirrors at red lights)

Notable places visited:

Listening to:

Watching:

Reading:

Eating:

Playing:

Purchases:

Packages received:

eBay obsessions:

Lyric of the day:

Quote of the day:

8 ball questions and answers:

Hashtags:

12.06.18

Ate a lot of meat yesterday. Craving more today. Also I seem to be having some mood related swings. In the shower today I was overwhelmed by sadness for a fleeting minute. Yes, it was relative to Axxxxx and how I blew it.

Death cab for cutie playing in this Outback Steakhouse. Shoving a wedge salad into my face. The pen has ahold me; I smoked off of Tina’s cartridge because she wanted me to try it and see if it was harsh. And it was. That didn’t stop me from taking a rip, and then another.

I unfocus my eyes and stare through one of the tv screens playing basketball recaps. The pen has me in a daze. I finish chewing through this ribeye. Leaving nothing but a few green beans. Coffee after this undoubtedly. Me and my routines.

—-

Time in Bradenton after Alaska with Danielito and the rest of my family:

My brother and I discussed me coming back and all we would do is smoke and watch YouTube videos, and goddam if we didn’t do just that. He was working a lot so I would also spend time with his gf Kristy. She enjoyed the company as my brother would later tell me. And I wouldn’t see why not seeing as my bro and I are similar dudes.

Spending time with my mother was nice. Since we spoke every day over text we were pretty caught up when she and Rachel picked me up from the airport.

—

Just interacted with an extremely enthusiastic barista at Starbucks. White girl, pretty perfect makeup, and ‘Disney cast member’ levels of energy and excitement.

—

At a weird spot in town: 434. I’m not too familiar with this area. It’s hilly, which is uncharacteristic. That being said, I feel like I’m elsewhere. On the road somewhere maybe. Different place, different climate as well since it’s actually cold today. And by that I mean 69°

To discuss still:

Mother had a heart attack

Rachel getting a divorce

Back to Orlando

Becoming awesome

the ‘roast’ culture Yaqeen and I cultivated to keep morale up

Managing Tokyo Elvis

Escape as a coping mechanism

Minus the bear farewell concert

Sleeping on couches when under emotional distress

“Inventory” night

10 second romance (rearview mirrors at red lights)

Notable places visited:

Johnny’s fillin station for a date with Penny

Hung with Christine at her temporary Airbnb

Listening to:

The agency - engines

Vulpeck - the beautiful game

PHOX - PHOX

Lucius - Wildewoman

Lucius - good grief

Jeff Rosenstock - worry.

Watching:

Reading:

Eating:

Outback Steakhouse. Had a 10oz. Ribeye and green beans. Shrimp and garlic topper on the steak

Starbucks cold brew with heavy cream and a shot

Coffee from Austin’s

Burger with no bun from Johnny’s filling station

Salad with blue cheese dressing

Playing:

Purchases:

A couple things from BAMF comics and collectibles

Terminator ReAction figure

Vintage Star Wars figs:

Complete loose Lando Calrissian

Complete loose Tusken Raider

Packages received:

Not so much a package but Christine gave me a copy of MFing Wine Folly! Not too shabby at all. Nice thoughtful gift seeing as I’m doing my sommelier course tomorrow/Saturday

eBay obsessions:

Robotech action figures

Lyric of the day:

Quote of the day:

“I can’t get into it” - my server at outback in regards to water. WATER!

8 ball questions and answers:

Hashtags:

12.05.18

Driving to Bradenton from Orlando:

I like to take the scenic route to bradenton. Meaning, ill pull off at random exits to find a weird gas station, or a coffee. Always stop at the rest stops if I can remember.

Its a road trip so I treat it like one, even f its only a couple hours.

The last time I went, I checked out a vintage video game store in Largo I believe it was. Ended up going the St Pete way to bradenton.

Driving to bradenton is part of my attempt to not be a deadbeat family member. To see them once a month if possible. Which with the slightest amount of planning, of course it’s possible.

Ive had this rental car since I got back to Orlando. A new Nissan Altima. Love the thing, but paying out the ass for the convenience. I’ve been slowly talking with a couple places to try and get a vehicle but its slow going. Mostly because im semi lazy and have this vehicle already haha.

Speaking of bradenton, I need to get the logistics down about getting the Game Cube station from my brother and bringing it up here somehow.

—

Feeling abnormally tired lately. Maybe I’m not gettin the right kind of sleep. Definitely getting coffee.

