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jovialyouthmusic · 5 years ago

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Kinky Cards

Many thanks to @speedyoperarascalparty for letting me on the list for Kinky Cards. If you’ve not read my fics, basically Bastien Lykel from TRR has a LI, Sophia Turner, who at the time of this piece lives with him in a suite at the Palace, and Liam is King. They have been together less than a year. Face claims are the smoking hot model Fabricio Zunino and model/singer Adeline Mocke

Word Count 4735

NSFW, obviously, no under 18s please

12. Be quiet. You wear a gag while your partner takes you. No talking back

Sophia lay awake, Bastien gently snoring beside her. Had she been tired enough, it would have been easy to drop into sleep, as the level of the noise he made was soothing, almost musical. She now found it difficult to sleep alone without his reassuring bulk and variable noises. They often drifted off with limbs entangled or spooning with an arm thrown over a hip or thigh.

But tonight her mind worked overtime. She cast back to her birthday, when he had taken her to a penthouse suite and made love to her until they were unable to continue any further. His birthday fast approached and she had no idea how to mark the occasion – apart from the very obvious promise of erotic delight. Their libidos matched well, and when one flagged the other would bring fresh inspiration, but over the last month or so they had settled into a comfortable pattern, and although she had no complaints, she thought perhaps a little spice might be in order for his birthday.

She had consulted Drake on what the Captain of the guard usually did to celebrate his birthday, and he had shrugged

‘Pretty much as any other celebration – either work through or keep to himself. He’s not really much for parties, as you know’

‘Does he like surprises?’

‘You know as well as I do he likes to plan things in advance, and the only time I saw him surprised was when he got home from hospital and the staff threw him a welcome home party.’ Sophia smiled

‘Yes that’s right – he tolerated it, although he did admit how tired he was at the time. I could maybe drop hints, let him know that I’m planning something but keep it a secret’

‘Good luck with that’ Drake grinned ‘If he wasn’t a King’s Guard he’d make a credible detective.’

So now she lay awake wondering what to do. She decided after a while that she needed to get up and do something rather than rack her brains in the dark. She slipped out of bed without waking her lover, and quietly went to the spare bedroom with her laptop.

She smiled softly, setting up her VPN and selecting private browsing. She wondered if Bastien would get past her deception. Elaborate plans trying to get him to go out for a meal wouldn’t work, she thought – but she could still surprise him in other ways. She smiled to herself as she selected a page in her browser and put an item in her virtual shopping basket. A little ground work, and Bastien would have a birthday he wouldn’t forget.

-------

Two days later, a small package arrived for her. Bastien looked it over curiously.

‘Did you order something, theá mou?’ he asked, holding it up in query. She smoothly took it out of his hand.

‘Well obviously – it has my name on it’ she said. He smiled knowingly

‘Is it birthday related?’

‘Maybe. A girl has to have some secrets, and it’s not all about you, you know’ She clutched the package to her chest and turned her back to go to the lounge. She placed it on the coffee table and went back to her cup of coffee. Bastien eyed it sitting slightly askew and off centre, which she knew would drive him crazy. He reached out toward it, but she tutted.

‘Don’t touch’ she said ‘I’ll open it when I feel like it.’

‘But…’ he complained, looking uncomfortable ‘it isn’t straight’

‘I know’ she smirked ‘and I’ll know if you touch it or try to move it’

‘Sophia…’ he said sternly, but she sat and sipped her coffee, immune to his admonishment.

‘You’re not scaring me you know’ she smiled ‘It will be worth the wait, I promise - but there will be consequences if I discover you’ve tampered with it’

------

The following few days were torture for Bastien. Every day as he walked through the room the package reproached him, both in its presence and its positioning A few times he reached out to it tentatively, but stopped himself.

‘What the hell is it?’ he muttered on one occasion, and jumped violently as Sophia entered the room clad only in a towel, hair wet.

‘No touching’ she admonished, and he looked up at her

‘I hope you’re only referring to the package’ he said hopefully

‘Follow me to the bedroom and find out’ she smiled

-------

At last the morning of his birthday dawned. He had not been able to work out if his lover was planning a surprise – his mind had been so thrown by the package that he’d not been able to think straight. Sophia rolled over in bed to face him, and put her hand softly on his cheek, moving close to kiss his lips.

