#taylor college auckland

[universitypathways]

Foundation Studies Certificate is a pathway programme that helps international students to gain the English language and academic support to progress to study at the University of Auckland.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Bucky Barnes - False God

A/N & WC - I think this was requested as a blurb for an event that closed a couple months ago, but I liked the idea so wove it into another concept I'd had, and this happened. I don't own the character of Bucky Barnes, nor do I claim to. Please remember that the views I write aren't always my own and that I don't condone these actions, specifically big age gap relationships and underage drinking. This is, first and foremost, a work of fiction. 8.3k.

Warnings - Family friend!Neighbour!suburban!artist!Bucky, pet names, age gap relationship (reader is 20), underage drinking, fake ID, creep in the bar, Bucky being protective, smut: thigh riding, boob play, mutual masturbation. 18+

Summary - Your plans to rile Mr Barnes up backfire, but you might just get away with it. Religion's in your lips, and Mr Barnes is New York City.

‘Just docked in Auckland! Are you keeping the house clean? Is Mr Barnes checking in? NO PARTIES! Text back ASAP!’

You throw your phone across the room the second it buzzes, interrupting your jam to Taylor Swift. When your parents went away on a four month, worldwide cruise, the last thing you expected was a text from them at every single port reminding you to clean the house and cook nutritious meals and not leave laundry lying around. Nothing about how much they miss you, if at all. The closest they got to that was telling you from Bangkok not to have a big party to fill the ‘parent-sized hole’ in the house. As if. Mr Barnes is company enough, and he pops over every few nights with fresh groceries or a new book, just to stop you from getting deathly bored. It’s been over a month, and other than commutes to college, he’s the only face you’ve seen. And a bloody gorgeous one, too. His check ins have been the highlight of your time in the new house. And, though you’d never outwardly confess it, he played a big part in your choice of an in-state college rather than another New England school, despite his promise to visit. He never had to, because he always saw you for bi-weekly dinners with your parents during term time, and now in the holidays, he’s been left ‘in charge’ of you. What a joke, even he knows you don’t need minding, which is why his visits are fleeting. But something tells you that’s not the only reason.

You finish swiping on red lipstick and adjust your LBD. Alexa turns off your music, halting right in the middle of False God. I still do it for you, babe. All that’s left to do is slip your phone into the hidden pocket of your dress and buckle up your heels.

You double check the house one last time, locking the door as you leave. Your house is tucked up a crescent that’s virtually just grass. Off the track are driveways enough for two cars, but space between houses is just lawn, to the point you share a yard with three other houses, including Mr Barnes’.

His is the smallest house on the crescent since he lives alone, but the cottage he swells in is by far the cutest home around, from it’s trimmed garden to florally-adorned porch. It’s a typical 1920s cottage with a dark-wood door and interior design, including the banister. It’s quintessential of Mr Barnes, and though you’ve only been in there a couple times, it’s homely.

You walk up the path, tottering in your heels, and step by the porch swing. Mr Barnes opens the door after a single knock, his tight, layered shirts rolled up to his elbows, displaying his single muscular forearm.

“Y/N!” he says cheerfully, meeting your eyes, but a frown appears on his face when he glances down at your outfit. “Good to see… so much of you.”

You smirk to yourself, his reaction the one you desired. “I was heading out into the city for drinks with some friends… Am I allowed?”

“To drink? No, you’re underage.”

His arms fold over his chest, accentuating the muscles rippling beneath.

“Mr Barnes, I’m just meeting some college friends,” you lie, cocking your head to the side and batting your lashes enticingly, “please?”

He rolls his eyes, and you begin to bounce on your feet, one hand coming up to grip the door frame. Led by blind faith.

“Only if you let me drive you, and let me wait until your friends arrive. I’m your guardian for the time being, I’m responsible for you. I’ll collect you at midnight, as well, and stay in the city just in case.”

“Mr Barnes—” you protest, pouting like a child. This was not the outcome you desired.

“Bucky, c’mon.”

“Fine, Bucky. You don’t have to treat me like I’m five. I am an adult.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, unfolding his arms to grab his leather jacket from the coat hook, “and you’re sure acting like it now. If you wanna go into the city to meet your friends, I will drive you there and back. Yes?”

Fuck. This is gonna backfire, and now you’ll still worship, and you might just get away with it. “Yes, Bucky.”

His car keys are in his hands a second later. “You’re wearing my jacket,” he then warns, “that boob-tube is unacceptable. You know what men are like.”

The warmth of his flesh hand bleeds into you from his hold on the small of your back. You want to shrug him off, prove you’re capable of walking to the car on your own, but it’s comforting. He opens and closes your door before sidling into the driver's seat and handing you the aux.

“Do you want me to stay closeby?” he asks, his voice tender, worried.

“What? No. Why would I?”

“In case anyone tries to pick on you and your friends. In case a man tries to spike your drink. In case a man comes too close. C’mon, doll,” his voice drops to a clandestine whisper, “I wish I could change all men, make them better people, but I can’t and I just want you safe.”

His heart is in the right place, as per, so you indulge him as Taylor Swift starts to play over the speakers.

“I’ll think about it.”

----

The drive is spent in relative silence while Bucky expertly navigates the backstreets of your suburb and out onto the highway until you approach the city. The navigation reads him the directions from there. Every now and again he turns his head towards you, his blue eyes catching on something, but the intrigue in him seems to have evaporated by the time you meet his gaze.

“Doll, why did you choose the lower east side? Are you sure you’re gonna be safe?”

“Um, yeah?” you say, albeit naively, because with his worry and, well, the fact you're a young woman, you can’t be too sure. “It’s convenient, close to the Williamsburg Bridge. You can wait with me if you want, though.”

“Just lemme find somewhere to park…” he trails off, strained, his eyes focussed on the road, his forehead lined, “this place is a goddamn slalom.”

“What’s a slalom?”

He deigns to face you, surprise pulling at his stubble-dusted cheeks as his metal hand controls the wheel. “An English major at NYU and you don’t know what a slalom is? You’re proper West Village.”

Whether you’re affronted or complimented you can’t be sure. Was it a compliment, an insult or a statement? Yes, NYU is right next to Greenwich, but you know… stuff.

“Well did you even go to college, Mr Barnes?” you challenge defiantly, enjoying watching his patience slip as he winds past honking yellow taxis into a side street just a five minute walk to the bar you claimed to be meeting your friends at. Maybe they’ll still turn up after you hectically texted them just after leaving Mr Barnes’ house. Doubtful.

“I attended Auburndale Art School in the thirties,” he announces, melancholy laced in every syllable. The car stalls, and the world hurries on outside your little bubble. “Graduated accelerated, first class with honours. Where do you think all the art in my house comes from?”

“You did all that?” Astonishment dizzies you as his home spins around your mind. Landscapes and contemporary pieces are in his hallway, kitchen and living room, framed and on canvas. You knew he did art, he always had a sketchpad and a pencil around, and you saw an easel that one time you slept over when you got locked out and your parents wouldn’t let you in. “Fuck, Mr Barnes, you’re incredible!”

“Well I’d better be,” he jokes, absently swearing at someone through the window, “because if my art didn’t sell then I wouldn’t be able to afford a place in the suburbs.”

“You could always live with me,” you blurt out, feeling his body temperature rise in the small vehicle. “Heaven knows my parents don’t give one, and I could do with the help.”

He chuckles again, but it’s not all in mirth, not as his flesh hand clasps around your thigh, sending electricity shocking throughout your every neuron. How does he always elicit such a reaction from a simple move?

“Maybe I’ll move in for the next three months, keep you in line, Doll.”

We might just get away with it. Religion’s in your lips.

“Or I could move in with you and just clean the house top to bottom before they get home?”

His lithe tongue darts out from between his lips, swiping over his upper lip and then his lower before it slips back in, before his arm finds its way around your shoulders, his darkening eyes honed in on your every precise move.

“As long as I have you all to myself doll. I might be able to teach you a thing or two about how to close your curtains…” ohhhh fuck. Your thighs clench involuntarily. “Or about how to hang laundry. Or how to use a lawnmower. Your domesticity is pitiful: I’m a man from the war era and I still know how to correctly iron linens.”

“Show off, you.”

He resumes laughing, deep and honeyed, feigning pain when you nudge him, only to dissolve into more laughter to match your giggles. He clicks open his door and slips, agile, around the side, opening your door and passing you the jacket.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s see if your friends arrive.”

He takes a vice grip on your wrist and hoists you up to the point your feet are barely on the ground. He then wraps his flesh arm around your waist, and uses his metal one to wave the traffic around the two of you until you reach the sidewalk on the street where the bar is. Even when he puts you down your heart doesn’t stop racing, your chest doesn’t stop tightening, your core doesn’t stop fluttering. He lifted you and carried you across the road like you were as light as a feather. Holy grief…

“Hand,” he demands.

“What?”

“Hand. You’re holding my hand before someone kidnaps you.” you arch a single brow at him, already knowing that pedestrians are going to be pissed at you for holding up New York walking traffic even in an evening. “I don’t trust men and I don’t trust you in the city.”

“You’re a man. Why should I trust you?”

Pain briefly flickers over his face before he realises you’re joking, exhaling as he seizes your hand with his flesh one and twines your fingers. He should know you trust him: he has a key to your home which he can use at any time, and he’s even used it before while you were asleep because he needed a cooking ingredient. He’s the trusted adult you turn to in times of need. How could he doubt himself? They all warned us about times like this.

“This is it,” you say after a few minutes of walking down the street hand in hand. “You can go now. I’m sure you have plans.”

“Doll, have you ever known me to do anything with anyone?”

You lean back against the wall of the establishment, thinking. That’s a good point actually. He’s a damn recluse. You’ve seen him with a nice man named Sam a couple times, but that’s been when you’ve taken sick days, and possibly with some girl you vaguely recall being called Rebecca at some point, but no. He rarely ever has company other than the neighbours, which is more of a courtesy than a friendship.

“Fair point, Mr Barnes.”

“Bucky. Call me Bucky. My name is Bucky, not Mr Barnes.”

“Sorry,” you say meekly, and shoot him an apologetic glance that you hope he catches in the dusk light closing in, tinged pink, on Manhattan. The silhouette of the skyscrapers looks heavenly, stars twinkling above, but you can barely see it all through the clouds of pollution that invade ninety percent of the sky. “My friends should be here soon.”

“No rush, doll.”

If you’re West Village, Bucky is New York City, and as he leans against you, his arm brushing mine, you don’t care whether or not your friends come… to the unconfirmed plans.

But then five minutes pass. And ten. Bucky hoists you up with one arm and sits you on his strong shoulders when he sees you’re struggling to stand in your heels. He says nothing to start a conversation, so you don’t either, and just thread your fingers through his dark locks. But then it’s been fifteen minutes. Twenty. And you don’t know what else to do.

Your cheeks flare, burning with an embarrassment that has you stumbling over your words and purposely avoiding his eyes when he settles you on your feet.

“They’re not coming are they?” he asks tenderly, sympathetically, tucking an errant lock of hair behind your ear. You shake your head. “I’m so sorry your friends are so flaky. You got all dolled up for nothing. Come inside with me, let me buy you a drink, hm? Then we can drive home.”

