#like when the avs got first of the central but they were also first on overtime wins and that's how i knew they weren't going anywhere

[spiceberrie]

i don't have the mental health required to watch oilers' games anymore so i just can't believe my eyes....

[jmdbjk]

Mental gymnastics...

I am flipping out. That's all. Just my brain doing cartwheels and whatever those things are called where you flip between those high bars and let go for a breathless second and then grab onto reality again. Or this...

Too much Olympics these past few weeks I guess... anyway.

WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT! I may or may not mention scenes in detail and their outcomes during these long rambling messy posts beginning with the next sentence.

Before I get into it... kudos to the staff for keeping up with these two and for suffering many extremely anxious moments as Jimin and Jungkook drove themselves through NYC, as Jungkook and then both Jimin and Jungkook rode the motorcycle through traffic, and the few heart stopping moments when JK flipped his kayak over and then they took off down the river alone before staff caught up with them. Not to mention probably looking up the nearest ER/urgent care facility in case Jimin got too dehydrated from his bout with the stomach bug.

Seriously though, their lives and global headlines had to flash before their eyes when JK disappeared underwater under that kayak... so big applause for the staff/production crew for not shitting THEIR pants thirteen times too.

So here are some of my thoughts. I'll begin with the first episode...

Episode 1:

In the opening scene, I'm assuming this is Antoya Korean BBQ restaurant. They were talking about JK's sore throat and that he had to visit a medical facility. Jimin kept on about it. It seemed like JK's "stop babying me" attitude bubbled up a little bit. Let them be them. As you can see, JK adjusted Jimin's beanie so he could see his eyes. They were fine.

Pause and reflect: they didn't know what to expect with this idea of a travel show. The moment above happened on Thursday evening, July 13. Both of them were working. Jimin was still working on his concepts, photos, MV and whatnot, planning to finish everything for Muse in the coming months. Jungkook had a full schedule for promoting Seven which was dropping the next day. He had to get up early for Good Morning America concert in the park.

I'm stating all this for point of reference. Nothing is static. JK was in work mode: he had a performance the next day and also not feeling well himself. Jimin had been on a plane for 14 hours. Just keep these things in mind before jumping to conclusions.

In the next scene (the next day) back at the hotel after JK's done with his performance and when he's packing to go on this trip he's all in and ready to go. Hurry up Jimin!

Jimin asked him how the live performance went. As we know, the GMA live performance was mostly rained out. Before the storm came through, they quickly pre-recorded the performances before it would have been time for the live broadcast and then shut it down. Jungkook had to be driven quickly to the studio to be interviewed to fill the leftover time in the program that more of his live performance would have taken up.

Hearing Jungkook say "this isn't my first rodeo" was never going to be on any bingo card in my lifetime.

I don't know what he was scribbling on that iPad but it looked geometric. He was focused. Maybe it was something for the next week's performance, maybe it was a sketch for music show staging, trying to recreate that flower archway they saw at Antoya the night before? maybe he was doodling in Canva... we don't know.

Me either, Jimin... (this was the first of all the hilarious gems that begin to shower down on us).

They are both known to be perfectionists when it comes to their work. And we know they've also both performed when feeling less than 100% on that stage. Jungkook realized there were circumstances beyond his control and he took it in stride.

FYI, in New York City, they stayed at the Loews Regency on E. 61st Street in Manhattan. It is between Madison Ave. and Park Avenue and not far from Central Park. Swanky. The suite looks like the 2-bedroom "Park Avenue Suite" and runs $2100 a night... gasp. Yes, its the same suite where JK did his live after his rained upon GMA appearance. During this live he mentioned being poked with needles, IV's and shots in the butt as well as teasing us with what would become Are You Sure:

No, I don't think Jimin stayed in this suite with JK. Jimin's room had a smaller bathroom and a shower curtain instead of a glass shower door. Staff with camera woke him up.

To be that beautiful when rolling out of bed... anyway, I digress...

It truly was unplanned and spontaneous as if they were doing this with the idea of "let's try it and see if it can be viable." Even Jimin wasn't sure if any of this could be aired.

Once they got in the Jeep they started to find their groove. Being alone, just them, was what they needed. They could focus on what was ahead of them. The driving moments were some of the best for me.

We eventually learn that Jimin wasn't feeling well and I'm certain this is what Jungkook was telling Yoongi during that episode of Suchwita, along with the elbowing in the nose.

Seems like Jimin's stomach trouble started when they were at the first restaurant, the burger place. The bathroom visits continued at the brewery and into the evening at the campsite.

Jimin had some sort of stomach bug that kept him on the toilet a lot and he ran a little bit of a temp. I am sad that he wasn't feeling 100% when they were on the yacht the next day but he still seemed to enjoy it enough to find the humor in his situation. He was a real trooper.

It sure didn't stop him from eating. My man was very brave in that regard. Me... no way I'd be stuffing my face with a big greasy burger when at any moment I might need to make a run for the toilet.

They get back on the road and these are the moments that I wait for:

After arguing in satoori about who is the worst driver between them, they start shopping at Dick's.

And get recognized...

After shopping excursion at Dick's, they finally head to High Nine Brewery...

Jimin's first sample wasn't to his taste (again). His taste buds were probably a little off since he had the stomach thing going on... but JK's eyebrows say that his sample was pretty good.

They finally settle on a hard seltzer and a pale ale and relax for a little bit. Jungkook is still wondering what would make good subject matter to film. They are truly making it up as they go...

Jimin proceeds to explain and an interaction happens and I am not sure what to think about it:

I am going to end this post here because they are now on their way to the kayaks and that segment deserves its own post and I have too many screen shots of it to fit in this post.

[These are all my own opinions about what I am seeing and hearing them say and from what I am observing from the video. It's ok if your opinion is different from mine.]

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Dexter Van Zile

I recently witnessed something I haven't seen in a long time. On Friday, August 16, 2024, a group of pro-Hamas activists packed up their signs and went home in the face of spirited and non-violent opposition from a coalition of pro-American Iranians and American Jews.

The last time I saw anything like that happen was in 2006 or 2007, when I led a crowd of Israel supporters in chants in order to silence a heckler standing on the sidewalk near the town common in Amherst, Massachusetts. The ridicule was enough to prompt him and his fellow anti-Israel activists to walk away, as we cheered their departure. It was glorious.

On August 16, 2024, the pro-Hamas activists conducted their retreat from Lexington in two stages.

First, they walked away from the intersection of Massachusetts Avenue and Pleasant Street, where they have been protesting on an intermittent basis since October 7. Then, after they retreated a couple of hundred feet down Mass. Ave. (while tenacious, but peaceful, pro-Israel protesters followed them), the Hamas supporters packed up their signs and withdrew altogether, leaving an Iranian-born American citizen to conduct a solitary rear-guard action. Once the pro-Israel protesters took pity on the police officers charged with keeping the peace and got ready to leave, the pro-Hamas supporter also left — clearly a little bit worse for wear.

The pro-Hamas folks did not abandon the site of their weekly standout because they were outnumbered. The two groups were evenly matched. In fact, the pro-Hamasniks may have even enjoyed a slight numerical advantage over the pro-Israel folks who challenged them. Nevertheless, it was the anti-Israel folks who retreated.

The pro-Israel activists, who had coalesced around a core of Iranian human rights activists associated with From Boston to Iran, used a very simple message to break the resolve of the pro-Hamas activists: "You are on the side of rapists and murderers."

The pro-Hamas protesters tried countering with the lie that Israel is committing a "genocide" in Gaza, but it didn't work on the pro-Israel folks who just kept repeating their message: If you're pro-Hamas, you're siding with rapists and murderers. They offered this message in chants and individual conversations.

The pro-Israel folks didn't bother reminding their opponents that Hamas attacks civilians while hiding behind civilians, thereby making civilian casualties inevitable. They didn't waste their breath reminding the pro-Hamas folks that Arab and Muslim leaders have killed millions of Arab and Muslim civilians without much comment from the progressive left in the United States. The pro-Israel folks knew these facts — but didn't waste their time repeating them on the streets of Lexington. They just kept repeating the central truth of the conflict in Gaza: Hamas is a bunch of rapists and murderers, and many leftists and anti-democratic radicals in the US have taken their side.

Most importantly, our strategy worked.

By repeating the simple truth of what's happening in the Middle East, a gathering of pro-Israel Jews and Iranians stripped a gathering of pro-Hamas protesters of the moral superiority in which they have wrapped themselves since October 7. By sticking to the "Hamas is a bunch of rapists and murderers" message, pro-Israel activists reminded any self-proclaimed progressives who joined the Hamas supporters, that the October 7 massacre was not performed to "liberate" the Palestinians — but to build a social order in the Middle East in which terror and violence is the dominant culture, as opposed to peace, tolerance, and full rights for all religions, genders, and minorities.

It is no accident that Iranians who oppose the theocratic leadership in Tehran have become a powerful force of anti-Hamas activism in the United States. Having to deal with the rapists and murderers who oppress their friends and relatives, Iranian human rights activists understand that the violence against moderate Muslims, non-Muslims, and women in Iran has a common root with the violence of the October 7 massacre. They know that the violence perpetrated against Iranian and Israeli women is justified by radical Islamism, a supremacist ideology that privileges the rights of Muslim men over non-Muslims and women.

Although leftists should know this as well — many don't, and they need to be reminded repeatedly, and publicly, of the true nature of the radical Islamist movement they help support. One day, they will be the target of the Islamist oppression endured by Iranians and Israelis and when it happens, they won't be allowed to say no one told them.

[covertleathers]

Chapter 2: Who's Gonna Save The World?

AO3 Chapter 1 Link

Rating: 18+ Explicit, drugs, sex, murder, guns, blood

Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/m!Rook (they/them), Neve Gallus/Bellara Lutare, Taash/Lace Harding

Chapter Summary: We meet our detective, Neve Gallus on a stormy night when a mysterious note is slipped under her office door.

Author's Note: I worked hard getting Neve's and Bellara's voices down. Struggled a bit at the beginning but the pieces kind of fell in place by the end! Edit: I also wanted to include more canon character names! even npcs.

If you got the power

brother, show me how, yeah

If you got the power, show me how

Who's gonna save the world now?

Who's gonna save, yeah

— "Who's Gonna Save the World?" Father's Children

The detective thumbed the edge of the letter she had just seen slipped under her office door. It wasn't a particularly extravagant office; a ten by ten room in a building normally occupied by elderly immigrants on the lower east side. There was a shared bathroom and too many old, hairy, shirtless men walking around, but it's what she could afford. She checked the analog clock sitting on her desk among stacks and stacks of files, folders, and personally assorted documents. It was plain and boxy with a crimson second hand that ticked soothingly. It was 9:30 PM on a cold, rainy March night.

Folded on on top of this mountain of paperwork was that day's newspaper, just last Friday, a grizzly triple murder at The Viper's Den of three club-goers. Possibly very loosely mob-connected. Calivan De Forna, 42, restaurateur and socialite playboy, found stuffed in a bathroom stall with his throat cut. Typical, she had heard quit a bit about this guy. Wrapped up in a lot of bad actors. Felicia Erimond, 27, an up and coming NYPD lieutenant from the First Precinct. Garroted and hidden in a sound equipment closet. The last, which made little sense…Caterina Dellamorte, 74, gutted, in a hidden backroom meant for shady deals that were not uncommon at The Den. No witnesses to any of them. Which sounded impossible considering the hundreds of people at the club that night. Each must have been a professional hit. She wasn't sure how (if) they were connected, but now the detective had this letter to capture her attention.

Her name in careful script on the front of the envelope. It definitely was a woman's handwriting. Perhaps a secretary or personal assistant. The paper itself was high quality with a gold foil border, the message handwritten in the same looping style.

Neve Gallus Tonight, 11:30 PM, The Plaza, Penthouse Suite. Come alone.

Penthouse, huh? That was a new one. The Plaza was an expensive and exclusive hotel across from Central Park. Frequently she would be asked to hang out at the docks at midnight. Dangerous? Yes, but for a new case she was always willing to risk it. Not like she couldn't handle herself, the detective had been in plenty of scuffs in her years as a private investigator.

Even more so, most of her cases were for local folks; someone who was being screwed over by their absentee landlord, a finding missing people, or occasionally, exposing crooked cops. Never anyone who lived in The Plaza. That would require them to be someone with A Name. And cash to back it up with. This was unusual.

With that, going to a meetup this late in a neighborhood that wasn't her own would be trouble. And bad form to go without a tail who would be able to keep a lookout if anything seemed up. She needed someone that she could trust. Quickly she snatched up the receiver of her desktop phone and dialed. It only took two rings before someone picked up.

"Bellara Lutare speaking," A bright, chiming voice piped.

"Bell."

"Neve, hi!"

She smiled at the sound of her warm voice. "Got anything on the docket tonight?

"Uh, well…maybe watch The Tonight Show, read a bit—oh!—working on a story right now about those murders at The Viper club—"

"Sounds like you might have time?"

"Ah, yes, I do!"

"Meet me on 60th and 5th Ave, the park side corner. Eleven sharp. I've got a lead on a new case, but I might need backup."

"Exciting! You can count on me. I'll be right there!"

Neve put the receiver down with a soft click and strode to grab her coat by the door. If she left now, she could catch a D train uptown. It seemed to be raining, but nothing a nice hat could protect her hair from. No umbrella, but she was sure Bell would have one. She always was prepared for an oncoming storm.