—

Coffee got. Strolling around the Altamonte mall solo. I spend a lot of time alone lately. Ive felt alone since Alaska.

Just a slow wave of sadness just underneath my surface. I need to exfoliate it. I will only achieve that with fulfilling things and people and experiences

—-

There’s a dumpster in the winter park village; I just walked by it. One time, Axxxxx and I came dumpster diving over this way. We found a pretty sweet painting among other stuff in one of the dumpsters. I ended up hanging it up at the sumner house in Kissimmee.

That place was once mine alone, and then she lived there briefly with me before we drove to Alaska.

So yeah I just walked by the dumpster, and the swell of sadness rolled up on me.

Everything around here is a memory of us. This may be part of the reason for my depression. I’m swimming around in memories all over town. I’m not safe because we’ve been every fucking where around here.

And I sit at this red light with my head in my hand, crushed for a moment, due to life

To discuss still:

Time in Bradenton after Alaska with Danielito and the rest of my family

Mother had a heart attack

Rachel getting a divorce

Back to Orlando

Becoming awesome

the ‘roast’ culture Yaqeen and I cultivated to keep morale up

Managing Tokyo Elvis

Escape as a coping mechanism

Minus the bear farewell concert

Sleeping on couches when under emotional distress

“Inventory” night

10 second romance (rearview mirrors at red lights)

Notable places visited:

Listening to:

Sufjan Stevens - songs for Christmas

Deftones - Saturday night wrist

Team Sleep - s/t

The reign of kindo - play with fire

The reign of kindo - rhythm, chord and melody

Brightwood - wake

The reign of kindo - this is what happens

Queens of the Stone Age - songs for the deaf

Watching:

Bojack Horseman

Reading:

Eating:

Apple cider vinegar shot

Kale/spinach/radish/parsley/celery/lemon juice/stevia drink

Wheat grass juice powder

Ribeye and creamed spinach from Longhorn steakhouse

1/2 chicken from Pollo Tropical

pistachios after hitting the pen all night

Playing:

Purchases:

‘Choices’ by Jermaine Rogers

Packages received:

eBay obsessions:

Deftones vinyl records

Lyric of the day:

“Bring me a reason to cry and I’ll shed you a tear” - the reign of Kindo

Quote of the day:

8 ball questions and answers:

Hashtags:

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butyourequicksand · 7 years ago

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Another conversation with no destination, another battle never won..

People laugh, because I tend to strongly associate songs and smells to specific moments in time, moments in time of the past. These smells, songs, sounds, they are an instant time machine for me.

Somehow, I am recently pushed back to that summer. The one you came back, the one I spent lost trying to find myself, the one I found a job and Boston, then found an apartment in Boston, then moved to Boston.

“St. Jude; the patron saint of the lost causes. St. Jude, we were lost before she started. St. Jude; we lay in bed as she whipped around us. St. Jude; maybe I’ve always been more comfortable in chaos...”

I went to see Florence + The Machine that summer. I prepared by listening to her new album, specifically, the above quoted song. I played it, I still play it, on repeat. Letting it paint the picture of you and me back then. A true lost cause, I thought to myself. And somehow, from there to now, 16 months later, I think about living with you, getting a dog together, even marrying you.

The difference is well over a year, sure. Time changes things, time gave you the opportunity, along with me, at another chance at happiness with a girl you hurt so very badly. But what about the girl?

Am I healed? Will I ever be? Will I ever not be transported to these moments in time where nothing made sense, where the only constant was the hole in my heart, and learning how to fill it on my own.

I want to forget the pain, because I have lived it over and over and over again. I still ruminate on her, on a girl that was simply your distraction, as if there is still, to this day, more information that I am missing. When will it stop feeling like I am still searching for a missing piece that makes my heart break make sense? Pain never makes sense. Loss never makes sense; I know this logically, rationally, yet I cling, I cling ever so daintily, to a missing piece to an already completed puzzle.

Because you are here now. You look me in the eyes and I see how you have changed. The past year with you has been incredible, and had it’s ups and downs. But since you coming back into my life 16 months ago, I pushed back, I stood up for myself, and you responded and changed and showed me that you cared enough to try, to work at this, to provide with all the time I needed, to be patient and understanding, to explain what happened 100 times if needed, over and over and over and over and over.... So where is it? Where is the missing piece? Why do I feel something is ever so slightly off keel, why do I care about the smallest of things, only to tie them back to the time we spent apart?