‘Good morning my love’ she murmured ‘I hope today brings you your heart’s desire’

‘It already has’ he smiled ‘and as long as you stay close, it will continue to do so’ His hand ghosted over her side and she felt the heat of his body. She knew that he was ready for action – ready to take both of them to the edge of bliss and beyond, but she had plans. Reluctantly she pulled away to get out of bed. His face fell.

‘My goddess…’ he protested, having foreseen a day spent in bed with his lover.

‘Breakfast’ she said briskly ‘Up you get, my love’

------

Breakfast over, Bastien reached out over the table to take Sophia’s hand, and raised his eyebrows. She lowered her gaze and looked over to the coffee table. He gasped – he’d been so focussed on his lover he’d not noticed that the package was gone.

‘Where..’ he began, but Sophia rose from the table

‘Pack an overnight bag’ she said briskly ‘We’re going out when you’re ready’ He frowned but knew better than to ask questions. He wasn’t accustomed to not being in charge, and felt uneasy. He went to pack and went back into the lounge to find her waiting with her own bag. He narrowed his eyes – he had not noticed her putting anything aside. She was thoroughly prepared and he had noticed nothing – apart from that damned parcel. He looked again at the table where it had sat for the past several days. She smiled sweetly and reached out for his hand.

‘Come’ she said simply, and they left their suite to descend the stairs. She lead him out into the courtyard where Drake emerged from the Guards’ garage. He waved cheerily and approached them, holding his hand out. He grasped Bastien’s hand firmly and moved in to slap him on the back

‘Happy Birthday Bas’ he said ‘I understand you’re being whisked away’

‘Apparently’ Bastien replied drily. Drake waved to the nearest vehicle – an SUV, obviously recently valeted.

‘There’s a couple of things in the back from me and Riley and Liam’ he explained. Drake took the keys out of his back pocket, and he reached out for them – and gasped as Sophia took them instead. She had never driven him, and he had little idea of the competency of her driving skills.

‘Sophia?’ he exclaimed. Drake loaded their bags into the back of the car.

‘Don’t worry, Drake has given me a few driving lessons’ She said soothingly. Bastien felt the blood drain from his face, knowing how rough Drake was with the SUVs, which came back to the garages undented but caked in mud. She laid her hand gently on his arm.

‘Trust me, agápe mou’ she said softly ‘Would I do anything to endanger you?’ Reluctantly he shook his head, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. She climbed into the driving seat and he followed into the car, strapping himself into the passenger seat securely. She looked across at him. ‘It isn’t far, and if you’re really uncomfortable you can take over’ He grunted

‘Thankyou Sophia’ he said ‘I’ll make my best effort’ She started up the engine and fluffed the start, stalling the engine. He looked at her in alarm, and she broke into a wide grin.

‘I’m teasing, Bas’ she said, and with a roar of the engine, she started it up properly and they set off. They turned out onto the main road and made their way toward the mountain slopes. ‘We’re going to the cabin you took me to after the incident with Anton’ she said, before he guessed.

‘Good choice’ he said, trying hard to relax. She was doing well so far but he wasn’t looking forward to when the track grew narrower and bumpier. However, he soon realised he had nothing to fear, and it was he who got out of the car to open the gates to the final driveway. Soon they were parking outside the cabin overlooking the hill slopes that ran down to views of the palace grounds, and beyond that the capital and the sea. Bastien set about unloading the car. There was a large cool box and a bag with a couple of wrapped boxes inside as well as their overnight bags. Once they had deposited everything Sophia flung her arms around his neck and kissed him

‘Happy Birthday Bas’ she said ‘It looks like I succeeded in surprising you – am I right?’ He smiled, his hands wandering low to cup the soft globes of her buttocks.

‘You used a distraction technique that worked very well’ he said, pulling her close so she could feel his arousal ‘Was there anything in that package or was it a decoy?’

‘If you let go of me you can find out’ she murmured.

‘You really know how to press my buttons’ he conceded ‘I can’t resist – where is it?’

‘In the bag with the other presents’ she said, and turned to pick it up and hand it to him. He sat on the couch in the lounge and reached inside. There was an immaculately wrapped box that was most probably whiskey from the King, and a smaller package that was less well presented. He recognised Drake’s handwriting on the tag. The package that had intrigued and tormented him was there too. He was conflicted – which should he open first? Sophia noticed his hesitation and laughed. He looked at her and glowered slightly before taking the box from Liam in hand. He’d not give in to temptation – not just yet.