Bellara and Neve had met tracking clues on the Hopkins case five years before. She was a reporter for the The Jumper's Journal, an independent local paper focused on street beats most important to New Yorkers without the interests of big business. She had been looking for info on a crooked landlord Leonard Hopkins who was shaking down his tenants for protection money from the a local crime family. Small potatoes considering the larger crime syndicates who ruled over New York's nightlife, but rotten nonetheless.

Neve had been hired by a tenant collective. She took the job and started her interview rounds. Asking questions, picking up gossip. The two were about to knock on the same apartment door when they first men. Neve had read her columns before and recognized the name when Bell handed her a card. Apparently, Neve's name had also been going around with local journalists on the streets. They were mutual fans.

After establishing that they were on the same side, Neve and Bellara worked together interviewing tenants, combing through building ownership and their connections, uncovering Hopkins' links to local law enforcement and their mafia kin. At the end of it all, Bellara was able to break the story and secure safety for some folks of the city. Neve got the thanks and payment from the collective, and lifetime free fried fish cakes from a Chinatown diner.

At the end of it all, Neve and Bellara realized they were a pretty good team. From that time on, they helped each other when they had the time and space. Neve enjoyed her quick and eager way of digging for information as soon as she got a scent for it. Neve couldn't help but think of her as a good luck charm to any difficult case she had a hard time cracking. Somehow, Bellara was able reverse engineer any complicated knots of information.

A stop at the deli for coffee, a ten minute walk, and after a half hour wait on a cold dank platform, Neve emerged from the D train station on the park's south side. With her hat brim brought low and coat collar up, she made her way east while keeping an eye out for any suspect characters or followers. This side of the park was always eerily quiet at night. Neve had the habit of avoiding it at this time, but she had a reason to stand tonight. If she needed discretion, nothing better than a shadowy corner of Central Park.

Neve knew she wouldn't have to wait long for her comrade to make her appearance. Teetering out of a taxi with a rather hefty tote hanging on her shoulder, an extra large umbrella in her hand, and bundled up more than seemed to be necessary for the weather, Bellara waved Neve down. They crammed themselves into the closest phone booth they could find. She could feel the excitement reverberating from Bell's body as she excitedly tapped and switched from foot to foot.

Neve handed over the letter to her, letting her friend curiously read the short note once, then twice, then a third time. The fluorescent lighting of the phone booth made reading it a bit easier, Neve noticed that Bell had droplets of rain decorating her cheeks.

"This is nice paper…" Bellara mused, feeling the texture between her thumb and forefinger.

"Ha, that's what I thought," Neve hummed, making a cautious look around before bringing her fedora just a tad lower. There weren't many people on the street this late at night, even in the nicest part of town. She had to make sure they weren't being watched. The last thing she wanted was for Bellara to somehow be put in harm's way because of her job.

"Now, they didn't give me any other hints about the job. Just to meet at The Plaza penthouse…"

"The penthouse," Bellara repeated, wheels in her head clearly turning. "Wait, I've heard some things about a big real estate investor living in the hotel, used to work for the city. Michel De Forna. As far as I know he's got no ties with the crime families or any nightlife. Also he's…"

"Calivan De Forna's brother." Neve realized, squeezing Bellara's hand. "Bell, you really are a good luck charm. You just gave me the upper hand."

Bellara practically shot up in the air from the revelation, asking eagerly, "You think he's looking for lead on who killed Calivan?"

"What else would it be? He's looking for answers outside the law." She replied, checking her watch. Twenty minutes to go. That definitely meant that Calivan got caught up in some nasty business before his untimely death. 'With who?' was the next question. "I'll start making my way over there, be a little early. Watch me from the monument across the street. If I'm not out in an hour you know what to do." Bellara nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

The plan was, if she didn't emerge in time, Bellara would make a call to Elek Tavor, a good friend of Neve's and a part of the Threads crime ring based out of Hell's Kitchen. He owed Neve enough favors and possessed enough hate for the rich to tap his contacts to find her. Dead or alive. Preferably alive.

Somehow getting inside The Plaza was the easiest part. It was the long winding and confusing path to the penthouse. It took nearly fifteen minutes. And apparently, she as already expected. A short, well-groomed man with a bristly mustache in a charcoal grey suit escorted her through each elevator until they reached the 18th floor.

Eventually, she was led to the penthouse suite, an intimidatingly white and gold foiled door. The escort knocked four times, paused, then three more. A voice from inside called for them to come in.

Whatever she had imagined the penthouse suite to be, the reality was about five times more extravagant and audacious. A borderline disgusting display of wealth compared to what the rest of New York had to endure. Velvet wallpaper a deep maroon red. Dark wooden floors and incredibly high ceilings. Original expensive art pieces were framed and hung on the foyer that lead to a sitting room that housed two large white leather sectionals with a glass coffee table in between. Her escort gestured for her to sit on the furthest one.

A man sat opposite of her. Tall, blue eyes, with slicked over brown hair. In his hand was a whiskey glass half full of brown liquor and two ice cubes. He was wearing a charcoal black suit, even for this time of night, and a shiny gold watch glittering on his wrist. No doubt it was solid and not plated. He eyed her as she insisted on keeping her coat and hat on.

"Neve Gallus," he said, taking a sip of his drink. His accent was mostly American with a very light Italian hint to it. Probably came over early in his life. If her instincts were correct, he came from money, too.

"Michel De Forna," she replied with her best knowing smirk to accompany it.

"You do your research, I see." Michel laughed, taking another drink. Neve glanced around for a bar cart. How much had he been drinking? Hair slightly disheveled and that usual glow drunkards get when they're feeling just right. She knew the look.

"I wouldn't be the best private investigator in New York if I didn't."

"Fair. So then you probably know why I called you here." He was handsome, at first, but something about the way he spoke to her made Neve feel like there was a skulking, muddied creature underneath his skin. She wouldn't be surprised if he had drunkenly beaten a woman before. More than one, if she was the betting type.

"I have an idea," she hummed. "You want me to find your brother's killer."

"Exactly."

"I don't normally work with moneyed folks. Why reach out to me?"

A twisted grin crawled across his face, "That's exactly why. You've got connections I don't. My brother was more…attuned to your kind." Neve's gut knotted at the implication. "You can go where I can't."

"What makes you think I'll take the job?" she asked. What's the catch? There was something he was holding in his metaphorical sleeve, her nerves could feel it like a chilling breeze.

Michel snapped his fingers at one of his attendants who produced a fat manila envelope and handed it to him. Michel opened it with the swift movement of a single finger. Out from the bag: two thick bundles of dollars he casually dropped on the glass table. "Your twenty percent deposit: five thousand cash. If that's not enough to sweeten the pot, I have something else you might want to take a look at."

Neve remembered to keep her poker face on. Something about this meeting was becoming more unsettling by the moment. There had been situations like this in previous meetings; an attempt to leverage her favor. Usually when she was being asked by the Threads or some other group to sniff out information for them. However, in those circumstances she always had the advantage because her skills were sorely desired and needed. She was always happy to use them to help the little people. Her people. Whatever was happening here felt entirely out of her depths.

From the envelope, he produced a stack of papers. This time, he gestured to hand them to her directly. She took them with a furrowed brow and scanned them thoughtfully. Her apartment's address, as well as those for the buildings on either side of hers were listed at the top. Concept art of a block-wide, twenty story building was etched on the front. These were blueprints. The terrifying realization hit her.

"Your building isn't regulated by the state and is considered for demolition next spring. My firm is looking to knock down and combine all three lots together for luxury condos." Michel's eyes became like icy daggers. "You find my brother's killer and we can set our sights elsewhere."

Her stomach dropped and she smiled sourly. "Got it, a threat. 'Work for me or else'. That's how you're kind rolls?"

"It's an offer," he replied while pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket. An attendant rushed to his side flicking open a gold lighter for him, holding it as he pulled.

"One that I can't refuse?" Neve met his cold eyes with burning anger. She kept her hands folded in her lap, but one was holding the other with a numbing vice grip.

After a long inhale, he exhaled the smoke through his nose like a dragon, staring at her with wretched hunger. "Smart woman."

[archie-gray]

Hello! Can I ask you in your belgium nt capacity about youri tielemans? Is he good/do we rate him? He seems sweet and his stats from the last Belgium game were nuts

hii yes please always ask me about the belgians i’m always happy to talk about them! just a warning that this will be 1) biased bc he’s belgian and i love him and 2) very long and disorganized im going into this with no layout in mind

okay so youri is currently coming off his worst season in a while but don’t let that scare you, he’s actually very good in my opinion. also villa getting him for FREE is the best transfer of this entire window, that’s huge!

a little bit of history on him: he went through the anderlecht youth academy which has been called “the best talent factory in belgium” (romelu lukaku, dries mertens, vincent kompany, marouane fellaini are all big name products of the academy)

he made his first team belgian debut in 2016 at 19 years old. he was one of the youngest guys on the squad then and is now one of the last remaining links between the “golden generation” and the new generation. he was called up to the 2018 world cup squad and played a few matches, most notably in the 2-0 win against england in which he performed well. he helped belgium secure their best ever finish in the world cup and after that has been a regular starter for belgium.

okay now a bit about his playing. he initially started as a defensive midfielder because his long range passing is incredible but after a while switched to being an attacking midfielder because of his impressive shot power, scanning and ability to play with both feet. he can play as either an attacking, central or defensive midfielder but for belgium he usually plays as the first two, not sure what position he played primarily in leicester but i assume the same! he doesn’t have a huge number of g/a to his name but that’s not where he shines, when played in his optimal position he’s a very good support player and chance creator.

i think he’s been pretty overlooked both in the prem and in belgium as well. when opposing fans are worried about leicester for example, we talk more about maddison or barnes, but he was their second best player (according to fotmob) even in his worst season so i think that tells you something. ALSO i just remembered, i’m pretty sure leicester won the FA cup one year because of youri’s absolute screamer of a goal, i’d have to double check that though. he’s also only 26 so getting him for free is such a steal (i’m very jealous i want him at spurs we need to start filling our belgian quota again.)

personality wise i adore him. he’s got such a gorgeous smile like i’m obsessed, he’s always smiling in belgium bts videos :,) he’s a very chill guy, 2 kids and a wife, no big scandals to his name from my knowledge, he’ll blend in nicely with the av squad! a bit on the quieter side in bigger groups of people but that might just be because everyone on the belgium squad are loudmouths lmfao he’s a sweetheart though i love him very much.

i was watching this video the other day with him (he’s the one sitting in the middle) in it, it gives a tiny insight on his personality but more importantly it shows you how pretty his smile is 😌

i can’t think of what else to say but tl:dr, yes we rate him, i think under the right coaching he’ll soar! if you want to talk about anything else regarding him let me know, you can message me or send an ask again i’d love to talk about him some more!!!

[wonderdave]

🌟 Hello Friends and Fans of Team Wonder Dave!🦄

🌈 Castro Comedy Cabaret makes it’s debut 🎉

🗓 Date: Saturday, August 31st ⏰ Time: Doors at 5 PM | Pre-show at 6 PM | Show at 7 PM 📍 Where: Beaux 2344 Market St, San Francisco, CA 94114 🎟 Tickets & Info: Pay-what-you-can at teamwonderdave.com/ccc 📸 Follow: @teamwonderdave

BRAND NEW SHOWS & TOURING HEADLINERS: We’ve got some queer comedy friends coming through town so we put together a special show just for them! Come on down to The Stud and meet Jenny Chalikian and Erin Judge at: The Comedy Stampede

🗓 Date: Thursday, August 29th

⏰Time: Doors at 7 PM | Show at 7:30 PM

🎫 Tickets: Pay-what-you-can at teamwonderdave.com/comedy-stampede

📍Location: The Stud, 1123 Folsom St, San Francisco, CA 94103

TOURING HEADLINERS: Safe Words Comedy presents: Laughs in Trans Nation

🗓 Date: Wednesday, August 28th

⏰Time: 7:00 PM doors, 7:30 PM show

🎫 Tickets: Pay-what-you-can at www.safewordscomedy.com

📍Location: SF Eagle Bar, 398 12th St., San Francisco, CA In August, Safe Words is bringing you Laughs in Trans Nation, featuring Los Angeles based headliner Nina Nguyen, with a stacked lineup of Bay Area Trans Comedians. We met Nina at San Francisco SketchFest earlier this year and are tickled pink, white, and baby blue 🏳️‍⚧ to bring her up to the bay again.

In addition to our Headliner Nina Nguyen we’ve got a stellar All-Trans lineup of Safe Words Comedy alumni featuring Natasha Muse, Emery Jean, Frida Sierra, and host Binya Kóatz.

🧠 Mental Health Comedy Hour at All Out Comedy Theater

🗓 When: Every 2nd Friday at 8pm Next show is Sept 13th 📍 Where: All Out Comedy Theater 2550 Telegraph Ave, Oakland, CA 94612 🎟 Tickets & Info:here 📸 Follow: @mhcomedyhour

TOURING (HEAVYWEIGHT) HEADLINERS 🏳️‍🌈 DeAnne Smith is Queer, as in Funny (➕ 2nd date added!)

🗓 When: Saturday Sept 21st & Sunday Sept 22nd, 7:30 doors 8pm show 📍 Where: The Lost Church 988 Columbus Ave, San Francisco, CA 94133 🎟 Tickets & Info: here 📸 Follow: @safewordscomedy on instagram We’re excited to announce we’re adding a 2nd date to DeAnne Smith’s San Francisco stop. DeAnne will now be erforming at the Lost Church on Saturday Sept 21st AND Sunday Sept 22nd. Get ready to meet DeAnne Smith. While you’ve likely already heard of them; They recently were featured in Hannah Gadsby’s Gender Agenda on Netflix, opening for Hannah shortly after at the Fox Theater in Oakland. They’ve been on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, Comedians of the World, Last Comic Standing, and more.