Am I searching for an answer I know does not exist, am I waiting for a solution I know in my soul will never come?

If I am, how do I stop?

#personal #my stupid writing

0 notes

yahoo-puck-daddy-blog · 7 years ago

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Eulogy: Remembering the 2016-17 Ottawa Senators

(Ed. Note: As the Stanley Cup Playoffs continue, we’re bound to lose some friends along the journey. We’ve asked for these losers, gone but not forgotten, to be eulogized by the people who knew the teams best: The bloggers and fans who hated them the most. Here is Toronto Maple Leafs fan and hockey writer Joe Pack, fondly recalling the 2016-17 Ottawa Senators. Also he died before completing this apparently. Just go with it.)

(Again, this was not written by us. Also: This is a roast and you will be offended by it, so don’t take it so seriously.)

By Joe Pack

Joe Pack, known for his winning performances on Marek vs. Wyshynski’s “Game Show Friday” and his three-figure following on Twitter, died on Thursday. He was [an older millennial].

The Toronto native had taken his wife and son to the Puck Daddy Hotel in New York where he was to write the eulogy for the Ottawa Senators. (The Underbooked Hotel in Ottawa is closed during the hockey season.) The secluded hotel had housed dozens of eulogy-writing bloggers over the years and the building was said to have been erected on the Failed Playoff Teams’ burial ground. Its manager, Greg Wyshynski, warned Pack of the potential for claustrophobic reactions to the building and that the last Senators eulogizer had “run amok” before making CFL fans out of his family of four. Pack told him he didn’t believe in scary stories and that two weeks of isolation and Senators hockey was exactly what he was looking for.

Only it turned out to be two months.

“Our people in Toronto recommended Joe very highly,” said Wyshynski. “And for once, I agreed with them.”

Joe’s son, “Fanny” (a passionate fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs since 2016-17) has a special talent, one that allows him to see both the past and future with unique clarity. Fanny met with the hotel’s head cook, Sean Leahy, while his parents toured the facility and the two discussed the hotel over a bag of trail mix.

“Mr. Leahy, are you afraid of Room 131?” asked the boy.

“Nah, I ain’t afraid of Room 131,” Leahy answered. “But stay out! You hear me? Stay. Out. Also, please keep the temperature in this hotel freezing cold at all times.”

Some of Joe’s Senators eulogy, never completed, is excerpted here.

My family and I depend on the small sums of money provided by my freelance work but this is my career’s greatest test of will, watching this pajama-clad hockey team.

Aside from being dull, their logo looks like a Phoebe Buffay painting.

Who wore it better? pic.twitter.com/exfi7Woior

— Joe Pack (@JoePack) May 26, 2017

Ottawa’s pre-game tailgate is a banal nightmare out of a Stephen King novel …

Roar pic.twitter.com/wQ8L8wu1b6

— Kristina Rutherford (@KrRutherford) April 21, 2017

… while its post-game celebrations are what a Vancouver riot would look like if the Stepford Wives were in town.

This the most Canadian thing ever: Sens fans partying in the street, but only when the light turns red. Back to the sidewalk on green. pic.twitter.com/rXDykia3BN

— Brian Platt (@btaplatt) May 10, 2017

But it’s their play on the ice that is murdering hockey.

The ghost of the New Jersey Devils lives on in the spirit of the Senators who refuse at times to even direct the puck at the other team’s goal. The real hypocrisy is that they poke fun at opponents who do the same.

The Bruins failed to record a shot on goal in the second period.

Can someone in the advanced stat community tell us if that is good?

— Ottawa Senators (@Senators) April 13, 2017

And for all the Sens skaters who insist on blocking every shot attempt on goal, they are instantly forgettable outside of the elegant Erik Karlsson and the guy whose nickname is “Meth.”

It’s beginning to feel as though the next overtime could go on forever, and ever, and ever…

***

In order to inject some life into his stay at the hotel, Joe took to throwing a ball against a wall or staring out a window. He would often kill time by counting the hotel’s bathrooms which he was glad to find outnumbered those at Edmonton’s Rogers Place Arena.

His son, meanwhile, began acting out, repeatedly writing the word MODEROB on walls across from mirrors — behaviour that Joe felt he had to correct.

It’s apparent Erik Karlsson is the only reason any hockey fan would tune into this team’s games. And while his club is easily capable of putting this government town down for its second nap of each day, Karlsson — in the words of “Morpheus” from The Matrix — has the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he’s expecting to wake up. One can only hope to soon watch the slick Swede in a uniform other than that of a Canadian Tire employee. At least they aren’t wearing the ones with the big “zero” crest.