He pushed out his bottom lip as he reached into his jacket pocket for his penknife in order to open the package neatly and methodically. He had been right – the King had given him a very expensive single malt well aged whiskey. He gazed at it approvingly and set it down on the coffee table before taking Drake’s offering out. He opened it just as carefully, to discover that it had been well wrapped in the sense that there were several generous layers of paper in which nestled a small square box. He opened it to find a pair of cufflinks made of black onyx, engraved with his initials. He guessed that Riley had a hand in choosing them.

He looked up at Sophia as he held her package in his hand, waggling it at her with a stern expression.

‘I have a good mind to put this on the table and leave it there’ he said reprovingly.

‘I promise you’ll get more out of our stay if you open it’ Sophia assured him

‘Ha – so it’s not empty’ he said in triumph, and prised the flap open to reach inside to find a box wrapped in tissue paper, around the size of a deck of cards. Indeed, it was a deck of cards, and he raised his eyebrows as he read the wording on the packet. ‘Kinky Cards?’ He fixed Sophia with his gaze ‘Do we really need something like this – are you unsatisfied, my goddess?’ She quickly scooted over to him and squeezed his arm.

‘Of course not’ she said ‘But I wanted to do something special for today, something different’ He leafed through the pack, reading as he went. Mentally he ticked them off. As far as he was concerned, there was little new here - but he knew Sophia hadn’t as much experience as he.

‘Enough procrastinating – pick one and let’s see what comes up’ Sophia said tersely

‘Something has come up already’ he said drily, and Sophia pressed her hand to her face as he subtly indicated his groin. She took the box

‘Alright, I’ll pick first’ she said, and shuffled the cards before cutting them. She showed the card to Bastien. He cleared his throat and smiled. At last he was gaining control, getting back into his comfort zone. The card read Be quiet. You wear a gag while your partner takes you. No talking back.

Sophia drew a shuddering breath and he noticed the skin on her forearms pucker into goosebumps, her eyes blackening with lust. He took her hand and kissed it.

‘You will enjoy this, I think, theá mou’ he assured her ‘Come’ and he led her to the bedroom. Wordlessly they undressed, watching each other intently until they were both naked. His eyes swept over her from head to foot, playing over in his mind how he would challenge her in the moments to come. He took her hands in his and they sat on the edge of the bed together. She realised that it was not quite playtime yet, and she waited for him to speak again. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand before looking up to fix her gaze with his steely grey eyes.

‘Sophia, you know I have a lot of experience sexually speaking. I am happy to drop all my previous partners and keep myself only for you’ he started ‘This task may seem like a small thing, but it can lead to places I’m not sure you wish to go to. I have the utmost respect for you and will never do anything you’re not comfortable with’ Sophia nodded

‘I understand, agape mou’ she replied ‘I’m an adult and I’m ready to follow you’ He smiled faintly

‘Very well. As I said, this is a very small thing. You won’t be able – or allowed – to make a noise. You won’t be restricted in any other way – not bound or blindfolded or tasked to obey. You can move or touch me in any way you wish, and you can signal me to stop at any point – by tapping me sharply, three times in a row. Is that acceptable?’ Sophia nodded

‘Of course Bastien, I trust you completely’

‘In a moment I’ll ask you to find me something we can use as a gag’ the word made him harden a little, remembering for a moment the times he had used one on other lovers, then dismissed them, sticking only to the practicalities of his task. ‘There are two main ways one can use an improvised gag – I can either cover your mouth, which will make it a little harder to breathe, or you can have your mouth open so you can hold it between your teeth and bite down on it’ He saw her shiver slightly and her eyes blacken again ‘You’ll be able to breathe more easily, but you may produce a lot of saliva or your mouth may become dry. Find me something we can use, my love’ Sophia went to her bag and produced a couple of scarves. Bastien took them to examine.

‘Silk won’t do’ he said, running the first one between his fingers ‘It’s often spoken or written of by those who don’t know that a knot tied in silk can tighten or become difficult to loosen. This cotton scarf will do – how do you wish to wear it, Sophia? Over your mouth or between your teeth?’ Her voice was husky as she replied

‘Between my teeth’ she whispered. She cleared her throat ‘and what happens if I make a noise?’

‘That rather depends on what we’re doing at the time’ he said ‘I propose that I will make you wait longer for your release the more noise you make, if that’s agreeable. That also means you aren’t allowed to come unless I say you can – do you accept those conditions?’ Sophia nodded.

‘Yes - it sounds exciting’ she smiled. He caressed her hand again.