“Okay,” you whisper, “thanks Bucky.”

He holds the door for you to slip inside, shuffling over to the bar as he shucks his thumb over to the men’s room with a half smile. He may look in his late thirties—the age your parents believe him to be—but certain elements of his body, including his bladder, prove he’s a hundred. Chuckling, you shrug his jacket off once you reach the sleek black bar and lay it on the stool beneath you. Scanning the bottles, you begin to concoct your cocktail for the night depending on the brands. You’d usually order a strawberry daiquiri but you’re ont drunk enough to stomach their only brand of Malibu just yet. As you reach for your purse, though, there’s a looming presence behind you that doesn’t smell of cedarwood. This is why Bucky wanted to stay. We were stupid to jump, or at least you were, to the conclusion that you’d be safe from the creeps Bucky would carve his soul out to protect you from.

“Hey sweetheart,” his tenor voice croons, “you look like you need some company.”

Ew.

“No thank you,” you answer with confidence, not even bothering to look at him, “my neighbour is in the bathroom. He’ll be out in a moment.”

“Your neighbour?” He scoffs. “I’ll be your daddy if you let me buy you a drink. How about a vodka martini?”

“I said no thank you,” you repeat, grating out every word through gritted teeth.

“You don’t mean it though baby,” he slurs, beer scented breath invading your nostrils like poison, “just take the fuckin’ drink and don’t be a brat, eh? I’m giving you attention, complimenting you. That’s what you want in a dress like that, ain’t it?”

“HEY!” Bucky yells, and all of a sudden, the world is at rights again. “You get the fuck away from her, ok?”

His voice is warning as he speed walks, the villain walk that scares you. He’s got a very dangerous arm, you know he has, and he’s not afraid to use it.

“You the neighbour?” This bloke chokes. “She doesn’t need your ride home, she’s coming with me.”

Shit.

“Bucky...” you whimper, feeling him come closer.

“You’re okay, Doll,” he assures you.

This man won’t be, not as Bucky crowds towards him. He reveals his metal arm now, rotating it all the way round as he clenches his fist, metal crunching as he does so. One hand lands posessively on your shoulder.

“Jeez, ok I’ll leave her alone,” the sleaze concedes. “Maybe just wear a smarter dress next time.”

A flash of metal blurs in the corner of your eye, and the pound of flesh sounds through the entire bar, followed by the subtle squeaking of Bucky’s arm around this man’s throat.

“She said no. Multiple times. Her choice of dress reveals nothing about her sexual availability, just like your shitty talk says nothing about your dick size. Besides, she isn’t even old enough to drink. I warned you to get away from her. If you don’t leave right now then you won’t live to regret it. Yes?”

He nods and scampers away the minute Bucky’s metal fingers slacken, wheezing for breath. Bucky then sets his arm straight, brushes off his shirt, and shakes his head, sidling up on the barstool beside you. The bartender looks over at the two of you from the opposite end of the place, and nods. The singular movement says ‘he deserved it.’ Yes he did. But Bucky won’t meet your eyes, and instead stares out of the bar to where you were standing before. Staring out the window like I'm not your favorite town.

“Mr Barnes? What is it?”

“I’m looking for your friends. Are they the ones who come over for those pamper nights where you never close your balcony doors?”

Slightly startled, you reply, “Yeah, um, Ophelia and Yoe and Bon.”

“I thought so. They’re rude.”

“Bucky! You’ve never even met them!”

“Yeah I have.” His attention turns towards you now, his gaze fixated, focussed as he explains. “I’ve been outside gardening once or twice when they’ve come over. I said hello, shouted that the door was open, because it always is with you,” true, “and they didn’t even say anything, but went on gossipping.”

“That’s because you’re fit as fuck,” you deadpan, and his reaction clearly tells of his surprise, “they don’t know how to speak to you.”

“What? I’m not attractive! Well, I used to be. 40s handsome, y’know? But no one’s interested now.”

Before you can reply to his obliviousness, the bartender waltzes over and asks for your orders.

“Pink gin and elderflower tonic. Single, please,” you order, and flash your fake ID for long enough to pacify them.

Bucky sits, open mouthed staring at you with incredulity dancing in his eyes. A smile dissolves as he shakes his head a little. “Whiskey on ice, please. You don’t need my ID.”

“Got it, Sir,” they say, and nod to the both of you, heading off to make your drinks.

Bucky says, “Fake ID? Really?”

At the very same moment you tell him, “You’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.”

Which ends in a simultaneous, “What?!” But he gestures for you to go first once your glasses slide across the bar in front of you, sweat dripping from them.

“I have a fake ID so I can drink. Pretty self explanatory, I think. I rarely use it. And yes, you are very, very attractive.”

“You really think so?” he inquires, almost timid.

Is this 6-foot Herculean God seriously asking if his tall, dark and handsome (and peachy) ass is attractive?

“Yes.” You take a sip from your drink. “Everyone in the crescent does.”

The affrontation with which he blinks has you in giggles.

“I didn’t realise. Why? What makes me attractive?” He drinks from his glass, slamming it back down with his eyes widening the moment you arch a brow. “Shit, I keep forgetting that you’re twenty. I beg your pardon, don’t answer. God, I’m sorry…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure him, “you’re a ‘dilf’ by your age, even though you have no children.”

“And what, pray tell, is a dilf?”

“A dad I’d like to fuck,” you state, sipping your drink, “fuck, no not me. Just that’s what it means.”

“Alright, doll. Whatever you say.”

“Why?” you inquire, “did the girls not think you were handsome back on the day?”

He drums his fingers against the bar, deep in thought. He shifts his jean-clad legs until his knee brushes yours, the faintest contact rippling through you like a firework. His answer is pensive.

“In the forties, the ladies said I was attractive, like boyish cute. But they liked me for my reputation. I could please them, and I was pretty well, um, y’know…”

He darts his eyes away, subtly sipping on his drink.

“No, Mr Barnes. I don’t know. Please tell me. Please spell it out for my naive little mind.”

“You ain’t that naive,” he grumbles under his breath. If only he knew. “They said I was well endowed. The serum, um, built that up. I’m not sure if I’d even fit in anyone now.”

“I’m happy to be a test dummy,” you say, giggling drunkenly, the gin going to your head. You’re joking, of course, but watching Bucky pale and nearly spit the final mouthful of his whiskey out is worth it… even if you weren’t entirely kidding.

“Shut up. The point is that they liked me for my size, for sex, not looks. I was always insecure about that.”

“Bucky! I don’t want to know about your dick!” You do, but he can’t know that.

“Sorry, doll. My turn to ask.”

Devilishly, you smirk, daring him to go far. “Fire away.”

“Why did you kiss me last year?”

Not that fucking far, Jesus Christ. You wheeze so loudly you could swear the entire bar population turns to look at you, but as your eyes dart around the half-dim establishment, they all seem to be absorbed in their own worlds. Bucky’s head is cocked to the side, expectant. “Can you un-ask that question, please?”

“No take backs,” he smirks.

You huff, downing the rest of your gin and tonic, slamming the glass down with the stem. “Fine. I was drunk, stupid. I’d just turned nineteen and I wanted to be a little reckless. Besides, you kissed me first.”

Does he always look so owlish when he’s surprised? And since when has his voice gone that high? His cheeks so flushed?

“What, when?!” he demands.

“On your hundredth birthday. I bought round that cake, and the letter I petitioned for from the queen, and…” you trail off and squeak, the memory already flustering you despite the pure innocence of it, “you kissed me.”

“Yeah,” he laughs breathily, relief floating in his tone, “on your cheek you horndog.”

You raise my eyebrows, prying, “You don’t know what a ‘dilf’ is but you’ll call me a horndog? Wow.”

“Shut up!” He nudges you with his shoulder, electricity shocking your clouched frame upright. You cross your legs. “Your question now.”

“Why do you not like being called Mr Barnes?” You have some ideas…

“Because it makes me feel old.”

“But you are old.” Were we not just talking about his life in the forties? About his hundredth birthday? Christ…

He gapes momentarily, hastily adding, “That’s not the point,” before pushing his glass across the bar. “Come on, doll. Time to go.”

“No!” you whine in protest, keeping your feet planted on the legs of your barstool, eyes skimming the bottles on the shelves in debate of your next drink…

“Yes.”

And the next second you’re thrown in a fireman's lift over his shoulder, his metal arm hooked around your lower back: dangerously close to your bum. He fishes a ten dollar bill and a couple coins from his back pocket and slams them on the black, sticky bar before exiting. You can’t stop giggling over his shoulder even as he carries you unabashedly down busy New York streets at night, your fists playfully beating on his strong chest as the blood swirls in your head. It doesn’t even pass your mind that your dress is very short and that your panties are even smaller.

We were stupid to jump.

He all but throws you into the car, clearly not co-operating with your antics tonight, perhaps exacerbated by your daring questions. Or maybe, wishful thinking getting the best of you, it could be something else, for example something straining his jeans that definitely weren’t that tight when you left the house.

He hops into the car half-smiling and, jamming the key into the ignition, starts to roll away. One good evening together and you had to go and blow it all up by mentioning the very reason why your parents shouldn’t have left you under his ‘supervision’ for the months they’re away. Not only are you an adult, he’s clearly sensitive, and you don’t know your boundaries if one comment can cause him to react like this.

At least he still lets you choose the aux, Taylor Swift filling the car while no words are exchanged between the two of you.

They say the road gets hard. They aren’t wrong.

True dusk closes in and envelops your world as you drive further from the bright lights of the big city and approach the sparse suburbs, trees shadowed and arching around your hometown. Even the stars that shine don’t shine so bright, twinkling in the sky as you’re able to see the ink spilling over the earth.

Your romanticism of the journey home and the acoustic tracks that spill from the speakers don’t make the drive any less tense. He opens your door when you get back to his house, still, and makes his way up the path, unlocking his own door and leaving it open for you as he drops his keys in the bowl and saunters through the house. You half smile at the casualness of the action. We might just get away with it.

Gathering your belongings, you step out of the car on unsteady footing and totter inside, glimpsing at your house. It’s so… unhomely compared to Bucky’s. It barely even looks lived in. Both cars are in front of the house, the kitchen and landing lights on, the alarm system activated, the latter two which you can control with your phone. You can survive without going home.

“Mr Barnes?” you call when you step into his humble abode, closing the door behind you as you hang your coat and bag on the hooks built into the wood paneling by the front door. The house swallows your voice, but Bucky appears from the kitchen, his hair more mussed than before.

“Hey doll,” he says tiredly, “make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa and that. Pick a film out, your choice. Want anything?”

Your heart skips a beat, your body suddenly growing tingly as you direct yourself into his living room and tuck yourself up into the corner of his beat-up couch. The remote balances on the arm, half slipping between the cushions. You put his TV on and instantly hook up the netflix app from your phone, since it’s the most basic TV you’ve ever seen; big, yes, but with three channels and nothing else. He has a VCR player, but where he stores those you’ve no clue.

Just as the credits of your chosen movie begin to play, the fanfare blasting out through the speakers, you stand up and reach for the heavy curtains draped over the front bay window, but one warm, heavy hand lands on your hip before you can.