But not even Karlsson can make this Senators-Rangers series watchable. I’ve switched over to Penguins-Capitals for the night.

[PIT-WSH series] Did Matt Niskanen do murder? Are the Caps evil? Is Alex Ovechkin the devil himself? [OTT-NYR series] Tanner Glass will play

— Dumb Bozo (@davelozo) May 2, 2017

***

During one writing session, Pack recalled being woken up by his wife, Wendy Clark, after a terrible nightmare. He recalled buying a flexpack of Senators tickets for the family and driving for hours along the endless mountainside to the far reaches of Kanata, Ontario where they watched the Sens keep the puck along the boards to the delight of dozens. Pack told his wife he’d lashed out at them and chopped the tickets into “tiny, little pieces” with an axe.

As Pack woke from his nightmare, Fanny entered Room 131 only to be found hours later by his mother who discovered he’d been nearly choked to death by a mysterious “pressure” he’d felt which he could only describe as “defensive” and “net-front.” The so-called pressure took the form of Ottawa coach Guy Boucher, whom Fanny thought looked like Mads Mikkelson’s “Le Chiffre” from Casino Royale.

After putting Fanny to bed, Wendy went back to Joe’s room to peak at what he’d been writing.

All neutral zone play makes Pack a dull boy

All newtral zone play makes Pack a dull boy

All neutral zone play makes Pack a dull bot

All neutral zone play makes Jack a dull boy

All neutral zone play makes Pack a null boy

Pack appeared from behind her and asked what she thought of it. She was instead concerned for Fanny’s health and wished to leave. The boy had taken to napping for four hours at a time, roughly the length of a Sens game.

But Joe snapped at her, saying the Senators were finally exciting to watch and that giving up on the assignment would surely mean moving back to his mother’s basement.

Wendy clocked him with a Martin Brodeur goal stick she found in Wyshynski’s office and stuffed Pack in an room with his laptop.

The following is an excerpt from his final offering:

The daily emails I receive in my spam folder from The Underbooked Hotel should be enough to confirm the disinterest in this hockey club. But the captain’s response to the thousands of empty seats says it all:

Erik Karlsson, asked if he noticed all the empty seats at Canadian Tire Centre last night: "Yes."

— Chris Johnston (@reporterchris) April 28, 2017

Particularly charming has been the team’s resolve to remain relevant and professional. In the following video clip, goaltender Craig Anderson mocks Marc-Andre Fleury’s spill at the outset of the 2008 Stanley Cup Final. Only Anderson barely has an audience for his prank.

Look at and listen to the cavernous Canadian Tire Centre as the Senators take to the ice, not for practice as the tweet erroneously suggests, but for Game 1 against the Penguins:

Meanwhile at Senators practice today: "Please tell me you got that" ???? pic.twitter.com/Ueh8VwCdK8

— Robert Söderlind (@HockeyWebCast) May 12, 2017

***

As Wendy retrieved Fanny to take him to a hospital, she finally noticed in a mirror what the boy had warned of with his writing on the walls:

BOREDOM

She grabbed her listless son, but as she turned for the entrance, Joe appeared down the hallway and began limping after them. Just then, Sean Leahy — who had been called by Fanny to help fix the thermostat — came out of his office and asked Joe how his eulogy was going. Joe began reading but Leahy reportedly keeled over, only awaking from his coma days later.

Wendy ran to her car but a tire had been slashed with a hockey skate, the name M. COOKE stitched into the boot. She told Fanny to hide as she called for assistance and the boy ran toward the hotel’s hedge maze (which doesn’t show up on Google Maps, even though it’s clearly on the property).

Joe followed but either his way was blocked, he was tripped up by hockey sticks and shin pads lying about, or televisions playing reruns of Senators games were placed in his path.

Joe was found Wednesday morning, slumped forward, head still in hands.

Bored to death.

Among the photos on the wall of the Puck Daddy Hotel remains a memorial to Joe Pack which quotes him as saying:

“In the words of Hologram Bill Masterton: ‘Oh, you wrote an Ottawa Senators eulogy? Well, I DIED!”

[That last game was pretty sweet though.]

—

Joe Pack is a freelance writer on sports and culture based in Toronto. Or at least he was.

PREVIOUS NHL EULOGIES

Anaheim Ducks

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Calgary Flames

Chicago Blackhawks

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