However, this is the first time you’ll be able to see them headline their own show in the Bay Area. Joining DeAnne and Wonder Dave on the show will be special guest Rea Kapur!

🎤 Hysteria Comedy Open Mic

🗓 When: Every 2nd (and 5th) Wednesday of the month.

⏭️ Next Shows: August 14th and Sept 11th 7pm 📍 Where: SF Eagle, San Francisco 📸 Follow: @hysteriacomedy 🎟 Register for free

Join us for an open mic night focused on empowering women and queer voices in comedy. Free entry. Enjoy the Queer Comedy Stars of tomorrow* TODAY! *Ok but for real people who were regulars at the mic have gone on to headline comedy clubs, and appear on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, Netflix, Comedy Central, and @fter midnight to name just a few success stories.

Hope to make you laugh in the near future. Also stay tuned to @teamwonderdave on social media for exciting announcements about upcoming projects! We’ve got more exciting things coming your way real soon.

[citizenhullabaloo]

The Top 5 WORST Music Venues to Travel to (in the NYC/Tri-State area)

Disclaimer: This is my personal experience since I started going to local and big shows nearly 11 years ago. This is also focused in the tri-state area surrounding New York City.

Welcome to the first edition of The Top 5 Worst Music Venues to travel to in NYC/Tri-state area. This is *MY* personal list, so please comment/email me any other ones you’ve visited if you haven’t been to any of these. The first two are basically scraping the bottom of the barrel. I’m sure I have better stories, but this is what I was able to think of at the top of my head.

#5 – Revolution Bar and Music Hall – Amityville, Long Island (Permanently Closed)

From seeing acts like Symfinity and EXM to big names like Doro and Gemini Syndrome, it was always a good time to visit this venue. The walk sucked at night though. I’m from the city, and it was too quiet for my tastes. Formerly located at 140 Merrick Rd in Amityville, it was about an hour and a half taking public transportation to this venue. It’s last on the list because I did manage to go here a bunch of times, so I was used to the trek.

#4 – Ram’s American Pub – Holbrook, Long Island (Permanently Closed)

Sad to hear this place closed (presumably because of the pandemic), but I managed to visit here once, to see my friends Bending Over Backwards play. Formerly located at 236 Union Ave in Holbrook (and getting off at Ronkonkoma LIRR Station), it’s genuinely not that bad to get to. Still, it’s nearly a two hour public transportation ride, and then walking on the edge of the non-existent sidewalk (thanks Suffolk County!), before reaching the bar. It wasn’t that bad of a walk, like I mentioned, but it’s a bit annoying when all that construction at the time, surrounding the station and road, made it longer than it needed to be. Since it’s closed now, I can’t return to give you a better score sadly 😦

#3 – The Paramount – Huntington, Long Island

I’ve seen my favorite bands play here: The Dead Deads, Silversun Pickups… It’s a great venue and one that I wish I wouldn’t have hated its location. Why the hell is it a 30+ minute walk from Huntington Station to the ACTUAL town of Huntington? Why is the central area of the location, FAR from public transportation?!?!?! The amount of times I dragged my feet through New York Ave (symbolically ironic?)… I got fed up with it from the first time I ever went to this venue. It’s already about an hour to get to the place, and now I have to waste MORE time getting to the actual venue? What a tragedy. Just move the f**king town SOUTH!!!! Be like Westbury and The Space at Westbury!!!!! Located at 370 New York Ave in Huntington.

#2 – The Chance Theater – Poughkeepsie, New York (Permanently Closed)

This one and The Paramount were a close second, but I opted to put this higher because it’s outside of the New York City area. If I’m stranded in Long Island, I know the train systems enough to get back home, or I have friends out here. Poughkeepsie and anywhere equivalent is No-Man’s Land. It’s a 2 hour Metro-North train ride, with walking through the city streets, passing through abandoned buildings just to get to the venue. If that wasn’t scary enough, I never attempted heading home back the same way – I was lucky enough to be driven back, or at least dropped off way closer to a southern station that seemed more human. It sucks that the Chance closed. I got to see Proxima Control, EXM, and a bunch of other local bands that don’t exist or I haven’t heard from in a while. I was lucky enough to fill in for bass at the Loft area of the venue! Now that it’s closed, I see no reason to ever visit Poughkeepsie ever again sadly. Located at 6 Crannell St in Poughkeepsie.

#1 – Northwell at Jones Beach Theater - Wantagh, Long Island

The year was 2017. I wanted to see Silversun Pickups at Jones Beach, so I took the LIRR to Freeport, and attempted to catch a bus, which apparently wasn’t running. I split a cab with a guy and two ladies (the guy ended up dancing with the band during the set), and arrived to the venue. I enjoyed my show and didn’t want to stay for the headliner, Third Eye Blind. I walked across the parking lot, under a DESOLATE tunnel, and closer to the beach, where the bus stop was. I waited 2 hours. The police was nearby and came to me asking what was I waiting for. There was no bus they said. I walked BACK to the venue. Everyone had just gotten out of the show, and I had to split a taxi with EXTREMELY drunk obnoxious girls (who made fun of the cab driver for being south Asian, by the way). All in all, regardless of that experience of good and bad — Jones Beach is BY FAR, the WORST venue to get to. It’s MANDATORY to drive, unless you can magically catch the bus that apparently doesn’t run after 5pm or so. If you take public transportation like I do, you have to pay for a taxi, to and from. Lyft and Uber services didn’t work for me that year because it was “illegal” to serve Nassau and Suffolk counties (maybe they do now but I remember hearing that was the reason why 5 drivers skipped me), but I refuse to see any show at the venue if I don’t have a car ride. I wasted more money traveling to and from the show, than an actual f**king TICKET to the show. My solution? A dedicated bus/tram that drives from the two nearby LIRR stations and you pay the equivalent of a LIRR fare (the distance I mean). Because that distance from the LIRR train to the venue is IMPOSSIBLE to walk. Like, literally, there’s no sidewalks, only highway and marshes. Located at 895 Bay Pkwy in Wantagh, Long Island.

And so, to conclude…

What are your worst venues to travel to? While writing this, I just thought of another few, but I’ll save that for another edition 🙂

[dsandrvk]

Wednesday, September 6 - New York City

We never saw The Statue of Liberty on our way in this morning, as at the expected time of 4:30 AM we were well on our way up the Hudson River. We were off the ship by 8:30 (at a pier a bit further south than expected, which was actually closer to our hotel), and headed east towards our lodging. Even at this hour, it was fairly quiet on the streets until we got closer to 8th Avenue, and by the time we reached our destination near 7th Ave and 49th Street, the sidewalks were crowded, mostly with tourists. We repackaged our small daypacks, dropped off our luggage, and headed out.

First up was heading downtown via subway, to take the Staten Island ferry, allowing us to see lady Liberty from a distance. It was already quite hot (heat advisory), but the breeze out on the water made it bearable, and the waiting areas at the ferry terminals were air conditioned. Our survival strategy for the day was to alternate exploration with air conditioned spaces, since the temperature got up to 95 ("feels like 99"). We explored the financial district a bit, having lunch in a shady park and looking at the facade of the Old Customs Building (5th photo), now partially a Museum of the American Indian. Somewhat ironically, there are four large statues out front, representing the four continents (only Asia, Europe, America and Africa seemed to make the cut). The one representing America has an Indian sneaking up on a woman, or at least that's what it looked like. Not terribly PC, but better than the smaller statues representing the "eight races".

The Wall Street bull (actually not near Wall Street) has become a tourist attraction, and there was a long queue of folks waiting to have their picture taken with it. We cooled off a bit in the old Federal Hall (NPS site, so there were bathrooms, too), and then headed to the 9/11 memorial. It wasn't yet designed or built the last time I was in NYC, and it's actually quite affecting. There are two large voids where the towers stood, and water pours down the sides, and eventually into another smaller void in the middle. The names of those lost are engraved in a railing around the outside of both voids. The new tower at One World Trade Center is rather unfortunate, and somewhat distracts from the simplicity of the memorial. There is also a museum (we didn't go in) and across the street, a subterranean shopping mall and subway entrance, covered at street level by this white wing-like structure. We opted instead to walk west to the Hudson and north through a few parks, before finding another subway stop.

This time our subway car was actually air conditioned, and we got off before Times Square, and headed east to Bryant Park and the NY Library (air conditioning and bathrooms - we were staying hydrated). We finished off our adventure by stopping in Whole Foods to pick up some breakfast foods, and a couple of quick dinners, since our lodging has a small kitchen. By the time we walked back to our room and checked in, we were more than ready for a shower!

We had bought tickets for "Some Like it Hot" before we left, but it was an 8 PM curtain, so we spent a little time wandering around Times Square ahead of the show. There are so many more electronic billboards than the last time I was here, but the same crowds, both before and after the show. "Some Like it Hot" got several Tonys, including best choreography, which was well earned. The story has been adapted to resonate better with current sensibilities, but was still the same basic premise as the movie, and the result was a fun, somewhat overcaffeinated production. Lots of great performances, too.

Tomorrow we will probably head north to Central Park and maybe check out 5th Avenue. It's supposed to be even hotter tomorrow, so our strategy will be the same. We are hoping to pick up some tickets for another show at the TKTS booth, as it's a fun way to top off the day (and about the only time when it is actually comfortable to wander around outside).

[byoungernj]

NYC Marathon: Part 3

I had heard from multiple people to expect the Queensboro Bridge to be quiet and to be ready for the roar on 1st ave when I come off. I was so immersed in what was going on, it didn't occur to me that I was on THE bridge until about half way across. I was looking at all the elite bottles that had been dropped, peaking to see if any of them had names. There were some big names up front and it was cool to remember I was following behind. Things were quiet but it's NYC quiet, so there are plenty of sounds. I had listened to a podcast telling all things NYCM. On that episode, they spoke of the banners with letters/numbers on them that helped medical staff identify exact locations if someone was in need of help. This was the first place I noticed these banners and I nodded in my head a well done. I would love to work on a major marathon medical team one day and it was cool to know this fun fact.

We made a 180 degree turn and onto 1st we go. I have to say, I was actually sort of disappointed. The noise was not at all what I had hoped. It was loud, don't get me wrong, but I'm sure there were parts of Brooklyn that were louder. So much so I heard my friends off to the side for the first time. I posted a quite comical series of photos as I tried to cross the street. 1st ave was extremely long, luckily I had known this as well. (Thanks Ali On The Run) I did get to see the lovely Alyssa and Kelly of Brave Like Gabe. I ran over to them and then awkwardly stopped, not wanting to hug them in my disgusting state. It was somewhere near the entrance to the Bronx that I noticed my pace start to slow. I was extremely pleased with how far I had run at my pace so I was fine with the slower effort. By this point, no matter how much water I was drinking it never seemed to get rid of my thirst. And now, it was making my stomach a bit uncomfortable. In the Bronx I had that magical ice cold water and was sad that JLo was not there to welcome us all.

Quickly we were back into Manhattan and down 5th ave we went. This is where the race started to get uncomfortable. I was hot, soaked, dehydrated (or so I felt), and I still hadn't seen my mom. I took things 1 mile at a time, trying to catch any runners who were coming back to me. There was a light rain at this point but you couldn't tell. People were setting off confetti cannons and playing music. This was where we needed it the most. We were following along the side of Central Park. I was past 22 miles but those last few miles felt so far. I knew we went into the park and back out, I had also heard the hills were awful. To tell you the truth, they didn't bother me. Maybe that was because I hadn't truly raced that day, or that I embraced the much slower pace I was now slogging through. I got to see friends again and people watch as the miles went by. With over a mile ago I finally heard a familiar voice, it was my mom. I cleared across the road and presented her with the most disgusting hug. I was now in the home stretch with the support of my people.

It was in this final mile that I took a moment to remember everything that got me here. This was my 10th marathon. A fun number to celebrate. I had finally broken 3 hours and was now in a new adventure with the marathon that was freeing. I had raced for fun. I had raised just over $1000 for an organization that I feel very deeply for. I thought of every person who had supported me in some way. Of course Craig for being my guiding light and friend through the many years since I met him. The many individuals who shared miles with me - Megan, Kemmer, Katie, the 520 crew, and many more. The people who provided words of encouragement when I needed them after a disappointment - Kaela, Kara, Sweeney. Friends who had traveled with me to races - Leslie, Maggie, Crystal. Everyone who had donated and supported the great cause that is BLG. Chelsea for housing me that weekend. I thought of Gabe and how sad I am that I never met her but so thankful that her life goals continue on in others. That I had this opportunity to honor her. To my parents and brother for putting up with my rollercoaster 'hobby'. Lastly to me. To me for sticking with this crazy race. For putting my goals out there, failing, and getting back up. For wanting to continually challenge myself to be better. For not giving up.

Back out of the park and along the southern boarder we ran. A quick step over the curb and we had made the final turn back into the park. The finish line is lined with flags of every country represented. Up high, pictures of past winners. I smiled when I saw Shalane. But as we got closer it was a bit underwhelming. I thought the same with Chicago. Now that the elites were gone, so had the fans that had grandstand access. There weren't as many people out yelling and celebrating. It's a bummer they don't allow more people in once the masses come through.

I neared the finish. Heard Ali Feller yelling out names and got a glimpse. She's my favorite podcast host and such a joy of a human that it was cool to see her in person. Now for the long waddle out of the park. It was actual quite nice. The road was shaded, we had bags full of snacks and water. They still gave out the 'heat' blankets but there was no way I was putting that thing on. It was soft on the inside and the last thing I needed was the weight of my sweat in that thing. I stopped for pictures with my medal, showing off the BLG logo in the shot.