“They’re stubborn,” he whispers in a half-strained voice as an explanation for touching you in such a way and leaning right over you, his body pressed flush up against yours. He is built, and he’s making you incredibly flustered, so much so that he can probably feel the heat radiating off every part of your body right now. Nonetheless he sorts the curtains and leads you back to the couch with his hand still on your hip. He doesn’t even let go once he’s seated beside you, but shifts his grip lower and settles on your thigh. And, of course, he man-spreads, the sight instantly sending your hormones berserk. And with good reason, too. The sheer bliss riding one of those tree trunks would entail…

“What movie we watchin’, doll?”

“Notting Hill,” you tell him, batting your lashes.

“How long is it?”

“Two hours,” you trail off, but hasten to add, “b—but we can finish it another day, or not at all. I know it’s too late to stay and to bother you.”

His grip increases, his eyes darkening to a hard shade of royal blue as his metal arm plays absently with the spine falling off a book on one of the built-in shelves spanning the walls. “I thought we’d been through this. You can stay as long as you like. If you wanna grab some stuff from your place you can live here while your parents are gone, or even just stay for the night. If you don’t want to stay then you don’t have to, I’ll try not to be offended,” his smile softens this blow, “but whatever works, it’s up to you.”

Wow. Unfortunately you don’t hear that often. Everything in your life is centred around your parents, which isn’t exactly fun, especially when it gets you landed alone in the house for months on end, your only company the neighbour you made out with that one time when you were drunk out your mind. Staying sounds nice, though. Earlier it seemed like a joke, but now? You could see yourself living in his cosy home, at least for the foreseeable future.

“Thank you, Mr Barnes.”

“Bucky!” he cries. “My name is Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes so even calling me Mr is wrong. Doll, just call me Bucky.”

He’s not angry, thankfully. His outburst is one of tension release, not of fury thankfully.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me—”

“It’s ok, Bucky,” you assure him, calming the storm of remorse in his eyes. “I get it.”

Your smile segues into the start of the movie, Hugh Grant bespectacled and clad in his nice button-up shirt, and both you and Bucky are transfixed, but he still doesn’t move his hand.

I know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me.

You watch the film with the same enamoured expression you wore the first dozen times you watched it, warmth from Bucky’s unmoving hand seeping into your skin and intoxicating your soul.

Bucky pretends to be keeping up with the movie, pulls surprised faces at the right time and makes occasional comments about Spike in particular, but the entire time, his eyes are on you. You can feel it, the way his baby blues hone in on you when you bite your lip, or smile, or start to mime the words… yeah, his main focus is your lips. Other than when something big happens and you clasp his large bicep, or when a cringe scene comes on—“oh my fucking god, it’s the horse and hound bit,” you cried—and you bury into his shoulder.

You’re able to sit still with him for almost an hour and a half before you’re getting antsy.

“M— Bucky?” His head perks up as you call his name and pause the movie. “I’m going to the restroom and grabbing a drink. You need anything?”

He’s already scrambling up from the sofa, using your thigh as leverage. “I’ll get you a drink, doll. What do you want?”

“I’m already going that direction. Loo still behind the utility?” He nods. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You pry his fingers from your leg and adjust your dress, pulling it down your thighs as you stumble out of the room, clutching the wood paneling and glancing at the wonderful paintings spanning the house.

Meanwhile, your phone screen keeps flashing with notifications, and since you left it on the couch and on airplay, they’re all currently being projected onto the TV. Bucky couldn’t not see them even if he wanted to.

Mom: We’re back on the boat, niow. Why didn’t you text us back? Call us the second we text next!

He ignores that one, but those from your friends catch his attention more than a little.

Lia: we here! where u at?

Bon: did he not invite u in omfg wtf u looked too hot in that dress

Yoe: At the bar bby ,,, sorry we’re late ! Did he drive you home? Lmk xo

“Doll?” Bucky calls, “come here, please.”

Your stomach sinks. All you were doing was grabbing some water, what the fuck has happened?

“What is it, Mr Barnes?” Your eyes flicker to your phone in his hand, texts continually coming through in your notification bar, and then they fly to the TV screen.

He presses the power button, and it switches off. He then holds one arm, the metal one, out expectantly, waiting for you to fall, apparently, into his lap judging by the beckoning movements of his robot hand.

“Care to explain these?”

Your cheeks must be radiating heat at this point. You place your glass of water down as you settle into his grip. His vibranium hand slides to grip your waist.

“It’s not what it looks like, Mr Barnes.”

“Really?” He arches a dark brow. “Because it looks like you weren’t supposed to meet your friends in the first place, but were expecting someone to invite you in.”

You squeak, wilting under his intense gaze that you can’t seem to meet. Your voice is quiet when it comes out, “Okay it’s exactly what it looks like. But I wanted you to invite me in, not let me go out. You’re so nice… why did you have to let me do that when I could’ve come in the first time?”

“Because you deserve to be an adult and have your freedom, doll. But if you pull something like that again, I’ll send you back to your house, ok? No going out, no coming here.”

“So you’re not gonna punish me?” you ask naively, knowing the double entendre your words hold.

You can't talk to me when I'm like this, daring you to leave me just so I can try and scare you.

“No baby girl…” he trails off. “I know what you wanted.”

Shit. If he knows now, he can put it all together. Everything from tonight, from the past year…

You pluck at the couch cushion and whisper in a broken voice, “What did I want, Mr Barnes?”

“To not be alone,” he states, as plain as day. His flesh hand comes up to your cheek, brushing your hair away from your face as he cups your jaw with a tender caress, his cerulean eyes searching yours. “I know you’ve never been alone in the house for this long before. It must be a lot for you to suddenly be left alone for months on end. But you don’t have to— to plot in order to come round. Just drop me a text and ask to watch a movie with me, or knock on the door. I like you, y/n. I like spending time with you.”

Your heart is in your throat, your head swarming with memories as doubt settles like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach. “I didn’t think you would. Not after…”

“After you kissed me last year?” You nod sheepishly. “Why would I not want to spend time with you?”

“Because you never talked about it again.” He moves to speak, but you cut in first, suddenly finding your voice, your flame, your strength. A smith overtakes your lips “And I’m fine with being alone, Sergeant Barnes. I wanted you to see me in this dress and want me. I wanted you to pull me into the house and kiss me til I was breathless, take me the way you wanted to. I didn’t want company, Bucky. I wanted you.”

But we can patch it up good, make confessions and we're begging for forgiveness.

Flame darkens his eyes the second yours meet them, searching for something, anything. Just as they start to cloud with lust, his lips are on yours, rough and carnal and hard. You gasp at the sudden pressure and he grants himself the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, sweeping and tangling with your own tongue that takes a moment to react, your chest colliding with his, feeling every muscle ripple.

He’s certainly made you breathless, and his kiss alone brings back memories from your fateful nineteenth birthday. The way he pushed you away with a feeble hand on your bare shoulder after you planted one on him, only for it to fall to your hip the second you parted your kiss-swollen lips and batted your doe eyes at him. He pulled you in then similarly to today: his grip strong and his mouth hungry. He’s a man who knows what he wants, and the second he kisses you tonight, every ounce of guilt from the year before dissipates. Once he got a taste of you he knew he’d want more. And he has. Every. Single Day. Seeing you in your little skirts and your crop tops was a living hell… but you never mentioned it. So neither did he. Despite being able to taste the build up of wantonness in your first embrace. Every time he’s come over the past month he’s had to leave before pinning you to a wall and feasting on you until you cry from the pleasure he knows only he can provide.

You draw back for air, taking in your forgotten surroundings. Bucky leans back, his eyes transfixed by your chest, your pert nipples and heavy breasts.

“I’ve barely been able to keep my eyes off your tits all night, Doll. You really should’ve chosen a less see-through dress.”

“It’s see through?” you wheeze, eyes widening. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He leans back nonchalantly, slinging an arm on the sofa behind him, “I was enjoying the view.”

Just as you begin to shield your hands, your dress is ripped from your chest, your boobs spilling into Bucky’s awaiting hand. The metal only emphasises the back-arching pleasure he offers by pinching and teasing your buds, the harsh chill rising goose-bumps from head to toe.

“And don’t think I missed that wet patch in your…” he lets his words fall off pensively, “can you call that scrap of lace underwear?”

If your face turns any hotter you might let off steam. Embarrassment sizzles throughout your nerves, prickling at your fingertips.

“‘M sorry Bucky,” you mumble.

You know how he saw: carrying you over his damn shoulder. But then again a 6ft tall, dark & handsome man with chivalry last seen three-quarters of a century ago carrying one over his shoulder is enough to make anyone wet.

“Oh no, doll,” he reprimands, “don’t be. I really rather enjoyed the sight. Now what d’you say, we get rid of your dress all together.”

You nod, drawing your lower lip between your teeth as you ferret for the bottom of his shirt and begin peeling that up. It’s a fair exchange, and he indulges you. Using the hand prior on the back of the couch, he removes his tight shirts in one fell swoop and reveals his body to you, scars and all. You can’t help your eyes straying to the scratches by his prosthetic.

“Bucky…”

“No baby girl,” he shushes you, “look down.”

You’re met with sculpted abs galore, pale skin taut over his muscles, no hair in sight. A fine sheen of perspiration causes him to glow. When you glance further down, you see the bulge in his pants you felt just hours before. Wow. There ain’t a false god anywhere in sight if that’s what you’re dealing with.

Bucky’s eyes roll back into his head as your nails rake teasingly over his pecs, skimming his abs. He releases a low groan, and his strong hips involuntarily buck up into yours, eliciting a gasp as his hard member slips over your barely clothed core. The groan he emits this time is purely feral.

“You wanna ride my cock doll?” he asks gutturally.

Instantly you flush, body going rigid. “If you’re sure, Sergeant Barnes.”

Apparently this is a dead giveaway, the way you can’t meet his eyes with his vulgar use of language, your legs clamping around his, your chest tightening.

“You’re a virgin?” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, brushing tenderly. You nod abashedly. “Oh baby girl, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ll work our way up to that, no point tearing that pretty pussy open when you’ll look so good riding my thigh instead...”

And that is certainly not what you were expecting either: you were ready to be cast out the door.

“Really?” You bat your lashes.

“Really. Now let’s get you out of this dress.”

He helps you wriggle out of the flimsy material and flings it halfway across the room, discarding it before both of his hands are spanning your spine and drawing you in close until your bodies are so close together there isn’t even a sliver to separate you. And when he kisses you, long and passionate and viscerally raw, you wouldn’t have it any other way. He tastes of whiskey and hope. His shadow of stubble starts to tickle your cheeks, eliciting a faint giggle as you wriggle on his lap.

“Do that again,” he pants between placing kisses to your exposed jaw.

“Do what?”

“Fuck, rub yourself over me.”

As though you’re as light as a feather, he lifts you up with a bruising hold on your hips and situates you above one thick thigh. His muscles tense as you trap him there, lifting you a fraction and sending a ripple of stimulation through your core.

“Bucky!” you mewl.

“Fuckin’ love those pretty little noises baby doll,” he purrs, and upon watching the pleasure contort your face as he drags you over his leg, adds, “and your pretty little face all fucked out for me.”

“For you, Bucky, only for you!”