I had planned to meet my mom at Levain Bakery. Once there, unfortunately there was nowhere to sit but I called her to give her an update. Now looking back, it's sort of funny that she got 'stuck' in the park. 1 volunteer told her she couldn't cross the course and that sent her on a goose chase, going in circles without any luck getting out. Finally someone told her to go ahead and cross...about 30 minutes later. For someone who prides themselves on knowing NYC, it made me laugh. Chelsea had found me at this point and they helped guide each other back together. She met me with clean dry clothes to change and we all sat down at the closet bar - the usual post race burger and cider for me. Next thing I know we are on the train back to Hoboken. I was a bit bummed that for the first time I hand energy to celebrate but we were already out of the city and back in NJ. I still got my ice cream once back in TR.

It was really weird being back home, with my baby boy Finn the evening after I ran a marathon. It felt so underwhelming. I had run the NYC Marathon. The biggest race in the world and it felt like just another day. But it was special. What a way to see the city. What a large celebration of people of every color, age, gender, etc coming together to have a party. I think I smiled the whole way. I'm glad I waited until NYRR brought the whole field size back. NYCM is back and I'm excited to see which one of Megan's friends runs it next.

So what's up next? I'm 6 weeks out from running Berlin. I've never been out of North America so this will be so fun. It's a delayed graduation gift to myself for sure. 'Prost!'

[marvelousstevetony]

Could you do team on a mission, and Tony gets some pollen or something in his suit somehow? So he’s either sneezing or holding back sneezes the whole battle with Steve being all concerned and taking care of him after?

Love your writing. Thank you so much for all of your content ❤️

Ahh, thank you so much💖 I can’t even tell you how sorry I am for being this slow to write this, but I finally got around to doing it, so I hope you enjoy this small fic <3 

~ ~ ~ 

“Iron Man, what’s your status?”

Cap’s voice sounds slightly tinny in Tony’s ear after the suit took a hit and apparently interrupted the connection to the comms. It’s stable enough for now, though.

“Just took out three in Central Park,” Tony reports, catching his breath, and glances over his shoulder to see the fragments of destroyed androids in the grass. “There was a fourth, but I think it got away.”

Tony looks around, but there’s no sign of another android, so he slides off his faceplate and takes in the scenery.

It’s a nice spring day; not too hot and not too cold either. Before the attack, families had been gathered around the park, children laughing and playing as their parents tried their best to keep them in check. There had been picnics and people eating ice cream as they soak up the sun that finally decided to show for the first time this week.

Of course, all good things have to come to an end, Tony grumbles internally.

The emergency alarm had gone off around noon, and within twenty minutes, the Avengers were spread all across the city, fighting of an army of robots. So, really, it’s just another Saturday for him and the rest of the gang.

“Alright,” Steve’s voice rattles in his ear. “Widow and I could use air support at Madison and 33rd.”

“On it, Ca— ugh.”

Tony groans as something comes at him from the side, the android clinging to the armour as they’re thrown several feet into the air, soaring through the trees and scrambling through the branches. He manages to shake of the android enough to blasts his repulsers at it, sending splinters of metal flying in every direction.

“Iron Man?” Steve prompts, slightly concerned at the grunt Tony had let out.

“On my way,” Tony assures.

As he hurries to help Steve and Nat, Tony slides his faceplate back up, only just realizing that it had been off while fighting the fourth robot.

When he arrives, hovering above the corner of Madison Ave and 33rd, Steve is fighting off three foes, slinging the shield around like a frisbee, the vibranium ricocheting off the androids and returning right back to him. Nat has on on her back and one between her legs, and somehow makes taking them out look effortless, just like everything else she does.

Though they’re standing their ground, Tony sees an army of about 25 coming their way, now understanding the need for assistance.

About to engage, Tony aims his repulsers at the group of bots, but suddenly, a sharp prickle in his nose distracts him.

Tony sniffles, trying to make the tingle back down, but to no avail. After a few seconds of wiggling his nose back and forth, the tickle grows too strong, and Tony has no choice but to deal with it.

“ng’tCHh! hh’NGxt! snff-snff!”

Tony stifles the sneezes the best he can, but they bring him no relief. Actually, the buzzing in his nose is only aggravated by this, and his entire face just feels itchy. Especially his eyes, which are now watering intensely as he gears up for another set of sneezes.

“h’h’huhh… huh-CHshoo! Ehh! IIShhoo! Guh…”

Though the second double is more satisfying than the first, Tony can still feel the lingering tickle in the back of his sinuses. Inside the helmet, Tony shakes his head in the hope that he could get rid of it that way, but instead it just sets off another sneeze.

“h’iish!”

“Tony, are you okay?”

Great.

Steve’s calling him by his name instead of Iron Man or Stark, which Tony knows means that he’s worried. He can hear in it the tone of his voice, too, and he can picture the crease between Steve’s eyebrows very clearly in his mind.

“Juuhhst peeh— peachy,” Tony manages through hitching breaths.

Knowing he’s on the precipice of the yet another fit, he slides the faceplate off and turns off the connection to the comms. He needs to just get the sneezes out of his system as fast as possible, but having the entire team listening in on it is definitely not something Tony wants. That’ll just be another distraction none of them have time to deal with.

“H’uhh… ehhh’usshhiew! H’usshoo! uhhEISHhoosh! h’h’h! huhESCHh’oo!”

God, what is happening? He doesn’t remember sneezing this badly since that time he and Steve went on a picnic and he had forgotten to take an allergy pill, but— oh.

Normally, the suit’s filtration system takes care of keeping the pollen from entering. But then, normally Tony doesn’t fly through what was unmistakably oak trees without his faceplate.

“huhhESHH’oo! EIIISHH’IEW! heH’eHSSCH’uh!”

Tony sighs exasperatedly after pitching forward with a triple that ripples through his body, sneezing freely and harshly. They’re so strong, too, that Tony can barely see through the allergic tears that have gathered in his eyes. He does make out a cape and blonde hair, though, and then there’s the sound of metal hitting metal.

When the itch has backed down a little and Tony can blink away the blurry vision, he sees Mjölnir return to Thor’s hand and about 10 androids worth of scraps splayed across the sidewalk.

The remaining androids are changeless against the assassin, the Demi-god and the super-soldier, but Tony has never been good at keeping himself out of a fight, even if they’ve already won. Besides, with Iron Man’s help, they should be able to finish this off rather quickly.

He puts the faceplate back on, though not without wincing slightly, knowing he’ll probably be an allergic mess later, what with how he voluntarily gets back inside the cloud of yellow-greenish dust.

He keeps the comms off for the rest of the battle, though, stifling the occasional sneezes back to the best of his abilities. Sometimes he can see Steve touching his earpiece and looking directly at him, trying to get through to him, appearing both confused and worried.

When the last of the robot is cut in half by the shield and the streets of Manhattan are covered in metal fragments, the team gathers right outside 200 Park Avenue. Bruce sat this one out after a unanimous decision that this wasn’t Code Green appropriate. Tony hadn’t really seen Clint throughout most the the battle, but he had probably been on the roofs as usual, taking out the enemies from a distance. Thor, Nat and Steve are all sweaty, the latter two probably more so than Thor. They don’t look half the mess Tony feels, though.

They agree to meet for debrief in an hour, giving them enough time to shower and grab something to eat before going over the details of the battle and initiating clean-up. Tony keeps mostly silent, uncharacteristically just giving an affirming nod before taking off to his room to get himself together.

“Tony!” Steve calls after him, but Tony is too busy getting out of there before another sneezing fit overcomes him to turn around.

He steps out of the armour as soon as he hits the landing pad, gasping dramatically as if he had been holding his breath the entire time, which, okay yeah, he had probably unconsciously been trying not to breathe in the pollen too much.

The relief washes over him for a few seconds, but the tickle that had been building for the better half of an hour hits him full force.

“H’ehhh… eiiiSH! ISH! h’h’h’Ish! ishew! Jesus Christ,” Tony mutters after a series of smaller, more itchy sounding sneezes as he heads towards the bedroom. They’re more rapid now, too, a real sign that this is his allergies getting to him.

Just as he reaches his room, he hears footsteps approaching. Tony is fidgeting with getting his shirt over his head, distracted by the buzzing that has him right on the verge of another sneeze, when the door opens.

“What the actual hell, Tony?”

Steve doesn’t yell, but his tone is slightly sharper than usual, more frustrated than angry.

“You can’t just…” Steve sighs. “I was trying to get in contact with you, Tony, you—“

Tony just manages to rip his shirt off, stripped down to his undershirt, when he can’t hold back the urge to let the sneezes out anymore.

“h’eiSH! huh’Ushh! Tssh! h’Ish! ish-ish-ish!”

The sneezes shudder through him, coming at a rate that leaves Tony no time to catch his breath in between. Fumbling for the nearest surface, Tony holds onto the chest of drawers to keep him from stumbling. His head is suddenly spinning from the rush of sneezes, knocking him off balance, and he feels as if he might’ve crashed onto the floor if Steve hadn’t immediately been at his side to stabilize him.

Steve’s hands are comforting and strong on his shoulders, calmly guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed. He squats down in front of Tony, brushing his fingers through the brown curls, all messy from wearing the helmet. Then, as Steve about to cup Tony’s tear-stained cheek, Tony swats his hand away, jerking to the side.

“Tschsh! h’Chissh! Tsschoo! Oh… thanks,” Tony says breathlessly as Steve reaches to snag a tissue from the nightstand and presses it into his hand.

“Bless you, Tony.” Steve winces, a concerned frown plastered on his face. “What happened to you?” he asks, taking in the sight of Tony; the teary, red-rimmed eyes and constantly twitching nose instantly noticeable.

Tony gives a futile blow. “Got into a f-fiihhght with an oak treeehh… he’Ishh! snffSNFF!” he explains, gesturing vaguely to his face with the tissue.

“Looks like the oak tree won,” Steve guess, smiling a little now, because even though Tony looks truly miserable, he also looks quite cute when he’s all sensitive and sniffly.

Tony nods, then snuffles into the tissue again. “Didn’t want to distract everyone, so I turned off the comm. It wasn’t working properly anyways, so…”

Steve sighs. “You still should’ve told me… I was starting to get worried.”

“You always worry,” Tony argues lightly. “But I know. snff-snff! And I’m sorry…” Looking over the edge of the tissue, he focuses on the way the corners of Steve’s mouth twitch, slowly curling into a soft smile.

“It’s okay, honey… Bless you,” he adds, chuckling as Tony catches a stray IIh’tsh! in the tissue, both hands cupped over his nose and mouth. Tony shoots him a disapproving glare as he lets out sudden t’Chiew! that leaves him sniffling madly. “I thought the suit took care of all that,” Steve says, referring to the filtration system that should’ve kept the pollen out but funnily enough didn’t this time around.

“Y-yeah, well, it does.” Steve’s brows furrow in confusion, so Tony goes on to explain: “I had my faceplate off for a minute and I think some of the pollen got in when I went head-to-head with the oak…”

A low rumble of a laugh escapes through Steve’s lips, smile stretching wide.

“Are you laughing at my misery, Steven?” Tony feigns offense. “How could you?”

Steve catches his lower lips between his teeth, ducks his head slightly as he shakes his head fondly. When he looks back up, his eyes are sparkling with so much affection and love. Tony is having a hard enough time breathing as it is, but when Steve looks at him like that, breathing is downright impossible.

“No. No, I’m just… You take aliens and androids out like it’s child’s play, but go one round with an oak and you’re all…”

“Sniffly? Gross? Miserable? Looking like death? Yeah, well…”

Steve laughs again, the sound making something inside Tony’s chest flutter.

“I was going to say sensitive and cute,” Steve corrects, “but sniffly is pretty accurate, too. Not the rest, though.”

Tony is glad he still has the tissue pressed to his face, because he can feel his cheeks go a little warm at how Steve’s voice has gone all sweet and tender, and Steve, that bastard, likes to tease him when he blushes like this.

Of course, Steve notices anyways and takes Tony’s hands in his so he can lean in to nuzzle his nose against Tony’s, making it quiver a little at the gentle touch. He goes on to place a trail of kisses along Tony’s jaw, then his neck.

Tony closes his eyes, biting back a pleased sigh as Steve’s soft, plumb lips feel heavenly against his skin. Placing a hand on the back on Steve’s neck, he lets his fingers play with Steve’s sweaty, dirty hair and pulls him closer.

Feeling Steve’s breath tickle behind his ear sends a shiver down Tony’s spine, and this time he really can’t help the quiet whimper that slips out. He knows Steve heard it, because he snorts and begins nibbling at his earlobe, which—

“We have to stop,” Tony says hoarsely, immediately regretting being the responsible one of the two. “We need to get cleaned up before debrief.”

Steve pulls back slowly, raising an amused eyebrow. “You sure you didn’t hit your head out there too, Mr. Stark?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I won’t be able to resist you if we don’t stop now. Plus, I can feel another sneezing fit coming on, so I should probably go shower and down some heavy-duty allergy meds,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.

Steve nods, understanding, but in an instant, his eyes light up, looking at Tony with a shy yet mischievous smile. “Requesting permission to join you in your shower, Mr. Stark?”

Tony has gotten really bad at telling Steve no over the years. Not that he would ever want to.

“Permission granted, Captain.”

[harry-styles-sunflower]

Meeting You In The Hallway

a/n: HII lovely people! I hope you are all doing well today! This is part 1 of Meeting you in the Hallway. Part 1 is a bit short because it’s an introductory chapter, but I do plan on making the chapters as I go. I’ll put specific warnings in the beginning of each chapter.