Your hips begin to move of their own accord, rocking against him desperately. He was on about your face but Christ if his rosy cheeks and parted lips aren’t heavenly. Your pushing and pulling movement causes heavy drags of your clit against his jeans.

“C’mon, you can do better than that.”

His condescension sends a whimper up your throat, your calves quivering trying to keep you upright. You shake your head.

“You want a hand, baby doll? Okay…”

By hand you certainly don’t expect his metal one to come clamping down on your hip, alleviating the tension in your calves which reignites itself right in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly spins into a coil when his movements speed up. And that’s before his flesh fingers pull your string of panties aside and he rubs the part of your pussy he can access between your heart grinds on his thigh.

“Ohmygod, Bucky!” seems to be the only sensical thing you can say.

He isn’t fazed by your outburst, your exasperation, the building heat rippling throughout your every cell. In fact, he’s all lazy smiles and nonchalance as he holds you at his whim and hums to himself in satisfaction, rubbing his fingers through your drenched folds.

It doesn’t just end there, with you barely able to blink from being so entranced by his pure beauty. No. He has to do the most Bucky thing in the world, that has your knees and your pussy quivering, and your throat hoarse from nearly crying out in pleasure.

He brings his slick fingers up to his mouth, holds your gaze, and wraps his tongue around them languorously, only dating his lashes to flutter once the taste of you is invading his senses.

“You taste delicious, Doll. I’ll have to get a proper taste one day.”

“Fuck!”

And this god of a man has the fucking audcaity to laugh. Two can play at that game.

Desperately trying to regain some degree of composure, you fumble for his belt. Then the button of his jeans. Then the zip. He’s too preoccupied with his fixation on your bouncing tits to care too much about it… until you wrap your hand around his length and girth, adjusting to his weight in your hand even within the constraints of his boxers.

His low chuckle rumbles through your chest, your knees digging into the sofa for purchase, “You’re salivating, baby.”

And you’re not even surprised, not when his huge member is pulsating with desire in your grip.

Freeing him from the constraints of his boxers, you revel in the glory of his cock, long and thick and beading with pre-cum. Bloody hell, he wasn’t wrong. If you weren’t already teetering so close to the edge with only his hold on you to give your movement a steady rhythm, you might say something about how hard he is just from watching you… You start to stroke him, skilfully, slowly, and you get to watch his resolve crumble, until he can’t take it anymore, and your nipple is in his mouth.

Your blasphemous moans must echo for miles.

“I was sick of watching them bounce,” he shrugs as an explanation, “your tits are so pretty they need to be marked up.”

So they do. Because your one boob looks spectacular with his teeth marks and a hickey forming. But you want to taste him now, feel his tongue wrapped around yours. And that you get, a messy, heated kiss that drives your hips back into action, your hand moving steadily up and down the flesh of his cock. He seems to be enjoying it.

As you ride his thigh, bouncing and grinding and circling your hips, your boobs bounce with you, as he said, but this time, while your mouths are pressed hotly together, he gets hit in the chin, but the groan that escapes him isn’t the anticipated one of annoyance, bur rather one of pleasure, as his grip on you increases, and his kiss becomes more passionate, stealing your breath away.

“Can feel you drenching my thigh, pretty doll. God I’ll need these jeans laundered but if this ain’t worth the hassle…”

Your hips begin canting of their own volition now, regaining the prior friction on his beefy, flexing thigh.

“I still worship you,” he groans.

“Even if I’m a false god, Sergeant Barnes?” you ask, fluttering your lashes.

His lips fuse with yours, “Religion’s in your lips, the altar is your hips. You still do it for me, Doll. You always fuckin’ will...”

With one final punishing drag, your clit tingles, and slowly those tingles ripple through every nerve in your entire body, and you’re falling off the cliff and into an ocean of euphoria you never want to stop swimming in. Your pussy flutters, your fingers lose their grip, but not before you feel a hot sticky substance spill over them. Your pleasure is heightened by the sole thought that you made him come.

When you come around, you find yourself in his arms, your chests flush together as he cradles you softly. Your legs feel a bit sticky from being stuck on the couch for so long, but that’s the least of your problems. You smile dazedly up at Bucky, half lidded eyes widening to see as much of his beautiful face as is humanly possible.

“Hi.”

“Hey, doll,” he greets, a lopsided grin matching his words.

“That was nice.”

“Very nice,” he chuckles, “I agree. More than nice.”

You nod, “What next?”

“Nothing.” This answer causes your eyes to widen, your head tilting to the side as you search his blue eyes for a twinkle of humour that may not have been present in his words, but you find nothing. “We’ve got time.”

“Does that mean I should go back home,” you ask, drawing your kiss-swollen lip between your teeth.

“Of course not! You can stay here tonight. My room or the spare?”

“Yours… if you’ll stay?”

Your final request comes out hushed, a clandestine whisper, but Bucky still hears, and brushes a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Course, doll.”

He scoops you up into both arms, your clothes long forgotten about, as he holds you close to his chest. His caution ensures your body doesn’t bounce as he makes his way up the stairs, and from the angle, you’re able to see more of the incredible art decorating his cottage. He kicks open the bedroom door with one foot, and lands you on the plush, king-sized bed.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he tells you.

You watch him disappear through a door built in to look like the wood paneling of his room, and hear his footsteps on the chequered floor as he runs the tap, returning a moment later with a shirt in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

“Open up, doll,” he prompts, his flesh hand prying your knees apart. He dabs around a little down there, gentle in every movement, before passing you his shirt. “Choose a side.”

You do, a smile etched upon your face as you peel back the duvet and snuggle underneath. The pillows smell like him, his woody cologne, and on the wall above you is a mural in Mr Barnes’ style. The night sky, with overhanging branches, mountain peaks and lilypad covered rivers. It feels like a hug from nature, but even that can’t beat the hug from bucky once he slides in beside you.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you mumble as he flicks off the light.

“Anything for you, doll. You feeling okay?”

You hum, but the next attempt he makes at speaking, he doesn’t even get that, since you’re fast asleep. He can’t help smiling to himself as he types out a message to your parents.

y/n is fine, safe and well. She’s just tired from a busy day. Don’t worry: I’ve got my eye on her.

He chuckles to himself at the double meaning, his eyes roving over your pretty face as you sleep, lips parted and lashes fluttering. But one thought passes through his mind as his message flickers over the ‘send’ button;

We might just get away with it.

[lostatseattle]

╰ ❛   💉 — › jessica chastain.  ciswoman.  she/her.  .  ╯ have  you  met colette kepner yet  ?  this  43 year  old  virgo  has  been  living  in the seattle  area  for  1 day.  she  makes  a  living  as  a  director of residency & general surgeon,  which  is best suited for their diligent,  persuasive, biased,  and toxic personality. mastermind by taylor swift is  one of  their  favourite  songs

the kepners always had a plan. His plan. one which colette happily played along with for the first two decades of her life. growing up, she did as she was told, went to church every sunday and played by the rules. (except that one time she stole the neighbour’s milk). when she was 19, she married the first boy she’d ever dated.

it lasted three years. three long years in which neither party was ever really happy.  they argued and fought more often than not. she didn’t love the guy, she didn’t even like him most of the time. despite her mother telling her that was just how it was sometimes, she called it quits and filed for divorce at 22. 

of course, for the kepner’s this was a mortal sin - a misstep so severe on colette’s part that there was no doubt she was going to hell. she had already been teetering on the edge - what kind of god wouldn’t prioritise people’s longer-term happiness? what kind of god would smite someone over a piece of paper?

she hasn’t spoken to her family in 20 years; and she’s just fine with that. or so she’ll say. only her youngest sister sometimes talks to her, updating her briefly, although it’s been a few years now since the last update.

college was a struggle in itself. she supported herself working in a call centre and a coffee shop. by the time she finished her bachelors, she was exhausted and had no idea what she wanted to do with herself. so she took all her savings and travelled for a year. the answer was no clearer by the time she got on the 36 hour flight back from auckland. 

so she tried law school. and hated it. so she tried business school. and hated it less, but not enough. although omitting the fact she only went to business school for one semester didn’t stop people paying her when she advertised herself as a business consultant for a year. medical school was something of a pivot. a late night of channel surfing and a documentary later and she was invested in a new career path.

truthfully, she thought she would get over it again. but she didn’t. it stuck. four years later she was graduating in to residency.

that was where she met angelica sheely. colette was still somewhat green, naive at the best of times and completely gullible at the worst - but the two became fast friends. there was a stability between them that colette had always lacked. with no family to fall back on, angelica became her family. 

after residency, the two went their separate ways. colette found a fellowship in new york - but they kept in touch regularly.

she first heard about christian fields through a late night phone call, and he became a regular topic of discussion. whilst colette talked mostly of random flings, angelica found a stability that colette never could. 

when they moved to new york, it seemed nothing short of a miracle. colette could recount of many triumphs and trials to her best friend in person. there was the stability she craved. until it wasn’t.

after angelica died, she made it her mission to help christian as best she could. annabelle was her goddaughter - so it was kind of her duty - but it went past that. she knew angelica would have done the same for her. when christian announced he was moving, she was sceptical at best. it didn’t seem right; or fair. hadn’t she been helpful enough? was he really going to leave her there with nothing but bad memories? losing annabelle was like losing angelica all over again.

she made it work. for the last couple of years, she carried on with her work and the people that floated in and out of her life, but there was always something missing. 

god bless the revolving door of career opportunities that is seattle grace mercy death. 

basic information

full name: colette kepner

age: 43

date of birth: september 1st 1979

hometown: granville, ohio

current location: seattle, washington

orientation: do we need to ask

occupation: director of residency & general surgeon

gender: ciswoman

pronouns: she/her

languages spoken: english, french, conversational italian

physical appearance

face claim: jessica chastain

hair color: red

eye color: green

height: 5′4

clothing style: business bitch or pyjamas, no in between

personality

positive traits: loyal, diligent, persuasive

negative traits: biased, pessimistic realist, greedy

fears: dying alone idk, lizards

hobbies: reading true crime & lying for no reason 

favourites

weather: mild & clear

colour: blue jeans 

music: find her playlist HERE

movies: about time

beverage: red wine

food: those tear drop cakes - she has never had one but thinks they look cool

animal: those weird mountain goats

family

father: adam kepner

mother: jillian kepner (née )

siblings: molly kepner, 45

caroline kepner, 40

abigail kepner, 38

romantic: unnamed ex-husband 

children: annabelle fields (goddaughter)

family’s financial status: rich rich (learned investing and never stopped)

find her about page: HERE

[beautifulvinyl]

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[ziggyonlinepresence]

What I went to see, Max Oettli: Visible Evidence, Photographs 1965–1975 (Week 5)

Today I went to see the Max Oettli show at Auckland art gallery, I hadn't heard of Oettli before so it was nice to view the work with no expectations or preconceptions.

EXHIBITION DETAILS, from Auckland Art Gallery Website.

"During a decade of massive urban and social change, Max Oettli worked as one of New Zealand’s most innovative contemporary photographers. Based in Auckland, this was a period when independent photography was developing rapidly. Oettli ensured that his camera was a creative mirror. Unlike local camera club artists, Oettli avoided traditional picture making, preferring the realism of expressive black and white photography. Motivated, committed and risk-taking, Oettli took photographs at all hours of the night and day. Using the amazing freedom and practicality of 35mm cameras, his ground-breaking photographs are relevant and revelatory about how we know place and time.