What it is: You move into the apartment across the hall from Harry and you begin a friendship which you both want more from but can’t communicate that want. AU. 

Word Count: 1.9k

Pls reblog if you like it 😊

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You had finally raised enough money to buy your own apartment right around the corner of Central Park. You were a registered nurse in the city, but the city was nothing new to you. You had grown just outside of the city your whole life. You worked on 5th Ave so buying an apartment near Central Park was just perfect. Today, Sunday, was move in day and you didn’t come with a lot. Few boxes and basic furniture. Your apartment was on the top floor which gave you the most beautiful view of Manhattan. There was only one other apartment across from yours because you were all the way at the end.

You got to your apartment around noon and began bringing up all your boxes after your mom and dad helped you bring up your bed, couch, and dining room table. You’d get the rest with time. With the view you had you weren’t in a rush to buy a tv. Just a good book and a chair was fine. “Have you met your neighbor yet?” Your mom asked. “No, not yet. Hopefully soon. The seller said he was nice. Not too loud” you shrugged. You figured that maybe it was just a bachelor business man who worked a lot, like you.

Once you finished bringing everything up to your apartment, you said goodbye to your parent’s downstairs. You thanked them as they gifted you a frame of you with them on your graduation day. Their smiles full of pride. “Alright bye, we love you. Stay safe okay? Call us if anything.” Your mom said trying to not get teary eyed. You stayed home for college so this was the first time she felt like she was letting her baby go. “Okay mom, I love you too.” You waved bye to them and then walked back inside saying thank you to the doorman. You’d learn his name another day. Right now, your back and feet were just killing you. You took the elevator upstairs, playing with your new keychain. Apartment 17G. You looked at it happily as you walked back to your apartment. Enchanted by your key you didn’t even notice the man right in front of you until you bumped into his hard chest.

“Ow, sorry. My bad” you looked up and saw two pools of green. Slightly intimidated you looked away and stepped back. His eyes remained on you, studying you, wondering if he’s ever seen you around.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. 'Scuse me” And just as fast as you bumped into him, he was gone. You looked behind you as he left. Noticing just how tall he was. With a sigh you continued your walk until the end of the hallway. You opened your apartment door and closed it behind you. You leaned against the door and let out a sigh. Green eyes on your mind. You heard the door across your apartment open and then close. You grunted; upset you missed your neighbor. Just a few seconds too late. You were hoping to get along with them at the very least.

That night you decided to order in pizza and drink some wine on your balcony. Basking in the last few nights of summer. You looked over to your right and noticed your neighbor’s balcony. It was simple, two chairs and small table.  A few plants near the edge. “Green thumb” you said to yourself sipping your wine.

Eventually it become dark and you grew tired. You cleaned up your kitchen and organized your cupboards just enough to get rid of one box. On your way to shower and call it a night you remembered to check your door. "Can never be too safe" you thought to yourself. As you checked your door, you felt your feet crumple some paper. Confused, you bent over and picked it up.

“Hi, um I think you moved in today. If not, you’ll just see this whenever you do, I guess. Well just wanted to say welcome to the building. Guy across the hall, 17H.”

With a small smile you brushed your fingertips over the handwriting. This was a sweet gesture and your apartment began feeling even more like home. A possible friend you thought. No, you hoped. As you laid in bed about to sleep, you thought of your neighbor in 17H. Was there a reason why the H was underlined? But as you closed your eyes you remembered those two pools of green.

 ~~~

 The next morning was a Monday. You were off that night so you woke up and decided to unpack as much as you can.

During breakfast, you saw the note your neighbor had left you. You flipped it over and wrote, "I'm moved in, thank you for the warm welcoming." You debated whether or not to ask if you should grab a drink together. Instead you settled on, "Meet you soon. Girl across the hall, 17G." After you finished your breakfast you quietly opened your door, setting a stopper so you didn’t get locked out, and slid the note under 17H's door. You hurried inside. You were still only in your pjs and a robe, hair a mess.

When Harry woke up on Monday morning, he got up and put on a tank top, shorts, and sneakers. He tried to go for an early run, before there were too many people in the vast Central Park. He liked the feeling of morning air. As he was about to leave, he thought about the girl he bumped into yesterday. He was so focused on this new song he was writing he didn’t even notice her. She was also pretty short. He had a small gig the next night at a small café. He was getting less nervous of performing in front of people but he got nervous when they were his own songs. He cleared his head and left for his jog. On his way back, he stopped by a bakery and bought some fresh bread and a few pastries. The small bakery reminded him of his old job from when he was a teenager.

When he got home, he barely noticed the paper on the floor. When he flipped it over, he half smiled at the bubble handwriting. So different than his. "Meet you soon" he repeated to himself. He debated going right over and knocking, but then he remembered he was a sweaty mess and didn’t want that to be your first impression of him.

~~~

By lunch time you decided you needed to buy groceries. No more eating out. You grabbed your bag and a light sweater. The day had gotten a little bit cloudy. You tucked a mini umbrella just in case. That’s the kind of person you were. You were cautious, always prepared, because you know... Just in case.

You walked downstairs and introduced yourself to the doorman. You found out his name was Pat and he was retiring next year. He was a sweet old man. You walked to Whole Foods to buy your essentials for now and picked up some soup. You'll have something to keep you warm if it rains. You put the soup into your cart and debated whether or not if you should buy ice cream. You thought oh fuck it, you were getting your period soon anyway. You'd need it. You bought chocolate, vanilla, and butter pecan. You decided it was time to go before you bought the whole store. You approached aisle 5 and leaped for joy inside because there was no line, the customer just leaving. The customer looked familiar though, his back looked familiar. A light bulb lit in your head, that was the guy from yesterday. The one you bumped into. For New York City to be so big, it was interesting how you saw him again.

You paid for your groceries and made small talk with the cashier about the weather. Both of you a little upset that it was one of the last few days of summer and it was cloudy. You walked back to your building a little faster as the clouds got darker. Once you made it inside and up to your apartment door you put your bags down and reached inside your purse for your keys. As you were about to put your key in the keyhole, you heard an enthusiastic "Hi!". Jumping you dropped your keys.

"Oh, shit sorry, didn’t mean to scare you" he said as you both reached for your keys causing you to both bump heads.

"Ow!" you both said and laughed a little. You both fell back onto the floor. Still laughing lightly. When you finally focused on who the man was you realized who it was. "Oh my god, it’s you. From yesterday" you said. He looked at you with eyes squinted. "Oh yeah. You." he looked you up and down. "So, you're the girl from 17G" he said as he pointed to your apartment door. "17H?" you asked. "Yep, H was underlined because my name is Harry" he said. You couldn’t help but like the way he said his name. His accent almost stretching his name out. "Oh. Makes sense. I'm y/n." He brushed his hands on his thighs and reached over his hand for you to shake. "Nice to meet you, y/n". You shook his hand. "You too, Harry."

He kept ahold of your hand. You realized how soft his hands were. He slowly stood up while still holding your hand and gently pulled you up.

"Thanks" you said wiping your hands on your jeans. You had trouble looking him in the eye. The green was so beautiful you were scared you'd get lost. His sharp facial features reminded you of one of your favorite characters, Stefan Salvatore for some reason.

"Do you need help? Err carrying that stuff inside?" He asked pulling you away from your thoughts.

"Oh um, no actually. Thank you but I'm okay." you said and turned to open your door.

"Okay. Um well, if you ever need anything."

"Yeah thanks. Appreciate that" you smiled up at him. Looking him in the eye for a second. He was so tall.

"Yeah of course. Just knock" he said and as soon as he said it, he realized how dumb he sounded. Why did he feel so nervous?

"I think that may be my only option. No doorbell" you said teasing him a little.

"Yeah" he said looking down, feeling stupid.

To cheer him up you said, "hey, if you need me, knock three times. That could be our own “homemade doorbell”."

He looked up with a bigger smile and for the first time you noticed his dimples. "Yeah okay, that sounds good. Three times." He nodded.

"Alright. Well, goodnight harry"

"Goodnight y/n"

As you both closed your doors behind you, you both replayed how you each said each other’s name. The way your name sounded with his English accent and the way his name sounded with your American accent.

 ~~~

Part 2 is now up!

[creepingsharia]

Minnesota: Ilhan Omar Connected Cash-For-Ballots Voter Fraud Scheme Corrupts Elections

Ilhan Omar Connected Cash-For-Ballots Voter Fraud Scheme Corrupts Elections: 'These Here Are All Absentee Ballots...Look...My Car Is Full..." 'Money Is The King Of Everything'

Ballot Harvester Liban Mohamed: “Money is Everything. Money is the King in this World. If You Got No Money, You Should Not Be Here, Period. You Know What I am Saying? Money is Everything and a Campaign is Managed By Money.” 

 Mohamed: “Numbers Do Not Lie. Numbers Do Not Lie. You Can See My Car is Full. All These Here Are Absentee Ballots. Can’t You See? Look at All These, My Car is Full.”

Paid Voter: “When We Sign The Voting Document and They Fill It Out Is When They Give Us The Money,”… “The Minute We Signed The Thing [Ballot] For The Election. That’s When We Get paid.”

Ballot Harvesting Triangle: River Plaza Apartments, Horn Towers seniors Community and 980 Hennepin Polling Site All Subject to Fraud

Minneapolis Somali Community Insider: “It’s an Open Secret” … “She [Ilhan Omar] Will Do Anything That She Can Do To Get Elected and She [Omar] Has Hundreds of People on The Streets Doing That.”

Seniors at Horn Towers Ballots Compromised; Harvester: We “Request” Ballots For The Seniors and Then Take Them Away.

[Minneapolis--Sept. 27, 2020] Project Veritas investigators revealed a ballot harvesting scheme here involving clan and political allies and associates of Rep. Ilhan Omar (D.-Minn.) in the first of a series of reports.

“Numbers don’t lie. Numbers don’t lie. You can see my car is full. All these here are absentees’ ballots. Can’t you see? Look at all these, my car is full. All these are for Jamal Osman... We got 300 today for Jamal Osman only,” said Liban Mohamed in a series of Snapchat videos posted July 1 and July 2 on his own Snapchat profile.

Mohamed said he was collecting the ballots to help his brother win the city’s Aug. 11 special election for a vacant Ward 6 city council race—which was held the same day as the primary for Omar’s MN-05 congressional seat. Ward 6 is the heart of the city’s Somali community and the Omar’s political base.

James O’Keefe, the founder and CEO of Project Veritas, said: “Ballot harvesting is real and it has become a big business. Our investigation into this ballot harvesting ring demonstrates clearly how these unscrupulous operators exploit the elderly and immigrant communities—and have turned the sacred ballot box into a commodities trading desk.”

O’Keefe said, “We are showing Americans what is really going on in one of our great cities—but, it's not me saying—we have the operators on tape saying it all themselves.”

Our investigation found that among three locations inside Ward 6, a ballot harvesting triangle,  where the scheme operates: the Riverside Plaza apartments,  the senior citizen community at Horn Towers and the Minneapolis Elections and Voter Services office at 980 E. Hennepin Ave., which also functions as a voting location and ballot drop-off site.

Mohamed continued: “Money is everything. Money is the king in this world. If you got no money, you should not be here period. You know what I am saying.”

Mohamed said that his political methods are interwoven with money. “Money is everything and a campaign is managed by money. You cannot campaign with $200 or $100 you got from your grandmother or grandfather. You cannot campaign with that. You gotta have an investment to campaign. You gotta have fundraisers.”

Hennepin County Attorney Jeff Wojciechowski told a Project Veritas journalist on a recorded line the ballot harvesting conduct described to him was: “Illegal, and we will be investigating.”

Somali insider stepped forward to expose election corruption in Minneapolis

Central to the Project Veritas investigation was Omar Jamal, political insider active in the city’s Somali community. Jamal works with the Ramsey County Sheriff Department and is the chairman of the Somali Watchdog Group. “I have been involved in the community for the last 20 years.”

“Omar Jamal is the latest brave Project Veritas Insider to come forward and expose a voter fraud scheme in Minnesota that will shock you,” said O’Keefe. “When we spoke with Omar Jamal, he actually repeated part of our PV Insider motto: 'Do Something.'”

Jamal said he was motivated to reach out to Project Veritas, because he wants to eliminate the corruption that weakens his community, such as the ballot harvesting practiced by Minnesota’s Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party, in which Ilhan Omar has emerged as a rising power broker. 

“It's an open secret,” he said. “she [Omar] will do anything that she can do to get elected and she has hundreds of people on the streets doing that.”

The political insider said he hopes there is still time to clean up elections in the country.

“If American people don't pay attention to what's happening, the country will collapse,” he said.

“The regulations, if you ignore that and you let corruption and fraud become a daily business and then tough luck, the country will not exist as they [Americans] know it,” Jamal said.

“I'm afraid it's already too big to stop, you know, maybe it's too late. Maybe it's already too big to stop,” he said. “There's a lot of people invested in this, you know, and they don't care how they did it: ‘We win,’ and that's it.”

Ballot Harvester described how his own ballot was harvested by Omar operatives

Jamal, as part of his participation in the investigation, interviewed a Somali-American who functions as a ballot harvester his community. In the interview, the harvester described how he was paid to vote in the Aug. 11 special election and primary, along with a Project Veritas undercover journalist. The harvester said Somali-American vote-buying operatives from the Omar machine came to his apartment building to oversee the voter filling out the paperwork.

Omar operatives request the ballots and fill them out for the voters, he said.

“They come to us. They came to our homes. They said: ‘This year, you will vote for Ilhan,’” he said. “They said: ‘We will make the absentee ballots. We will fill out the forms for you and when you get them back, we will again fill it out and send it.”

There was no need to go to the voting site, because the Omar operatives told him: “You stay home and you will not go to the place.”

After the ballots are signed and documented the harvester said he got paid. “When we sign the voting document and they fill it out is when they give us the money,” he said. “The minute we signed the thing [ballot] for the election. That’s when we get paid.”

Ballot harvester describes how he targets elderly voters

Omar Jamal: So they [ballot harvesters] will request it [the ballot] for the elderly? Ballot harvester: Yes. They [ballot harvesters] request [the ballot] for them [the elderly]. Omar Jamal: And it [the ballot] is taken away from them [elderly]? Ballot Harvester: Yes. It [the ballot] is taken away from them [elderly].

DFL operative describes why he did not speak up about the election corruption

A political operative, known as Jamal, for Minnesota’s Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party, which functions as the state’s official chapter of the national Democratic Party, told a Project Veritas undercover journalist he was afraid to speak up when he saw abuses of the voting system.

“They fight you if you speak up,” Jamal said. “Like what? Like what can I do? Like get jumped? Hell no. They ain’t got—no, no, I’m good.”

The DFL operative said he also saw Mohamed’s Snapchat videos. “I was looking at them and they were not filled. They were blank.”

“Liban didn't get it in a unique way,” he said. “He just gets them the way that everybody before him, or even, maybe even after him will do, which is go to the elders, maybe bait them and collect and help to them and he’s helping them--so, I think that's the process of collecting from the seniors, from their buildings.”

The Insider said another corrupting effect is the miseducation of the city’s new immigrants.

“We have to understand that the immigrants mostly, here now, are first generation immigrants,” he said. 

“Through no fault of their own the new immigrants are learning about democracy from the ballot harvesters," he said. "When they get here, because of that ignorance, not knowing how this, all things work. Sometimes they even think it's legal.” – he said.

Documented ballot harvesting, vote buying violates federal and state law

Jered Ede, the chief legal officer for Project Veritas, said Mohamed and his confederates may have violated both state and federal election laws, some carrying a maximum penalty of five years imprisonment.

“The federal laws, 18 USC §597 and 52 U.S.C. §10307(c), are quite clear,” he said. “In the case of 18 USC §597, it is punishable by up to two years in prison and in the case of 52 USC §10307 it’s punishable by up to $10,000 in fines and up to five years in prison.”

The Minnesota statute, 211B.13(1) prohibits paying a person or receiving money to register to vote or to vote, he said. “This is a state felony punishable by more than one-year imprisonment.”

Beyond paying voters, there are also state and federal laws regarding intimidation of voters, he said.

“The federal laws 52 USC §20511, 18 USC §594 and 52 USC §10307(b) and the Minnesota statue 211B.07 law prohibit anyone from using undue influence threats intimidation or fraud to influence a person’s vote or to influence them to vote at all,” he said.

It's also a violation of federal law for anyone who votes for others illegally:

“The punishment under 52 USC §10307(e) also goes up to five years’ incarceration and a $10,000 fine,” he said.

“In addition to those statutes, Minnesota has another statute, 211B.11(3), which makes it a misdemeanor to induce or persuade a voter to vote for or against a candidate, while transporting the voter to the polls,” he said. 

 Former campaign worker comes forward 

One Minneapolis-based source, who is a former political worker, told Project Veritas journalists on the night of the Aug. 11 special election and primary that Omar’s campaign manager Ali Isse Gainey is a key player in the ballot harvesting scheme. 

The source said, “[Gainey], who's working in Ilhan’s campaign is the one who is managing the voting place. They bring them. They line them. They put the open ballots in there and then they take them in and say, ‘Here,’ and the people mark [the ballots]."

The practice is pervasive she said.

“They're accepting temporary addresses; they're accepting all kind of shenanigans,” she said. 

“People that are showing their ID: ‘I moved 30 days ago, my ID's not come back.’ ‘OK, just give us the last four of your social and tell us the address,' and then somebody else will say 'Yeah.’ They will send people who are helping them vote and saying: ‘Yeah, I can vouch for this madness,’” she said.

The former campaign worker said Isse and the Omar-connected political machine have turned voter fraud into an organized process for application, registering and tracking the harvested ballots from collection to delivering to polls.

“They have perfected this system,” she said. “This is what they do. They will tell you we are applying for your ballot. They take a picture of your social security and your driver's license. They have a database. When the ballot comes, they track it, sometimes, they make fake emails. They track the ballot. Then, they come and pick up the ballot—unopened,” she said.

“So, there is vested interest, but we are victims of the system,” she said. “They [the Omar political machine] don't give a shit about any Somali.”

Our source was disgusted by the exploitation of her vulnerable community.

“No, and the ones that didn't vote on ballots, the young people, and the women and stuff, they were paying cash, cash, cash,” she said. “They were carrying bags of money. And when you vote and they mark you off, then you get in the van, they give you the cash.”

[axiomsofice]

2021 Playoff Preview

WEST

1. Colorado: hitting their stride at the perfect time, key players are back from injury. Healthy goalies go a long way (as they found last year). Makar deserves Norris consideration. On top of all their riches Jost and Timmins have finally started to live up to their potential. Don’t forget Newhook and Byram are on the way up as well. This group should be a cup contender for the next 5 years or so. With all that being said it took Tampa quite some time to turn their talents into a cup, and only time will tell if the Avs are able to love up to their projection. 2. Vegas: this team is big and strong and feasted on the lower half of the west division just like the avalanche. One of the most undersold additions of this off-season is probably Pietrangelo, joining Theodore and a strong and young blueline that boasts some really good defenders in Whitecloud and Hague. Yes, Chandler Stevenson is not quite the flashiest name at 1C (he does a good job tho, don’t get it twisted), but even the bottom portion of the forward group has players who are strong, fast, and skilled, such as Roy, Tuch, and Kolesar. A cup win this year is very much in play, but the future is not without hope should Glass and/or Krebs ever blossom into what Stevenson is not. 3. Minnesota: Although a playoff berth without much of a chance to go all the way is not new for the Wild, the sense of ascension in a optimistic future is a welcome change. Even without a series win, the foundation of a strong performance could be a crucial step in their building. 4. St. Louis: letting your captain and best defencemen (player?) walk is certainly a choice. Reminds me a little of Washington letting Trotz walk. I must also admit I’m not a huge believer in Binnington. They’ll need Kyrou and Thomas to continue expanding their influence as the years go, but it’s hard to see this group replicating their success from 2019. Shout outs to Perron for aging like fine wine.

Final four pick: Vegas over Colorado

EAST

1. Pittsburgh: Yes, the goaltending is more stable than last year, but another huge aspect in what looks to be a much stronger iteration of the Penguins is the success of Matheson-Ceci. The duos play has definitely helped Marino-Pettersson to develop at their own pace, not to mention Dumolin-Letang to round out an understated but very strong blueline. Carter has been a great addition and has still got game, people sleep on you when your team isn’t good (I see you Anze Kopitar). Between their cups wins the Pens looked like an easy out at times, but I see that more as a testament to Crosby and Malkin being able to cruise into the playoffs. When they are on they could easily go all the way. 2. Washington: Some have been waiting for the bottom to fall out with this aging group, although they managed to pace the division for large parts of the season. Although Chara joins a defence group that is probably at its best since the Cup win, there are questions up front and in net. Mantha is a nice addition (maybe not worth the price) but there are a lot of injuries heading into the post season. Samsonov and Vanecek have been alright in net, but it is a lot to ask of two young goalies. In 3 years that tandem could be really strong but to this point it hasn’t been elite level. 3. Boston: finally the blueline is healthy. The second line, rather the forward group in general is as strong as it’s been in years. Swayman and Vladar provide some post Rask optimism, but for now there’s not much to be critical about throughout this lineup. 4. NY Islanders: This team is not exciting but they get the job done. They ended Pittsburgh’s 8 series winning streak a few years ago. Barzal/Nelson/Pageau is really solid down the middle. The defence would look a lot better with Toews. I might pick them to beat Washington in a series but that’s about it.

Final four pick: Boston over Pittsburgh

CENTRAL

1. Carolina: This team is stacked. The blueline is very deep. The goalies have all been good in large part thanks to their overall team structure (I’d go Mrazek/Nedeljkovic/Riemer FWIW). Trocheck has fit in so nicely and really shine with Necas, who is big, fast, and skilled, and often looks like he can do anything on the ice. Svechnikov is still coming into his own, but is not being relied on more than he can handle at this point. 2. Florida: This has been the most surprising and fun team of the season. It’s nice to see players like Duclair, Verhaeghe, and Bennett excel when given the opportunity. Splitting Barkov and Huberdeau was huge, and adding lots of sandpaper with the likes of Hornqvist, Wennberg, Gudas, and Nutivaara has helped solidify the bottom of the roster. It sucks that Ekblad is out for sure, although hopefully both he and the Panthers can carry their success into next year, regardless of how a very tough opening round in the battle of Florida unfolds. They really got pooched in the last expansion draft so hopefully that does not repeat itself, although youngsters like Tippett, Denisenko, and down the road Noel and Lundell should help prevent too much of a regression. 3. Tampa Bay: What to say? The defending champs hitting the post season in a return to full health. A roster with no holes, lots of continuity and the best goalie in the world (?) at this point. There’s not much reason to pick against them besides hockey is strange and random and Florida is more fun. Big shout outs to the NHL’s first all Black line, as Mathieu Joseph, Daniel Walcott, and Gemel Smith got the opportunity to start late in the season. In particular Joseph and Smith are players who have had really strong results in short stints fighting for a regular spot in this loaded Tampa lineup (also, shout out to their brothers, Givani Smith and P.O. Joseph who should have a shot at being NHL regulars next season). 4. Nashville: The Preds have the goaltending and defensive structure to pull off an upset. Both the 1st round matchups in this division embody why I really enjoyed this division, as geographical rivals have the chance to square off. In all, this division could provide the most entertainment of round 1.