Including many unfamiliar photographs, Visible Evidence reveals the intersections between the private and public lives of Tāmaki Makaurau. This exhibition has been made possible through the artist’s generous gift of his vintage photographs."

DateSat 18 Dec 2021 — Sun 29 May 2022

Curated by Ron Brownson

Troops return (2), Gelatin Silver Print, 1973.

I really enjoyed the works, they were documentary photographs, mostly of Auckland, but were simultaneously quite abstract, even still the images held a feeling of familiarity. I don't think this familiarity was only felt as an Auckland native, The photographer is clearly familiar with these areas, which was translated through their images.

The images also felt quite observational, as apposed to interventional (something I've been speaking to Dave about in my individual supervision meetings.) in that they didn't seem to hold much of a bias, I didn't feel as though there was much of a message.\

I also thought the curator had done a good job with the show, it was a large selection of images, when I was walking through I thought "I'd hate to be the person curating this show" there was just so much! But for the most part the images were hung in a complementary manner.

[Left] Saint Paul's College Rugby Sheds, Gelatin Silver Print, 1973.

[Top Right] Night, Parnell, Gelatin Silver Print, 1972.

[Bottom Right] Freemans Bay, Midnight, Gelatin Silver Print, 1972.

[Left] Zack and the Lady, Kiwi Hotel, Gelatin Silver Print, 1970.

[Top Centre] Kiwi Hotel, Gelatin Silver Print, 1970.

[Bottom Centre] Department Store, Auckland, Gelatin Silver Print, 1972, printed 1976.

[Right] Civic Theatre, Gelatin Silver Print, Gelatin Silver Print, 1971.

Gretchen Albrecht, Gelatin Silver Print, 1972.

Freemans Bay, 2am, Gelatin Silver Print, 1972.

[Left] E. H. McCormick, Gelatin Silver Print, 1973.

[Top Centre] Chris Taylor, Gelatin Silver Print, 1971.

[Bottom Centre] Roger Tolloday, Gelatin Silver Print, 1974.

[Right] Leonard and Rover, Gelatin Silver Print, 1974 printed 2005.

Max Oettli bio from Auckland Art Gallery Website.

"Max Oettli was born in Switzerland in 1947; when he was 10 his parents immigrated to New Zealand in 1957 where his parents purchased a dairy far at Whatawhata near Hamilton.

As an admirer of the fellow photographer Henri Cartier Bresson he emulated the artist’s camera methodology of always travelling with a 35mm, both day and night. From 1965 until 1976, he undertook a style of photography which is intensely autobiographic.

Oettli enrolled in the University of Auckland, studying English to BA level. At the same time he became the photographer and illustrations editor of Craccum, the Auckland University Student’s Association weekly newspaper. Using the notion of ‘visible evidence’ he photographically documented every aspect of student’s lives; both at the University and off-site. His adherence to always being ever-ready with his camera give his images an astonishingly vibrancy and connectedness.

Certain themes recur during the 10 years Oettli was based in Auckland: street culture (shopping, protest, parties, night-life), the urban built environment undergoing change and renewal, and the human realities within private and public relationships. Rather than being obsessed with photographic technique, Oettli focussed on recording his emotional rapport with inner city urban life.

Oettli’s confident practice makes the images which he created at Auckland over a decade amongst the most personal visual diaries made by any post-war New Zealand photographer. There is nothing of received or polite behaviours in his photo-record of the period. He is honed on seeing what’s occurring in his immediate space rather than making it appear composed or ‘arty’. It was this spontaneity that drew Tom Hutchins’s attention. The Black Star photographer and Elam Lecturer in Photography invited Oettli to work as Elam’s first technical instructor in 1970. As a leader in the foundation of PhotoForum, Oettli influenced an entire generation of camera practitioners."

K Road, Gelatin Silver Print, 1971.

Cuba Street, Wellington, Gelatin Silver Print, 1970.

[mybeingthere]

Richard Lewer, Karnu Nancy Taylor, YEAR 2015, MEDIUM Oil on canvas, DIMENSIONS 610mm x 610mm.

Richard Lewer is a New Zealand-born artist who has been based in Melbourne, Australia, for many years. He initially trained in painting at the University of Auckland Elam School of Fine Arts from 1989 to 1992, and then was awarded a Master of Visual Arts at the University of Melbourne Victorian College of the Arts in 2000.Lewer has presented solo exhibitions in New Zealand and Australia and his artwork is represented in many public and private collections. He utilises video and animation, painting and drawing, as well as audio and performance in the creation of his works, which explore issues of everyday life, personal relationships and significant public and private events.

https://richardlewer.com/

[cvrbyns-blog]

hi my beauties ! the name’s caro, i’m 19 and from the est timezone, and 'm typing this while hiding from the a/c dude so please bear with me

so first things first, i suppose, hi you guys! idk if any of you will remember my trashy ass, but i was here back a year ago when this beautiful little roleplay opened for the first time with a taylor swift fc (pretty sure it was bunny...) and i’m so glad to see this is back, ‘cause i got hella busy trying to get ready for college and it wasn’t the most fun ever, so if you for some crazy reason remember me, hi! if you don’t, that’s okay, because you will ‘cause i plan on loving each of you down

i won’t ramble for thirty years about corbyn mostly because i’ve already done that (sorry, nat & dash, i don’t know what brevity is) so i’ll keep this short ‘n sweet, and if you wanna read more on her you can gladly do so here and here (this one’s under construction but i’ll get it done as fast as i can)

corbyn’s been in brighton for about four years now after moving from auckland, nz to attend school here (and that fucking failed, lemme tell ya)

she’s a former dancer turned tattoo artist, she’s got some pretty interesting stories about her dance days if you ask + she’s willing to tell

she’s my lil’ cinnamon roll baby, doesn’t look it upon first glance bc resting bitch face but she just loves people and is kinda dorky and wants everyone to feel important and special to her bc they are

also my hella indecisive, has no idea what she wants to do, often self-isolating child who is S U C H an infj, she’ll shut people out sometimes because she just likes being on her own, but also it comes from a place of her being the root of all her problems; she’s very observant and knows what side of herself to show people but she’s also so indecisive about what she wants from people that she’s just all over the damn place???? bear with her

is one of the biggest perfectionists you will ever fucking meet

she identifies as pansexual?? love is a door she’s never really opened and once again, isn’t sure what she wants out romance-wise and is somewhat naive when it comes to that realm of things, she’s not very experienced and is hella awkward

super non-traditional, she’s what the kids call a modern-day feminist and is always trying to learn as much as she can so she’s as socially/politically aware as she can be

100% believes in all the local legends, my little conspiracy-theory-loving child. do not ask her to give you the rumored tattoo - she will turn you away so damn fast

i’m working on getting a connection page up for her as we speak but please feel free to like this or just magically appear in my ims, i’d love to plot with all of you and love your muse babies ! i can’t wait to start writing with you guyss

[mitchbeck]

CANTLON: CENTRAL CONNECTICUT KNOCKS OFF WESTFIELD STATE IN ACHA ACTION AT THE XL CENTER

BY: Gerry Cantlon, Howlings HARTFORD, CT - Wednesday afternoon featured the XL Center's first ever, college club hockey game. The game was between two club teams from the American College Hockey Association's (ACHA) Division-2 between the Central Connecticut State University Blue Devils (New Britain, CT) and the Westfield State University Owls (Westfield, MA). The Blue Devils pulled away in the third period for a 4-1 victory. The game-winning goal came off the stick of CCSU’s Billy McKinley of Cheshire early in the third period when the Freshman whistled a wrist shot into the corner, top shelf to the glove side of the Owls' netminder at 1:56, giving Central Connecticut State a 2-1 lead they would never relinquish. The location of his shot wasn’t McKinley's initial intention. “To be honest, I was looking to pass it to somebody coming off the (right) wing, but the defenseman backed off me, so I figured I would shoot it.” A pretty good decision. The Blue Devils' goalie, Jon Sweeney of Woburn, MA made a strong save at 6:18 of the second period to keep the Blue Devils slim one-goal margin denying the bid of the Owl’s Riley Allen. Central's Chase Bertrand (Wolcott, CT) scooted down the right wing but was stopped by Westfield goalie, Ben Janks. Just over a minute later, the Blue Devils got the two-goal margin they were seeking. Defenseman Nate McIntyre’s (Simsbury, CT) shot from the right point found the back of the net through a maze of sticks, skates, and legs at 10:26 giving Central a 3-1 lead. “We didn’t start off so well. I think we were all a little overwhelmed getting to play here (at the XL Center). The coaches got us going in the second, and we finished strong,” McKinley said. McKinley attended Wolf Pack games with his father over the years. As a kid, he once played in a youth game in between periods, as a goalie! The Blue Devils gained control of the game in the third period as team captain, Joey Campisano, (Toms River, NJ) had a solid chance turned away. The Blue Devils played all three of their goalies one period each, and in the third, Adam Belair (Cromwell, CT) had a strong period between the pipes stopping the Owls' Paul Baker, and then Tom Burgess (Somers, CT) who both made hard drives on the net. The Blue Devils thought they had a fourth goal, but the officials ruled the puck was directed in by a sliding Kevin Murphy's (Watertown, CT) hand, but the Blue Devils continued to press and eventually got the fourth goal. Defenseman Jack Noble (Farmington, CT) capped off the scoring with 1:45 left in regulation with a shot from the left point. The puck had snake eyes and found a way into the back of the net for the final goal of the game. The Blue Devils got the game’s first goal in the second period as McKinley raced down the left-wing side and retrieved a puck deep in that corner on the goal line and just let it fly. The puck somehow found it's way into the short-side, hit the far post and went in at 9:56. “I have no idea how that went in,“ McKinley said with a laugh. “I was really hoping for a rebound in front for one of the guys. No way did I think that was going in the net." Westfield State did answer back just 39 seconds later at 10:35, tying the game at one. Cormac Perry retrieved the rebound of Donovan McCormack’s shot and was able to slip it past Sweeney. Central play their home games at the Newington Ice Arena (300 Alumni Rd, Newington, CT). Their next game is against Montclair State (New Jersey) on Saturday night at 9 pm. NOTES: Westfield State’s NCAA varsity program plays Division III in the MASAC conference. The most famous hockey grad of their program is current Nashville Predators head coach, Peter Laviolette. He played for the team from 1982-1986 on the Division III program. Laviolette also played on the 1988 US Olympic team in Sarajevo in what was then known as Yugoslavia, but is now Bosnia-Herzegovina. After the Olympics, Laviolette played his only NHL games, all 12 of them, with the New York Rangers. Laviolette was a US Olympian again this time as team captain in 1993-94 for the team that played in Lillehammer, Norway. That group was coached by the late Tim Taylor (North Branford/Yale) and until last year's games in PyeonChang, South Korea, was the last time US collegians and minor league players were used in the formation of the team. Laviolette also coached the 2006 Team in Turin, Italy. His NHL resume also includes head coaching gigs with the New York Islanders, Philadelphia Flyers, and the Carolina Hurricanes. The Owls' Jake Ratcliffe (Canterbury, NZ) is the only male, New Zealand-born athlete playing at any level in American college hockey. There is one female Division I player, goalie Grace Harrison (Auckland, NZ) of St. Lawrence (ECACHL-W). The ACHA Regional post season tournaments are divided into four regionals. The Northeast games will be held in Albany, NY from March 1-3 and the national tournament will be held in Frisco, Texas starting March 21st. Read the full article

[milk-shy]

incoming: dump of emotionally overwrought writing in reverse chronological order

--

mission update: shanghai

oh my god this is grim.  i take back everything i said about heathrow being a hole.  like ok i could maybe cop it if i’d had a proper night’s sleep but as it is…….nope.  4:16am GMT oh dear lord help.  like i’m actually suffering— and what the fuck is this lack of wifi like legit utter shit what am i doing here

also like contrary to popular (read: tristan’s) belief that i am 100% a certified self-hating racist i really do try not to be but when you’ve just spent 11 hours on a plane full of the most revoltingly stereotypical mainland Chinese people it is really fucking difficult like oh lord manspreading and spitting and obnoxiously loud conversations to the nth degree

and this kiwi group ew i fucking hate people can i just go back to oxford and bury myself in its satisfyingly insular intellectual ivory tower forever i am a child of gentrification and over-education and indie pretentiousness thank you very much

actually miss oxford sm already it’s fucking ridiculous like???  ugh it is admittedly only one weird little pocket of the country that i’ve actually gotten to know but i have nevertheless gotten to know it, and while it’s a crazy tourist-town Saussurian simulation of a place, and not remotely representative of england or of student life or of (normal) academia or of anything at all, it is inevitably my conception of all those things, and while i’ve only really spent about seven months there at most it can’t help but be formative, and i have lived so much more of an actual life there than anywhere else.  and yet at the same time it’s only ever a rushed overworked 8/9-week pitstop every time, drop in and tire yourself out and then leave, and sometimes it’s like no time has passed at all.  

i miss all the fuckin chain stores, that’s the first thing everywhere i go, i have a chain café/grocery store based understanding of national geography.  sure there’s raoul’s and the missing bean and vaults & garden but like nah hit me up with the depressingly understocked familiarity of the walton st co-op pls.  

wow this is— genuinely, really fucking weird, i’ve never felt quite like this before— i always had some sense that i was going home before but it doesn’t feel like that at all now— of course i will get used to it again no doubt but i don’t… want to right now.  i’ve just gotten so immersed in my little enclave of tristan and the various concentric circles of the #squad and that whole familiar rhythm of being in college (i mean, seismic shock of the Teresa Walsh Terror notwithstanding)—  i don’t want to go home, what the fuck have i ever really had at home except strained familial relations and new zealand’s climate fucking up my skin (eternal intercontinental tradeoff between clear skin and drinkable tap water tbh)?  

it’s just a thing i’m saying right now and i know it’s going to pass but i don’t like auckland anymore, maybe it’s just the way i lived there, i don’t know, but i’ve never had more than a distant impersonal relationship with it— that’s the problem with seeing it out of a car window 99% of the time, you don’t get the grudging familiarity of the walks to libraries, and late-night supermarket runs, and the v specific touristy cornmarket st miasma of lush and shitty coffee and buskers of varying skill

i mean, you’ve got to make memories in a place, and then you start to love it, right?  i have no memories of any sort from auckland.  just things that have become familiar from sheer weight of repetition.  but i never loved it really--?

look, it’s just that you spend hours and hours on a flight with no human contact and you start to believe everyone is like dead or something.  just be rational about this-- you will arrive and you will check your phone and amy will be making ‘lets get shitfaced’ plans and tristan will be all primed to message you requesting nudes and various group chats will be arguing about something or other and your mother will be irate about the delay-- nobody has fucking died.  and also he probably still likes you.  i mean seeing as you spent half the flight crying to leonard cohen that is probably a bit of a relief.  

and auckland isn’t really a shithole, come on.  like alright it’s conveniently a bit grim in july-september but genuinely i’m convinced that your one day of a glasgow ‘summer’ was much worse than auckland winters can ever get.  just keep yourself busy.  go shopping for some clothes.  run a bit.  familiarity isn’t always bad.  the place gets trendier by the day and you love that shit.  

i just feel like i’m only now, over the last year-ish, starting to learn how to (at least pretend to) be a functional adult, and i don’t know how to exist as anything other than a vague overgrown teenage malingerer in auckland.  like how can i really explain the feeling that i’ve never really lived there?  like there are places i know, sure, but— it just feels to me like a bit of a relic i’ve outgrown.  i mean i want to move, in any case, i certainly don’t want to live there after i graduate.  sorry mum but you can fuck right off with that whole idea.  i just could not do it i’m sorry.  flee to wellington at the very least.

--

Ok this is dumb and melodramatic but I'm 35000 feet above the Ural Mountains and sort of not in my rational mind right now and I think genuinely I'm a bit drunk lmao fuck me

FUCK this is so shit I can't fucking be alone like this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this-- people aren't supposed to fucking be alone!! I'm going to have to go on a goddamn fuckton of late night drives listening to Billy Joel and wandering down remote beaches chain-smoking and crying out of weight of sheer loneliness--

On that note I am truly alarmed by how much I'm craving a menthol oh dear me

lets just be clear I do not want to actually become a smoker that would be Very Bad and also almost certainly result in your mother disembowelling you to the tune of her ear-splitting harpy shrieks

--

pre-departure taylors is becoming a depressing sort of ritual isn’t it— except it’s sort of just me this time.  i have no energy for reflections.  just want to say in my defence it wasn’t all bad.  in bits and pieces it has been lovely.  i think i have learned to some extent to be okay with this.  that i have things i struggle with (another term, another failed effort to get a diagnosis) and that doesn’t mean necessarily that i am sad.  that i am a sad person.  there is just a force that acts on me.  it’s not me.  i don’t deserve to have all this self-hatred directed at myself.  like climate and weather, right?  it is not me, it’s not my fault, that it is sometimes inclement.  and i have had a lot of sunny days.

what are you going to do then?  back on the weight-loss train.  churn out that novel, i believe in you.  get good at smiling and being aggressively polite and making tea.  plough through that reading list.  write the best troilus & criseyde essay annie will ever have seen.  volunteer somewhere.  play some jazz piano.  get back into drawing.  possibly be an intoxicated hoodlum loitering downtown every now and again.  don’t worry.  it’s chill.

[my-chemical-friendzone]

Results of the Composition Competition 

The first challenge for Knight School Students is over—thanks for the great entries! There were many entries from students who all did a fantastic job of composing and recording music for the two songs provided by Jester. He agrees that you have done a great job and has been humming the tunes as he walks around the castle.

The winning composers and musicians are Te Winika Morell and her classmates Jayden, Jerome, Te Anima and Kaya from Waipa Primary School with their recording of "Chasing Your Dream". Te Winika and her teacher will be traveling down to Wellington for a tour of Weta Studios.

The two schools that will be taking part in a videoconference with Richard Taylor and Martin Baynton of Weta Productions are the students of Room 23 at Aquinas College in Tauranga, and a group of students from Green Bay Primary in Auckland, who all produced very impressive compositions. All other entries received a pack of Jane and the Dragon books and a DVD.

Thanks for the great work. Maybe you would like to try the next competition—how are you animation skills?

Listen to two top composers and singersÉ Te Winika Morell from Waipa Primary School; "Chasing Your Dream". The girls of Room 23, at Aquinas College in Tauranga; "Chasing Your Dream".

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 5.30

70 – Siege of Jerusalem: Titus and his Roman legions breach the Second Wall of Jerusalem. Jewish defenders retreat to the First Wall. The Romans build a circumvallation, cutting down all trees within fifteen kilometres. 1381 – Beginning of the Peasants' Revolt in England. 1416 – The Council of Constance, called by Emperor Sigismund, a supporter of Antipope John XXIII, burns Jerome of Prague following a trial for heresy. 1431 – Hundred Years' War: In Rouen, France, the 19-year-old Joan of Arc is burned at the stake by an English-dominated tribunal. The Roman Catholic Church remembers this day as the celebration of Saint Joan of Arc. 1434 – Hussite Wars: Battle of Lipany: Effectively ending the war, Utraquist forces led by Diviš Bořek of Miletínek defeat and almost annihilate Taborite forces led by Prokop the Great. 1510 – During the reign of the Zhengde Emperor, Ming dynasty rebel leader Zhu Zhifan is defeated by commander Qiu Yue, ending the Prince of Anhua rebellion. 1536 – King Henry VIII of England marries Jane Seymour, a lady-in-waiting to his first two wives. 1539 – In Florida, Hernando de Soto lands at Tampa Bay with 600 soldiers with the goal of finding gold. 1574 – Henry III becomes King of France. 1588 – The last ship of the Spanish Armada sets sail from Lisbon heading for the English Channel. 1631 – Publication of Gazette de France, the first French newspaper. 1635 – Thirty Years' War: The Peace of Prague is signed. 1642 – From this date all honors granted by Charles I of England are retroactively annulled by Parliament. 1806 – Future U.S. President Andrew Jackson kills Charles Dickinson in a duel. 1814 – The First Treaty of Paris is signed, returning the French frontiers to their 1792 extent, and restoring the House of Bourbon to power. 1815 – The East Indiaman Arniston is wrecked during a storm at Waenhuiskrans, near Cape Agulhas, in present-day South Africa, with the loss of 372 lives. 1834 – Minister of Justice Joaquim António de Aguiar issues a law seizing "all convents, monasteries, colleges, hospices and any other houses" from the Catholic religious orders in Portugal, earning him the nickname of "The Friar-Killer". 1842 – John Francis attempts to murder Queen Victoria as she drives down Constitution Hill in London with Prince Albert. 1845 – The Fatel Razack coming from India, lands in the Gulf of Paria in Trinidad and Tobago carrying the first Indians to the country. 1854 – The Kansas–Nebraska Act becomes law establishing the US territories of Kansas and Nebraska. 1868 – Decoration Day (the predecessor of the modern "Memorial Day") is observed in the United States for the first time after a proclamation by John A. Logan, head of the Grand Army of the Republic (a veterans group). 1876 – Ottoman sultan Abdülaziz is deposed and succeeded by his nephew Murad V. 1883 – In New York City, a stampede on the recently opened Brooklyn Bridge killed twelve people. 1899 – Pearl Hart, a female outlaw of the Old West, robs a stage coach 30 miles southeast of Globe, Arizona. 1911 – At the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the first Indianapolis 500 ends with Ray Harroun in his Marmon Wasp becoming the first winner of the 500-mile auto race. 1913 – The Treaty of London is signed, ending the First Balkan War; Albania becomes an independent nation. 1914 – The new, and then the largest, Cunard ocean liner RMS Aquitania, 45,647 tons, sets sails on her maiden voyage from Liverpool, England, to New York City. 1922 – The Lincoln Memorial is dedicated in Washington, D.C.. 1925 – May Thirtieth Movement: Shanghai Municipal Police Force shoot and kill 13 protesting workers. 1937 – Memorial Day massacre: Chicago police shoot and kill ten labor demonstrators. 1941 – World War II: Manolis Glezos and Apostolos Santas climb the Athenian Acropolis and tear down the German flag. 1942 – World War II: One thousand British bombers launch a 90-minute attack on Cologne, Germany. 1943 – The Holocaust: Josef Mengele becomes chief medical officer of the Zigeunerfamilienlager (Romani family camp) at Auschwitz concentration camp. 1948 – A dike along the flooding Columbia River breaks, obliterating Vanport, Oregon within minutes. Fifteen people die and tens of thousands are left homeless. 1958 – Memorial Day: The remains of two unidentified American servicemen, killed in action during World War II and the Korean War respectively, are buried at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery. 1959 – The Auckland Harbour Bridge, crossing the Waitemata Harbour in Auckland, New Zealand, is officially opened by Governor-General Charles Lyttelton, 10th Viscount Cobham. 1961 – The long-time Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo is assassinated in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. 1963 – A protest against pro-Catholic discrimination during the Buddhist crisis is held outside South Vietnam's National Assembly, the first open demonstration during the eight-year rule of Ngo Dinh Diem. 1966 – Former Congolese Prime Minister, Évariste Kimba, and several other politicians are publicly executed in Kinshasa on the orders of President Joseph Mobutu. 1967 – The Nigerian Eastern Region declares independence as the Republic of Biafra, sparking a civil war. 1968 – Charles de Gaulle reappears publicly after his flight to Baden-Baden, Germany, and dissolves the French National Assembly by a radio appeal. Immediately after, less than one million of his supporters march on the Champs-Élysées in Paris. This is the turning point of May 1968 events in France. 1971 – Mariner program: Mariner 9 is launched to map 70% of the surface, and to study temporal changes in the atmosphere and surface, of Mars. 1972 – The Angry Brigade goes on trial over a series of 25 bombings throughout the United Kingdom. 1972 – In Ben Gurion Airport (at the time: Lod Airport), Israel, members of the Japanese Red Army carry out the Lod Airport massacre, killing 24 people and injuring 78 others. 1974 – The Airbus A300 passenger aircraft first enters service. 1979 – Downeast Flight 46 crashes on approach to Knox County Regional Airport in Rockland, Maine, killing 17. 1975 – European Space Agency is established. 1982 – Cold War: Spain joins NATO. 1989 – Tiananmen Square protests of 1989: The 10-metre high "Goddess of Democracy" statue is unveiled in Tiananmen Square by student demonstrators. 1990 – Croatian Parliament is constituted after the first free, multi-party elections, today celebrated as the National Day of Croatia. 1998 – The 6.5 Mw  Afghanistan earthquake shook the Takhar Province of northern Afghanistan with a maximum Mercalli intensity of VII (Very strong), killing around 4,000–4,500. 1998 – Nuclear Testing: Pakistan conducts an underground test in the Kharan Desert. It is reported to be a plutonium device with yield of 20kt TNT equivalent. 2003 – Depayin massacre: At least 70 people associated with the National League for Democracy are killed by government-sponsored mob in Burma. Aung San Suu Kyi flees the scene, but is arrested soon afterwards. 2008 – Convention on Cluster Munitions is adopted. 2008 – TACA Flight 390 overshoots the runway at Toncontín International Airport, killing five people. 2012 – Former Liberian president Charles Taylor is sentenced to 50 years in prison for his role in atrocities committed during the Sierra Leone Civil War. 2013 – Nigeria passes a law banning same-sex marriage. 2020 – The Crew Dragon Demo-2 launches from the Kennedy Space Center, becoming the first crewed orbital spacecraft to launch from the United States since 2011.