Final four pick: Carolina over Florida

NORTH

1. Toronto: I will probably be writing more Toronto centric pieces so I’ll keep it short. In three short (actually painfully long) years as GM, Dubas has kept the “can and will” big four and changed the rest of the team to compliment their skill sets and short comings. This team is easily the favourite to come out of the North Division. 2. Edmonton: McDavid is on another level. Seeing some clips in the fall (off-season) it’s as if my eyes forgot how fast he really was, as upon seeing some clips of his I could’ve sworn were playing in fast forward. Draisaitl is really good too. Similar to Dubas, GM Holland has built a roster that compliments his offensive stars, although his route there has involved more patience than anything. Tippett and Smith have been the forefront of their defensive prowess, it’s hard to overlook the effect that defenders like Nurse and Bear have contributed to this new facet of their identity. 3. Winnipeg: the Jets are very much limping into the post season, although they do have the goaltending to pull off upsets, and the talent up front to score opportunistically. In all their blueline and defensive play in general is underwhelming. 4. Montreal: The Habs successfully outlasted the mediocrity in the lower portion of the division to hold onto the last spot. They do have the physicality and depth to outperform their talents in the playoffs as we saw last year, although a lot will have to go right for them to pull off an upset or two, including a vintage Price performance in net should he be available.

Final four pick: Toronto over Edmonton

[friendlylocalwhumper]

content warning: a central point of this drabble is that there is a lot of blood, to the point that i think it’s gore. also please check the tags for squicks!

Thin, jagged gasps slip out of Lux - quiet, quiet. He needs to listen. Listen to the footsteps, the man walking around. Taking a break from using the knife, or giving Lux time to gather himself for the next round.

The footsteps sound like they’re headed toward the windows. There’s a soft scraping and sliding: the fabric-lined cover of a book getting pulled across the surface of a shelf. The man makes a short amused sound.

“Weird old books. You like to read?”

Twisting his raw wrists in the rope binding them above his head, Lux licks his lips, clears his throat. They’re Emory’s books, but Lux won’t dare mention his boyfriend, put his life at risk. “I, I try.”

“You try? What, can’t read?”

“No, I just…” The blindfold secured over his eyes makes him terribly anxious, but the cloth gag out of its place and resting loosely across his throat is easily worse. Any touch there, any pressure at all, and it’s like his lungs forget how to do their job. It doesn’t help that there’s a knife in his stomach. “Nnh. I, ‘s hard, for me, to s-stay focused. I don’t, I, do-on’t get through books ve-ery fast.”

“Hmm.” The book slides back into its place on the shelf and the footsteps start up again. Lux can’t tell which direction they’re headed in, just that they’re still behind the sofa. He hears a small metal-on-wood sound, a clinking of glass. “Cute picture. You and him really look happy.”

It’s the picture frame from the little table under the windows, the picture of Lux and Emory on the beach. Lux usually feels proud when he sees it, a rare time that he let himself show his scars outside, and even rarer for someone capturing it with a camera - but now he feels nauseous at the thought of it, of this man seeing him and Emory holding hands and commenting on it like Lux isn’t lying in a pool of his own blood across the room.

The picture frame is set down. Footsteps. Lux can’t see, can’t be sure of his hearing. A stray whimper escapes him here and there as he waits for something to happen.

Footsteps on the kitchen floor. The fridge opens with a funny suctioning sound and a whirring hum of electricity. Something clinks. Is he taking something out to drink? Yes, a soda is opened with a crisp snap.

“Such a good host,” Jokes the man, and then he sets down the can, walks over. Lux shudders against the floor and clenches his jaw. “Okay. Tip your head back, now. Better angle.”

A tremulous breath. Lux obeys, or thinks he does, letting his head fall back an inch. There’s movement, the man’s shoes meeting the floor, the sound of someone crouching nearby, Lux has heard that enough times - fingers are in his curls in an instant and his hair is grabbed onto, his head shoved back until his neck is bared.

A moment passes, a terribly tense moment. Is the man angry, watching for rebellion, for a surrender? Is he looking for something? Does he just like to move suddenly and grab so that Lux takes these breaths that squeak with pure terror?

The hand leaves his hair, but the man doesn’t move away. Head still tipped back between his arms, his elbows are straight above him in the air, arms at a loose angle with his wrists tied to the leg of the sofa.

He wasn’t tied the whole time. He was just pinned, and then the weight lifted off of him, and he struggled. He pushed and scrabbled and stumbled to his feet to run. His bloody hands slipped against the walls, his shaking legs wobbled under him - and he was tackled, pinned, beaten. As if the guy didn’t love the rush of letting him think he could escape.

“Time for more of the knife, now. You know what that means, right? Say yes, last thing you’ll get to say for a while.”

“Y-yes.” Fingers brush against his throat, and Lux yelps. His attacker laughs as he scoops up the gag and pulls it back up to slide between Lux’s teeth. He even grabs Lux’s hair to pull his head up and pat his cheek before shifting to reach for the knife embedded in the warlock.

A long, winding keen slips out of Lux along with the knife’s blade. A hand presses over the wound, pushing down on it, around it - not to staunch the bloodflow, but to dip into the blood that spills out. The warlock’s jaw is grabbed, and the smell of the fresh blood so close, his blood, makes him eke out a muffled whine and try to turn his head away.

“Hey, hey. Calm down. Just making it a little more colorful. It’s a real shame that that blindfold’s on, you know? This place is covered in blood, I’d love for you to see it. You’d probably faint. But I guess it’s better this way, huh? Long as the blindfold’s on, you might get to live!” At Lux’s frightened sound, the man hums “mmhmm” in patronizing agreement. “If you see my face, I can’t let you go, can I? That blindfold comes off and you know you’re about to take this knife right in the head. So it’s good that I put that thing on you in the first place.”

Lux nods, petrified and eager to show his understanding, his gratitude. He doesn’t want to die, it’s worth the terror of not seeing what’s coming to get to live.

“Yeah. Okay, more knife.” The tip of the blade taps against Lux’s chin as if to tease him for letting things veer off-topic, and then it’s in Lux again, buried right into him with a quick, harsh stab down into his belly. The muffled scream that comes is answered with the blade sliding back out, and back in, a few inches to the side.

“Bit loud there, Lux. Got you gagged for a reason.”

The warlock whimpers behind the gag, nodding again in a wordless apology. His body shifts restlessly as the knife is pulled out again and dragged across his skin in search of a good place to be pushed back in.

Time drags on like taffy being pulled, stretched, wound across metal arms to droop and fold. Lux’s head remains tipped back as he takes slow shuddering breaths through the pain. He passes out, he thinks - get dizzy and nauseous, and then jerks awake, the knife lodged in a different part of his body, the man on the other side of his limp body. The warlock chews idly on the gag, tongue heavy and unwieldy. He whines.

“What? Yeah, it hurts, obviously. Why you making sounds again?” Fingers tap against Lux’s cheek, then slip under the gag to pull it out. Lux licks his lips and closes his mouth. “What’cha whining about?”

“Mmh, th-, th-...” The warlock’s voice cracks. He wouldn’t need water so bad, he thinks, if he knew he could get some himself whenever he wants to. Knowing he can’t, though, makes the need so much sharper. “Thi-irsty.”

“Oh! Hey, perfect solution.”

The guy gets up and walks away. The knife is on the floor, Lux thinks, definitely not in him right now. Dried blood cracks across his bare stomach as he lets out a slow breath.

The man is back, propping up Lux’s head, tipping a can of soda against Lux’s lips. He drinks eagerly, brows furrowed at the thought of this man having drank from the same can. He doesn’t care about germs, really, it’s just upsetting that this is all so casual, as if they’re close friends and he knows Lux won’t be bothered by it.

“Gotta be flat by now. Been sitting out for a few hours. No use cracking open a fresh one if this one’s sitting around, though, right?” He lets Lux finish off the can. After a second, there’s a rush of air across Lux’s chest and a loud clattering in the kitchen. Lux flinches. The guy threw the can, and missed the trash bin by the sound of it.

There’s a sigh above him. “Guess I’ve had enough time with you.” Fingertips touch Lux’s arm, then his cheek, sliding up to the blindfold. “Thinking about taking this off.”

A chill sinks into Lux’s heart. If the blindfold comes off, he’ll be killed, he remembers. The gag is still out from being given something to drink, he can beg, beg for his life. “Nnh, no, don’t, d-don’t wanna die, please I, I won’t-” The blindfold slips up, pushed so Lux could see if he wanted to. The warlock keens in panic and squeezes his eyes shut. “D-, didn’t see you, I, ple-ease please put it back, don’t ki-ill me, ple-e-ease!”

The man laughs. “Well, you are doing your best, aren’t you? You really don’t want to die. You’re sure you didn’t see me? Not one little peek?”

“N-no I didn’t, m-my eyes were closed the, the, the whole time, please l-let me live, I’ll never - I-I…” Lux isn’t sure what the man wants. He hasn’t said anything about Lux being good. He hasn’t called him a warlock, hasn’t yelled at him for using magic. Maybe he’s just mocking Lux, watching him fumble with his begging before killing him. A whine escapes the bloody, terrified warlock. “I-I just want… Emory.”

“Emory?” A moment passes. “Oh! Your boyfriend? You want him?”

“Mmh, mmhmm. Want… wan’im to sa-ave me, h-help… help me clean up, and f-feel safe, and s-say, say I was brave.” Pitchy warbles take hold of his voice here and there to make it nearly crack into silence. “I, I, d-din’t I… take it well? Di’n’I k-, keep quiet?”

“It’s all those scars, I bet, the ones under all this blood. You’re used to it. And besides, you weren’t all that brave, you made some sounds when you were trying to escape.”

Shame burns across Lux’s cheeks. “I know. I, I… ple-ease, I just, want him to find me, he-elp me.” If begging for his own sake does no good, then he can at least beg for Emory. It would be so much worse for Emory to come home to a corpse than to Lux hurt, bleeding and crying as he so often is.

“...Find you,” Mutters the man, patting Lux’s chest. “Yeah, find you! Oh that’s fun.” The blindfold is pulled back down, and Lux can breathe again. The gag is pushed back between his teeth - frightening, since he can’t beg anymore, can’t argue for his own life - and the knife comes back to his skin. Lux shivers. He thought it would be over, one way or another.

“Need more blood. We’re gonna put on a real show for when your man gets back!”

~

As soon as he opens the door, Emory freezes. Something is wrong.

The lights are off. Yes, it’s daytime, but Lux likes to keep the lights on anyway, so shadows and dark corners don’t trick his mind into seeing movement when no one should be around.

The door was unlocked. Lux keeps it locked, always, so no one can come in without making a lot of noise, or having the key. Especially when he’s home alone, that’s important to him.

Emory steps inside, setting down his bags silently. The framed photos on the table in the entrance are at an odd angle. There’s something smudged on the glass of one of them, but Emory can’t make out what it is in the dark.

He has an ominous feeling that he shouldn’t make a sound, shouldn’t turn on the lights. If someone was here, there’s no knowing if they left.

Carefully, he steps further into the house. There’s another dark smudge, on the wall. As he walks along, he sees bigger smudges, all trailing to a handprint.

He’s near the end of the little entrance hallway now, and there’s more than enough light from the windows to see the color of the smudges. Deep ruddy brown. Dried blood.

Emory turns, stiff with fear, to see a knife on the floor.

There are sounds, he can hear them now, coming from the living room. Whimpers.

He wants to help Lux, he does. He knows those are Lux’s sounds. He knows this is Lux’s blood. It all feels like a nightmare. He just… can’t know what state Lux is in until he sees it. He could just be stabbed through the hand. He could be missing a limb. Emory can’t know. Maybe Lux is dying, maybe he’ll die in Emory’s arms. A small, irrational part of his mind wonders if he can just sit down on the floor, and breathe, and wait to wake up. This can’t be real.

Emory comes out from behind the corner to see it. Lux, lying on the floor, covered in blood. It’s pooled under him, and smeared around him, on the walls, on the rug, on the sofa. Rope is wound around Lux’s wrists to keep him where he is. He’s shirtless, and there are so many new cuts across his front that Emory wonders how long it must have taken to make all of them. His arms are cut into, too, and his sides. It’s so thorough that it had to be slow and deliberate, not a quick brutal attack with rapid-fire stabs and a bolting criminal. This was torture.

Little fluttery breaths make Lux’s ribs rise and fall, blood weeping from the cuts in the skin there. As Emory gets closer, silent with horror, he sees the pink skin of Lux’s scarred wrists, worn raw from struggling. He’s still twisting his arms weakly to pull at rope that won’t give. He’s even letting out little frustrated whines as it gets him nowhere. Sweat beads in the divot between his collarbones, and on his brow.

There’s a strip of cloth tied around his head to serve as a gag, and another one over his eyes. It’s not right, hurting someone in their own home, someone as vulnerable as Lux, and taking away their ability to see and speak. It’s amazing that Lux isn’t sobbing into that gag, that the blindfold isn’t soaked with tears.

Emory crouches next to his boyfriend, hands hovering. Lux quietens his breaths and tips his head to listen. Emory can’t speak, his throat’s clogged with grief.

With his most gentle, most careful touch, Emory tries to move the blindfold.

Lux’s whole body jerks with his flinch, a desperate cry cracking out of him as he tries to hide unders his arms. Wordless, panicked sounds are muffled by the gag. There’s a tremor in Emory hands, now, that echoes Lux’s full-body shaking.

“Hey, Curls, it’s just me. Just me, just Em, honey. I’ve got you.” His voice is hushed. He’s sure that there’s no one else in the house, but this still feels like a delicate, dangerous moment. Lux is so scared, must have been for… hours, probably? Days, maybe.

A smell, one that was vague at first but is stronger now, overwhelms Emory. He blinks, looks around, and finally down at Lux, at his jeans. There’s a slowly growing dark spot there. Emory scared him so bad that Lux wet himself.

The horror settles deeper in Emory at making this more difficult for Lux. How humiliating, how degrading it must be to be tied up on the floor of his own home and cut into, blindfolded and gagged. Emory’s not making it any better.

“I’m sorry, honey.” His voice cracks with guilt. Being upset over seeing all the blood isn’t an excuse for doing this wrong, for scaring Lux after whatever he just went through. There’s so much blood, there are so many cuts, the pain must be unbearable. Lux whines behind the gag. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold, okay? It’s just me, it’s safe-” He tries again, fingers dipping under the cloth, but Lux jerks his head to the other side with a pitchy sound. The warlock is breathing quick and shallow like he’s going to get stabbed for turning away.

“You don’t want it off? ...Okay, that’s okay. What about this?” He taps against the cloth stretched across Lux’s cheek. He gets a hesitant nod in response. “Okay, here goes. Just this one, I promise.” The gag is pulled so it can stretch enough to get out from between Lux’s teeth and be untied. Lux takes deep breaths, rolls his jaw with a wince.

“Em?” Asks Lux, small and unsure. “‘s you?” He shifts uncomfortably, shame settling across his features. Emory cups his cheek and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah, honey. I’m sorry I scared you. I just… I got freaked out. I wasn’t thinking. There’s… a lot of blood.”

A shudder tears through Lux. “H-he said… I know. Ca-an you - please, my arms?” His wrists tug on the rope half-heartedly.

“Yeah, ‘course, I got you.” The rope is wound tightly around itself, stuck in tense knots. Emory pulls at it, digs in with his nails, but can’t get any give at all. The room seems to get physically colder as he remembers the knife lying on the floor nearby. “...Honey, I’ve gotta cut the rope.”