[diarynz]

Producers hit out at Kingsley Jones over Jonah Lomu miniseries claims

New Post has been published on https://diary.nz/producers-hit-out-at-kingsley-jones-over-jonah-lomu-miniseries-claims/

Producers hit out at Kingsley Jones over Jonah Lomu miniseries claims

Producers of the TV miniseries Jonah, the life story of the rugby legend, have hit back at Phil Kingsley Jones’ claims he wasn’t consulted over the miniseries.

Jonah, directed by Danny Mulheron, aired over two nights on Three and has won praise for the performance of Mosese Veaila as Jonah.

Kingsley Jones is widely credited as the man who discovered Lomu when he was playing at Auckland’s Wesley College.

But following the airing of Jonah, Kingsley Jones criticised the miniseries, saying “it was all over the place and [had] a lot of truths left out”, claiming the show had “so much wrong” with it.

Last year Kingsley Jones told the Herald that he hadn’t been consulted about the series.

“I offered to consult for them for free but they never came to me. I am alive, Jonah’s not. They can write what they like. I mean they better get it right.”

Phil Kingsley Jones with his superstar client Jonah Lomu. Photo/ Photosport

Now the producers have hit back at Kingsley Jones’ claims.

A spokesperson for Great Southern Television told the Herald Kingsley Jones was heavily involved in the making of the drama, including lengthy discussions with both researchers and producers.

“The producers conducted over 200 hours of research ahead of the scripting process,” the spokesperson said.

“Of that, Phil’s interview was around four hours long. He sat down the writing and research team and then subsequently had a couple of meetings with producers and the production team.

“He met with the actor portraying him on screen for a couple of hours and he visited the set of the production for three hours.

Kelson Henderson as Phil Kingsley-Jones Mosese Vea’ila as Jonah Lomu in Jonah. Photo / Supplied

Images of Kingsley Jones meeting with the actor who portrayed him on screen, Kelson Henderson, have also been posted to social media.

The spokesperson for Great Southern Television also confirmed researchers and producers conducted numerous interviews with Lomu’s mother Hepi, brother John, former coaches Laurie Mains and John Hart, Doctor John Mayhew, and Phil Kingsley Jones himself as well as many others who played an influential part in the rugby legend’s life.

When approached by the Herald regarding his involvement and criticism of the miniseries, Kingsley Jones refused to comment.

Kingsley Jones went on to manage Lomu throughout his career, before Lomu’s marriage to Fiona Taylor saw their partnership end. The drama last night showed Taylor questioning Kingsley Jones about money that had been withheld from Lomu.

The Welshman recently spoke to the New Zealand Woman’s Weekly and shared his frustrations over the bitter end to his relationship with Jonah.

Jonah Lomu seen in 1999 with Phil Kingsley-Jones (left) and NZRFU CEO David Rutherford. Photo / Getty

“It was the worst time of my life not going to the funeral,” he told the magazine.

“A young prop from Tonga who did security rang me up and said, ‘Phil, I’ve been told you’re not allowed at that funeral – Jonah wouldn’t want you there’.

“On the day of the funeral, I sat at the Counties Manukau clubrooms and watched it on the telly with tears streaming down my face.”

The 71-year-old told Women’s Weekly he hadn’t been involved in the making of the two-part movie but hoped he was portrayed fairly.

The two-part special has been criticised by Herald reviewer Anna Murray for its “disjointed script” and its reliance on viewers’ knowledge of the intimate details of Lomu’s love life.

Source link

[goalhofer]

2019 FIBA World Cup New Zealand Roster

Forwards

#1 Yanni Wetzell (Vanderbilt University Commodores/Auckland)

#2 Finn Delaney (New Zealand Breakers/Nelson)

#3 Yuet Alok (Texas Christian University Horned Frogs/Sarasota, Florida)

#7 Mika Vukona (Brisbane Bullets/Tauranga)

#10 Thomas Abercrombie (New Zealand Breakers/Auckland)

#20 Jordan Ngatai (New Zealand Breakers/Auckland)

#21 Max Darling (K.K. Vrijednosnice Osijek/Auckland)

#24 Isaac Fotu (Ratiopharm Ulm/Auckland)

#33 Sam Timmins (University Of Washington Huskies/Dunedin)

#41 Tohi Smith-Milner (Melbourne United/Auckland)

#42 Dan Fotu (St. Mary’s College Of California Gaels/Auckland)

#51 Thomas Vodanovich (New Zealand Breakers/Auckland)

#54 Kruz Perrot-Hunt (Nelson Giants/Nelson)

#55 Shea Ili (New Zealand Breakers/Auckland)

Guards

#0 Tai Webster (Galatasaray S.K./Auckland)

#5 Taylor Britt (Canterbury Rams/Auckland)

#6 Jarrod Kenny (Cairns Taipans/Auckland)

#9 Corey Webster (New Zealand Breakers/Auckland)

#11 Ethan Rusbatch (Hawke’s Bay Hawks/Christchurch)

#15 Taine Murray (Rosmini College Basketball/Auckland)

#25 Reuben Te-Rangi (Brisbane Bullets/Auckland)

Centers

#12 Steven Adams (Oklahoma City Thunder/Rotorua)

#14 Robert Loe (Cairns Taipans/Auckland)

#24 Tyrell Harrison (Brisbane Bullets/Auckland)

#35 Alex Pledger (Melbourne United/Hamilton)

[liveonlinematches]

Suranga Lakmal © AFP

Suranga Lakmal might not be a family title, however his soared thru social media developments as he rocked India at Eden Gardens at the first day of the primary Check of the three-match sequence between India and Sri Lanka. No longer many bowlers have figures of 6-6-Zero-Three in opposition to the top-ranked Check aspect, in any case. Dinesh Chandimal rightly put India in on a greenish pitch after intermittent rain not on time get started of play. Lakmal replied in the easiest way imaginable: he bowled within the hall and located overdue swing; and KL Rahul, fishing at it with out a lot conviction, edged it to the massive gloves of Niroshan Dickwella.

It was once the 3rd time wicket fell off the primary ball at Eden Gardens. Lakmal is in elite corporate, for the others to try this have been Andy Roberts (who were given Sudhir Naik in 1974-75) and Malcolm Marshall (Sunil Gavaskar, 1982-83). Lakmal additionally turned into the primary Sri Lankan and 5th bowler (after Richard Hadlee, Geoff Arnold, Kapil Dev, and Pedro Collins — who has completed this 3 times) to try this two times. No different Sri Lankan has completed this even as soon as. Here’s a entire checklist.