“C-cut the…?” Under all the blood stains, Lux pales. “With the…?”

It’s covered in blood, the blade and the handle both stained. Emory could go get a different knife, or scissors or something… but he doesn’t know if he can stand Lux fearing he’s been left for good when Emory stands and walks into another room. He doesn’t have to patience to do that whole thing. Lux deserves to be free, now.

He reaches for the knife. Freezes, kneeling at Lux’s side, looking down on the blood-stained, cut-up body of his boyfriend, the knife that did it weighty in his hand. If he was Lux, he’s doubt for a second, wonder if he actually did the cutting. But he’s not Lux.

The knife doesn’t do the job as fast as he’d hoped. Emory’s incredibly careful not to slip and nick Lux’s wrist, sawing through one of the rope’s knots. It takes a couple minutes of cutting, Lux’s breaths coming in short gasps, before the rope falls loose and can be pulled apart. As it slides along those raw wrists, Lux moans in pain.

“I’ve got you,” Emory murmurs again as he gingerly lowers Lux’s arms. “There. Better, honey?”

Lux gives a noncommittal groan.

“Do you think I can take off the blindfold now? Now you know it’s safe?”

“Nnh, d-don’t, I - he, h-he said if, if I see him, he’ll kill me, I - d-don’t wanna die.”

The frightened confession steals Emory’s breath. So Lux was attacked, was terrorized. No wonder he’s so scared, even now. “Right. But he’s not here, now. Just me. So it’s safe. He’s gone, you won’t see him.”

Emory slowly helps Lux to sit up, and is beyond relieved to find that there are no cuts across his back. He rubs circles there, eager to comfort in whatever small way he can.

“Mmmnh, but - he… I th-thought he was gone… thought he was, a wh-, while ago, and when - when I tried, to, to get untied, he…” With a whimper, Lux presses a hand to his stomach, over some of the stab wounds. “...Wh-, what if, he’s n-not gone? I, I can’t… I tried, to - to do wha-, whatever I had to, s-so you, you wouldn’t come home, to see… see, me, see me dead.”

Grief clogs up Emory’s throat once again. Lux tips his head to the side, breaths quieting again, listening for a response. He’s scared.

“Sorry, Curls. It’s okay. God, I’m sorry that happened to you. The blindfold can stay on if you want. Let’s just… get you cleaned up, and on the bed, okay? And I’ll… I clean up all the… everything, while you rest. So when you do feel okay to take it off, you don’t see… things.”

~

Pink bathwater drains languidly from the bath, bloody footprints wiped from the tile floor.

The rug, out in the living room, has been rolled up and shoved under the couch - Emory didn’t think it would be smart to toss a blood-drenched rug out on the curb.

The walls and floor are wiped down, but the stains won’t leave. Emory’s checked his bank account on his phone about ten times to make sure he has enough to spend on covering up the flooring and painting over the walls himself.

Lux lies in bed, passed out, pale. His whole chest is wrapped up in pristine white gauze, winding up from his waist, over his ribs, up over his shoulders and down his arms. He was able to relax once all the cuts were covered up, held secure. Blood seeps through the bandages in little spots.

He shook and apologized when Emory helped him get undressed and step into the bathtub. As if the blood was fine, the deep cuts and torn skin, but the fact that Lux wet himself would be enough to frustrate Emory. He just guided Lux to kneel in the water so it wouldn’t rise above his hips, and carefully wash between the cuts. It would be awful to get them infected - he doesn’t even want to imagine the fever that would come, the pain Lux would be in.

At least he’s asleep now. He went boneless, at one point, between getting his body bandaged and making it to the bed. Emory knew the pain was bad, but feeling Lux faint in his arms, it made his heart clench with guilt as if he piled up all the agony on Lux on purpose to knock him out.

So by sundown, the house is as clean as it’ll get. Lux is tended to, safe, set to heal.

Emory sits on the now-bare floor in the living room. The knife lies in his hands, still stained with Lux’s blood.

All he did was spend one weekend away. A convention: books, like-minded thinkers, seminars, vendors, lunches. Three days away from home. Lux had sworn he’d be fine. They texted, right when Emory got in the car to leave; Lux didn’t answer any of the following texts, not for Emory’s whole trip. He thought maybe Lux forgot to check his phone, or was trying to prove he would be fine alone.

Someone took advantage of that, of Emory being gone. Someone knew he’d be gone. Knew that they’d have three days to spend on tearing Lux open and spilling his blood all over their home.

He can’t help but wonder, as his grip tightens on the handle of the knife, whether this was torture for Lux, or a message for Emory.

[alchemic-elric]

They got home late last night.  Late - well into the midnight hours when the train finally pulled into Central and they stumbled their way through the streets to their home off of Wayward Ave. They all parted to their respective rooms and slept.  Today was not pleasant. He’d told himself that he was ready for this but in reality? He didn’t know.  

It was the first time he’d been back on Command grounds since it happened. It had been the first time he’d seen another Amestrian Soldier that wasn’t his father, in uniform, since he took a bullet to the chest. Edward hadn’t been to Central Command in over two months, not since himself and his father were sent down to Aerugo’s boarder to “deal with a threat.”  Stepping onto ground his eyes were filled with the sight of what can only be described as Amestris Blue. Hand in hand in this made it so his eyes couldn’t stop focusing on all the firearms that rested at waists. 

“Who dies first Mustang? You or Your Boy?” 

The voice echoes in his mind, as he flashes back  He flashes back to Amestris Blue filling his eyes when all he could see was his father’s back and the soldiers that surrounded them. He flashes back to that gun drawn on them and it focusing its barrel on him.  He can hear the shot. He can the weapon cock into place and that shot ring out. His chest is on fire as the memory strikes him just as quickly as the bullet did. 

Making his way into command did not help with the twisting in his stomach nor did it help with the fever that was plaguing him. Sol was running a fever - he could tell because this is what his reflected fevers normally felt like. It made him worry for his other half. Their connection was static so he simply left it be. However hearing his voice made his blood run cold. 

"...Oh if it isn't Fullmetal.  I was sure they finally pulled the plug on you. Still around I see." "Good Mornin' Brigadier General Fox. What a pleasure it is ta see you again."  " You're back to dressing out of uniform boy. You need to be in proper attire when you come on grounds." "If I may, Sir, 'm not required ta wear the uniform. In our last inspection I did so outta curiosity."

His voice is tired as he speaks. He doesn’t look in proper uniform no, but also doesn’t look his usual self either. He’s only wearing one coat - his red one of course - and that blond river was twisted and curled high in a tight large bun at the top of his head. His eyes are as tired as his voice. He doesn’t want to deal with his man today. He doesn’t want to deal with the man he’s here to see in the first place.  

"Are you back talking me, boy?" "Forgive m' once again Sir but yer not my Commanding Officer." "I expect you to be dressed properly the next time you come on site. I won't be as lenient with you as your father is." "Don't you think it's in poor taste ta be diggin' inta m' personal records, Sir?"

That’s all he needed to knock the air from his lungs. Gears turned and puzzle pieces fell into place. His eyes went wide as he felt himself frozen and he could see the fury washing over Fox’s features and that instantly wash away just as quickly when a hand came down on Edward’s shoulder.  There was a hardly laugh behind him and he was sure he was choking on nothing in that moment. Even if his fever had only been minor when he ran into Fox, he felt like the entire world was spinning down. His stomach was in his throat and he didn’t have to look to know who was standing behind him. 

“There you are, Edward.” He spoke loudly with a false sense of concern. “I haven’t seen you in so long son. Come with me so we can have our meeting.” 

Fuhrer King Bradley. 

He could only follow with his head down. He didn’t want to talk to him today. Not when he was feeling this miserable. Dizzy, nauseous, and feverous. His head was screaming and standing still at all made his hips ache. The phantom sensation of burning in his chest never left. So when he was asked to stand at ease for the elder man...it proved difficult.  

He couldn’t make eye contact if only for fear of the elder being able to see right through him and the flushed skin that rested over his cheeks. He’s here because Bradley wants to know if he’s well enough to reinstate of active duty and he had to prove that he was. The last thing he needed was the head of the entire Amestrian military knowing that he was in a mass pain and running a fever.  It wasn’t about to help his case. 

There was minor conversation passed between the two, and Edward did his best to answer his questions truthfully and honestly as he found himself bouncing from one foot back to the other often and readjusting his weight to try to relieve his aching hips. 

“Is there a problem, son?”

He didn’t get much of a chance to answer before he felt his eyes roll back in his head and everything blurred out before him. The entire world fell to the side and the rush of blurring color was the last thing he saw before he hit the floor. 

He doesn’t know how he got home. He only assumed that Bradley sent for Mustang and had him drag his ass home. He’s laying in bed now, hair down, stripped down to his shorts and nothing else...he couldn’t even handle the feeling of fabric on his chest. It all felt too tight. For now - now he’ll just lay here and pray for sleep. 

[coastaldragon]

Dragon Diary 1/7/21

So...this is my resolution for the year.

I wanted to start a kin-related diary. I found myself missing how often I used to muse about myself and my experiences here, and have long since felt...detached from myself. Stuck in the loop of going through the motions of “human.”

A week late on my first entry, but so it goes.

These entries will just be flow-of-consciousness blabbles for the most part. I’ll talk about any kin-related thoughts I’ve had that day, how I’ve been feeling, how my otherkinity has affected my day, etc.

I have a lot of catching-up to do with you all, so the first few entries may seem disjointed and a little long. Lets get started. This is long. And a bit negative. But hopefully they won’t all be.

cw for death and drug mention and health talk like needles and stuff

I don’t quite remember why I dropped Tumblr like I did. I think I was getting annoyed at all the UI changes, and just overall very busy with “real life.” These things happen. I slowly drift away from a platform. Sometimes for weeks, months, or years in this case. Then I’ll drift back. Kind of like a scrap of wood on the waves.

In the time I’ve been gone life has been...interesting. The source of the stress that caused me to awaken in the first place is gone. He OD’d in...2014? 2015? Some time around there. My grasp of time is worse than ever.

We hadn’t even known he’d be using anything. Turned out he was stealing my late father’s remaining fentanyl supply. One of those guys who preys on widows like my mother. He lied about everything. His entire past as we knew it was a lie. And he was just leeching off of us.

It was...hard. I was the one who found his body upon getting home from work. My mother is still traumatized, even now. Even after all he did. She did love him.

I think all that hardened me quite a bit. And I’m sad for it. I’m still trying to soften myself again, but my trust has never been shattered like that before or since.

My now health is...poor. I had a great job working at an independent pack-and-mail sort of place for a few years. Very laid back, when the customers were nice. Helped me build a lot of strength and muscle. Quite enjoyed showing off by hefting 50lb boxes onto my shoulders. Helped me feel less weak in this squishy human body of mine.

But about...2 or 3 years ago [again, time is a myth to my brain] I woke up and my shoulders were just.

Locked.

It felt like someone had stuck paint spanners under my shoulder blades or something. Not only that, but I was weak. I barely had the strength in my arms to lift a half gallon of milk in the morning.

We thought I’d just hurt myself showing off, somehow. So we gave it some time. Took ibuprofen, used pain creams. Took a few days off work.

But it didn’t get better. It got painful. And the moreso. And moreso. And then my back began to have trouble as well. It was spreading. I felt...ill.

So. Doctors. Tests. More bloodwork than I’ve ever had in my entire life. [10 vials at once for one appt!]

My primary, who is a garbage person I never wish to see again, insisted it was just a sprain. Or something. Whatever. But I knew it wasn’t. My mother knew it wasn’t. Everyone I knew knew it wasn’t.

Specialist time! At the behest of my cousin, who has a litany of autoimmune disorders, we hooked up with a rheumatologist. Who I will call Dr.M. 

Dr.M is an angel on Earth. I am convinced of it. A full year he spent with me, ordering tests, trying treatments, working with me to figure out what the hell was going on. And we did. And what a mouthful it is.

Ankylosing spondylitis. No, it’s not a dinosaur. [Though I do think I’m ‘hearted for ankylosaurines...I don’t think it’s related lol!]

You can look it up if you like. But basically: My immune system is fucking crazy and attacks all the things. Most places describe it as being a lower spine disorder, and while that is certainly where its centralized in most folks, that’s not all it is.

For example mine is, obviously, centralized in my shoulders and upper back. But it does aaaaaaaaaaall sorts of crazy shit. Every day is different. Joint pain, exhaustion, GI trouble, stomach upset, lack of appetite, murderous migraines. The usual for an autoimmune illness. But also wacky shit like costochondritis [painful inflammation of the cartilage of the ribs], random organ inflammation like in my kidneys [not fun], lungs [I had a 3-month stint of chronic bronchitis last winter], and even my heart [very not fun.] Sometimes it likes to attack my “integumentary system” aka shit like my skin and hair meaning I’ll have weeks where my hair just. Sheds. Like a damn cat. It gets everywhere and w/ my long-ass quarantine hair it’s so annoying.

This attack dog immune system does mean it’s unlikely for me to catch little bugs like your common colds and stuff, which is appreciated. But it also likes to maul anything else it deems foreign. Like medication! I took Humira shots for a few months and had a “paradoxical reaction” aka it did the literal opposite of what it was meant to, because the injections pissed off my immune system so much it went scorched-earth on whatever it could. Mostly my thighs, since that’s where the injections were. I still get stabbing pain in them and it’s been over a year. [No, I don’t think I can sue Humira over this. Though I have discussed it w/ my Dr.]

This also means that if I do get sick, it’s bad news. Something strong and unique like COVID? Death. Deaaaaaaaaath. Would likely trigger something called a “cytokine storm” aka my immune system nukes everything and my organs die and so do I.

So guess whoooooooo’s been locked up at home for almost a full year now? :’)

I luckily am able to work from home, though it barely pays the bills, and my health has suffered from a lack of being able to Do Stuff I normally would.

As a result I decided to get back in touch with myself.

It started with Second Life, because of course it did. A new dragon avatar came out. Shiny and mesh and easy [by SL standards] to modify. So me and a few friends [some kin, some not] made a group for sharing stuff for the av and just hanging out. It’s fallen by the wayside unfortunately but those nights spent chilling in SL with a bunch of other dragons roaring and goofing off felt really really good.

And then I made a kin Twitter. [And found some exceptionally cool kinfolk in the process.] 

Then came Othercon the virtual otherkin convention and OtherConnect, the Discord spawned from the community that rapidly formed within the con. Othercon felt incredible. Panels and lectures about the history of otherkinity and alterhumanity and how we are today and rep in the media and just so! Much! Cool! Stuff! And tons of great kinfolk too! 

To not only be within a community but seeing others like me and speaking with them, not just typing back at words on a screen. It was...so very, very reaffirming. It felt like a second awakening almost. I wanted to cry for finally, truly not feeling alone.

And now I’m here. Because I need to be. Because something, deep down, is telling me I’m going to be needing myself sometime soon. So I’d better get started.

I hope I don’t drift away on the tide again. I’ve missed this site, worse for wear as it is.

But I’m a bit tired today. A nasty headache lingering from yesterday’s nastier flare up. Accursed cold fronts. I used to enjoy them but not so much these days. Ah well.

I know there wasn’t much kin talk in this first entry, but as I said, we had a lot of catching-up to do!