Bowler Group Batsman Group Venue Town Season Feedback Arthur Coningham Australia Archie MacLaren England MCG Melbourne 1894-95 First ball of Coningham’s occupation Bert Vogler South Africa Tom Hayward England The Oval London 1907 Maurice Tate England Warren Bardsley Australia Headingley Leeds 1926 Frederick Badcock New Zealand Herbert Sutcliffe England Lancaster Park Christchurch 1932-33 Ernie McCormick Australia Stan Worthington England The Gabba Brisbane 1936-37 Fazal Mahmood Pakistan Conrad Hunte West Indies Queen’s Park Oval Port-of-Spain 1957-58 Graham McKenzie Australia Eddie Barlow South Africa Kingsmead Durban 1966-67 Abid Ali India Roy Fredericks West Indies Queen’s Park Oval Port-of-Spain 1970-71 Richard Hadlee New Zealand Keith Stackpole Australia Eden Park Auckland 1973-74 Geoff Arnold England Sunil Gavaskar India Edgbaston Birmingham 1974 Andy Roberts West Indies Sudhir Naik India Eden Gardens Calcutta/Kolkata 1974-75 Geoff Arnold England John Morrison New Zealand Lancaster Park Christchurch 1974-75 Kapil Dev India Mohsin Khan Pakistan Gandhi Stadium Jalandhar 1982-83 First tournament at floor Malcolm Marshall West Indies Sunil Gavaskar India Eden Gardens Calcutta/Kolkata 1982-83 Imran Khan Pakistan Sunil Gavaskar India Sawai Mansingh Stadium Jaipur 1986-87 First tournament at floor Richard Hadlee New Zealand WV Raman India McLean Park Napier 1989-90 Kapil Dev India Jimmy Cook dinner South Africa Kingsmead Durban 1992-93 Cook dinner was once dealing with first ball of his occupation Curtly Ambrose West Indies Gary Kirsten South Africa Newlands Cape The city 1998-99 Glenn McGrath Australia Sanath Jayasuriya Sri Lanka Galle Global Stadium Galle 1999-00 Allan Donald South Africa Leon Garrick West Indies Sabina Park Kingston 2001 Garrick was once dealing with first ball of his occupation Mervyn Dillon West Indies SS Das India Kensington Oval Bridgetown 2002 Pedro Collins West Indies Hannan Sarkar Bangladesh Bangabandhu Dhaka 2002-03 Pedro Collins West Indies Hannan Sarkar Bangladesh Beausejour/Darren Sammy Gros Islet 2004 Pedro Collins West Indies Hannan Sarkar Bangladesh Sabina Park Kingston 2004 Mashrafe Mortaza Bangladesh Wasim Jaffer India ZACS Chittagong 2007 Ryan Sidebottom England Darren Ganga West Indies Riverside Park Chester-le-Side road 2007 Mohammad Aamer Pakistan Tim McIntosh New Zealand College Oval Dunedin 2009-10 Dale Steyn South Africa Andrew Strauss England New Wanderers Johannesburg 2009-10 Suranga Lakmal Sri Lanka Chris Gayle West Indies Pallekele Global Stadium Pallekele 2010-11 First tournament at floor Mitchell Starc Australia Dimuth Karunaratne Sri Lanka Galle Global Stadium Galle 2016 Suranga Lakmal Sri Lanka KL Rahul India Eden Gardens Calcutta/Kolkata 2017-18

Shikhar Dhawan went subsequent, ill-advisedly looking to hit on the upward push regardless of the motion and enjoying on. The avid gamers broke for tea as gentle deteriorated. As soon as play resumed, Lakmal struck Virat Kohli at the pads and Nigel Llong dominated him leg-before. Kohli’s overview went in useless as India have been left in tatters at 17 for three. They didn’t upload any other run until stumps.

Lakmal additionally turned into first bowler to pick out Three wickets with out conceding a run in his first six overs. Different earlier than him to reach one of these feat are Peter Martin vs South Africa in 1995, Darell Tuffy vs India in 2002 and Jerome Taylor in opposition to West Indies in 2015; all selecting 2 wickets every.

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It’s business time 2017: entrepreneurial Kiwis set to inspire

Not all entrepreneurs are created from the same blueprint although you get the impression they have enterprise in their DNA. But entrepreneurs can emerge at any stage of life and from any realm.

At the Young Enterprise Trust annual “It’s Business Time” conference, the business success stories are as varied as the individuals – each one different but the same qualities stand out – curious, tenacious, passionate and resilient.

Sharing their entrepreneurial stories this year are:

Sam Stubbs – Founder and CEO of Simplicity

Former CEO of Tower Investments, Sam has set out to create a fairer, more honest KiwiSaver plan that strives to maximise the returns on KiwiSaver by charging the lowest possible fees. “As I got older I became more and more cynical about the financial services industry, I saw it looking after its profits first and foremost and not customers.” Sam wants to help kiwis have a bigger KiwiSaver fund by the time that they reach retirement.

Lisa King – Co-founder of Eat My Lunch

In 2015 Lisa King founded Eat My Lunch with her partner and chef, Michael Meredith. Lisa’s dream is lofty: to alleviate poverty in NZ, starting with kids’ lunches. Eat My Lunch’s ‘Buy one, Give one’ model combined with a food subscription service is unique, sustainable and scalable. In just over 14 months Eat My Lunch has delivered 250,000 free lunches to 35 low decile schools in Auckland and Hamilton, and recently expanded to Wellington.

Ben Reynolds – Co-founder SPALK

With SPALK you too can be your own sports broadcaster – Spalk injects and synchronises alternate audio commentary to live sports broadcasts. With Spalk, broadcasters are able to offer multiple commentary choices for viewers to select from. SPALK now license their API to broadcasters, along with having their own platform for amateur and college sport. Michael and co-founder Michael Prendergast came up with the idea when they started commentating sports games, for fun, using a free internet radio tool in our flat on the weekends.

Ian Taylor – Founder and CEO of Animation Research Limited

Ian founded Animation Research Limited in Dunedin in 1989. Ian knew that if he was to start a computer graphics company in New Zealand, it had to have a world-class offering. ARL’s vision of turning digital data into pictures that people could understand was that point of difference. ARL it is now a leader in its field, having designed numerous award-winning graphics including the first ever real time yachting graphics for the Americas Cup.

Other speakers on the day include Sir Richard Taylor (Weta Companies), Gabe Davidson (Wellington Chocolate Factory), Sian Simpson (Kiwi Landing Pad) with case studies from Fonterra, Pukeko Pictures and more.

As a charitable organisation that receives no government funding, It’s Business Time is a great way to support the work done by Young Enterprise Trust to teach entrepreneurial skills and thinking to thousands of primary and secondary school students throughout New Zealand.

Bound to inspire your team and your clients for the coming new year, tickets can be purchased at www.businesstimenz.co.nz.

  What: Young Enterprise Trust “It’s Business Time” 2017 When: Friday 8 December Where: TSB Bank Arena, Wellington Tickets: $250 or book a table and receive 5 tickets for the price of 4 www.businesstimenz.co.nz

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Realestate.Co.Nz reports plummet in belongings listings

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Realestate.Co.Nz reports plummet in belongings listings

An “ideal storm” of marketplace conditions caused a file drop in the number of houses indexed on the market closing month, listings internet site Realestate.Co.Nz says.

The website said the wide variety of recent listings across the united states of America fell 17.5 per cent in July in comparison to the same time in 2016.

Spokeswoman Vanessa Taylor stated the quantity of the autumn changed into a wonder. She stated the 7933 new listings changed into the bottom quantity for any July in view that her records commenced in 2007.

“That’s a big bounce down. I failed to think it’d be that tight,” she said.

READ MORE: Seaside suburbs attract maximum residence costs in Auckland

“At the identical time, New Zealand’s average asking charges for homes fell through simplest zero.3 according to cent as compared with the earlier month. It’s a scenario which we will be watching intently.”

She stated it became a case of supply and call for, with tightening deliver and lowering demand that means a stable charge environment.

“We’ve come off the lower back of 4 or five years of truly hot pastime and it came about in pretty a condensed area. When you have an area this is a hive of interest after which it actions out, it clearly does sluggish. That’s what we’re seeing here. It’s an ideal hurricane with the election arising and the college holidays, those elements are available that forestall humans.”

Taylor said 2016 have been a very strong yr for the belongings market.

The Auckland area especially was at an exciting degree in the assets cycle, she stated, teetering on the brink of becoming a consumer’s marketplace, for the first time when you consider that 2011. Theoretically, if no new houses had been to return directly to the market from nowadays, Auckland’s belongings stock could promote out in 23 weeks.

North Island regions with the greatest falls in new assets listings in July compared to the previous yr have been Waikato, down 27 in keeping with cent, Bay of Plenty, down 26.3 consistent with cent, and Taranaki, down 22.Four in step with the scent.

By comparison, new property listings in Auckland fell with the aid of thirteen.Nine according to the cent.

In the South Island, Central Otago/Lakes new listings in July fell 32.4 in line with a cent in comparison July 2016, even as Otago listings dropped by means of 28.Eight in line with a cent.

While assets asking fees nationally best fell via 0.3 in keeping with the cent in July in comparison to the previous month, 4 regions bucked the trend, with lifts in asking prices of greater than five per cent.

The Coromandel led the manner with an eleven.2 consistent with cent lift in asking expenses compared to the previous month, accompanied via Northland, 5.6 consistent with cent, Marlborough (5.4 in step with cent) and Central North Island, five.1 in line with a cent.

At the other quit of the dimensions, the most important falls in asking charge for July in comparison to June have been in Otago (down 7.Nine in keeping with cent) and the Wairarapa (down 7 per cent).

Taylor stated the website online had recorded a decrease in the number of homes listed for sale by way of public sale.

But she said companies and agents were as an alternative choosing to listing them via negotiation or gentle, rather than with a listed fee.

“It manner that consumers who are not unconditional can observe tenders and negotiations. With auctions, you need to be unconditional to purchase. It does on occasion block humans out. When it moved to gentle and negotiation it opens up that market a piece.”

Property Investments Made Easy With Investment Property Listings

Nowadays, humans interested in buying and selling residences make use of funding belongings listings to hasten the acquisition and sale of houses. Initially, human beings used to advertise most effective within the labeled sections of the newspapers, but now internet listings are becoming greater popular. This is because most of the people access statistics related to the real property on the Internet all through the shopping for technique.

Keys Benefits Of Investment Property Listings

Access To A Huge Amount Of Information

To acquire top earnings from an actual property investment, you want to make investments in the high-quality property to be had. However, for this, you want to have to get entry to a large amount of statistics on it on sale. Getting this information thru a realtor’s agent or contacts isn’t always feasible. But now with the supply of various sorts of real property listings via government organizations, belongings management businesses, and loan lenders, you can advantage access to the facts of a massive quantity of investment residences. If you need to spend money on a foreclosed property, you need to check foreclosures them, but in case you are inquisitive about a brand new home, you ought to take a look at new ones. For commercial belongings investments, there are commercial assets listing.

You Get Detailed Information On Each Property

A real estate list commonly gives targeted facts on every and each listed belongings. You can get information, consisting of a vicinity of the property, vicinity of the belongings, services to be had, an age of the assets, and so on. Above all, some investment they also have the pix of belongings on sale. This helps the searching for what you offer to have a glimpse of the property on the Internet, which helps them make decisions. Instead of visiting every listed belonging, someone can visit the ones he or she likes.

They Offer Affordable Services

While some funding assets listings are unfastened, some others are paid. Free listings are correct, but they typically do no longer supply certain records on each belonging. Moreover, the variety of houses that you can view as a loose member is also confined. Paid listings usually have a huge database. They are up to date often and provide better data.

Investment property listings assist you to shortlist several right houses, but to buy the quality one, you need to make extra efforts. Once you have got accrued statistics approximately the homes in that you are involved, you should begin traveling them in my view to have a fact check. It is nice to take along someone who is skilled in buying and promoting them, including a realtor’s agent with you at some point of such visits. They have appropriate enjoy of assessing them. Moreover, they realize the way to take care of the buying technique. After searching in and across the assets, they can estimate its sale rate. This allows you purchase the constructing at an inexpensive fee. While choosing a realtor, make certain that she or he has the enjoyment of purchasing and selling them in which you are fascinated. For example, for industrial funding property, you should lease an agent who has the reveal in of dealing in workplaces, self-storage, warehouses, industrial land, and so on.