‘Sophia my goddess, I worship you’ he said ‘There is a certain power balance in this sort of play; remember, if you wish to stop you can tap me three times and I will obey instantly. You can warn me before then with a single tap before something you dislike escalates. Can you see what power you have over me? This is not a one way thing, I’m responsible for your wellbeing as your breath will be slightly restricted and you may not notice the warning signs’ He stood beside her as she sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Open your mouth’ he said softly, and he placed the scarf between her teeth, bidding her bite down on it. He took the scarf around to the back of her head, lifting her golden hair and looping it around once more before tying it securely. He checked by running his finger between the scarf and her cheek to make sure it wasn’t too tight. It might loosen anyway due to its positioning, but would stay in place as she held it in her mouth.

‘Are you comfortable my love?’ he asked, and she nodded. He chuckled ‘Last chance to make a noise. Speak, and see how it works’ She made a muffled sound, incomprehensible to him and he smiled as surprise filled her eyes. He guided her so that they lay on the bed together, facing each other. He ran his hand over her side, gossamer light. His hands were smooth, not the hands of a working man – his work involved his mind and his wit. His nails were neat and unsnagged, and he curled his fingers to gently scrape against her skin. She reached out too, to feel the roughness of his neat beard – actually surprisingly soft due to the products he used.

She gazed into his eyes, unable to kiss him, and he rolled her over onto her back so he could roam her soft curves with fingers and mouth. He grazed over her breastbone with his lips until he reached the hardening peak of her nipple, placing his mouth over her areola and gently swirling his tongue around it. He felt her breath catch and she tensed a little but remained silent. He was sure that normally she would let out a little moan at this. He pulled gently away, suction holding her nipple until he let to go with a soft pop, rewarded by her back arching a little and a snort of breath through her nostrils. He turned his attention to her other breast, this time allowing his teeth to softly nip, earning him a warning tap on the top of his head. He had only wanted to test her, knowing already that her nipples were sensitive and she preferred him to be gentle in that area. She was breathing softly but audibly though her nose, more relaxed for the moment. He pulled his lips over his teeth and again released her breast with a pop, and trailed his open mouth down to her navel, knowing his breath would be hot on her skin.

He allowed one of his palms to rest on her inner thigh as he swirled his tongue around her navel, and moved lower over her belly. He increased the weight of his hand and felt her respond by opening her thighs a little for him with a breathy sigh. He pressed his lips to the flesh below her navel, approaching the fair curled hair that covered her mound. She didn’t shave or wax her pubic hair – he thought it unnecessary and had convinced her that he was happy for her to remain natural for him. He also did not shave or wax, but trimmed so he was neat and tidy. Her wiry blonde curls harboured her natural aroma, which he relished more than perfume. He inhaled deeply and stroked his palm over her thigh, hearing her make a little snort through her nose but still not vocalising.

‘Very good, my sweet’ he murmured ‘Remember, any sound and I make you wait’ He felt her tap him on the head and chuckled. He repositioned himself over her, one knee between her thighs, his erection hanging heavy and brushing her belly as he gazed down at her. He placed his other knee between her legs and nudged her thighs a little wider, letting his member trace a line over her mound and softly rest on her outer lips. Her eyes widened and she let out a small whimper. He smiled in triumph. ‘Don’t worry my darling, your release is a long way away yet’ he teased, pausing for a moment before swinging his heavy length clear of her body so she squirmed and pushed her hips up at him, but he stayed out of reach. She made a snort of exasperation – sailing close to the wind as she wasn’t vocalising, but letting him know with her breath just how she felt. He cocked his head to the side, wondering how much that bent the rules. He decided to let it slide for now and bent to his task again.

Next he moved down the bed to bring his head between her thighs, feeling her quiver as he allowed his breath to flow over her delicate rose like parts. He took his time simply looking and breathing – the inhale for him, for her aroma, the exhale for her, to build the expectation that he would eventually bring his lips or tongue into action. She squirmed impatiently, again tapping him on the head. He chuckled again

‘You’re doing so well remaining silent’ he said ‘but that won’t make me act any sooner. Patience, my goddess’ He heard her sigh and settle, and rewarded her by exploring with the tip of his tongue, fingers gently spreading her lips wide for him. A moan escaped her, and regretfully he pulled away, tutting reprovingly.

‘I want this as much as you do, my love’ he reminded her. He waited a couple of seconds before returning to lick and suck at her sensitive flesh, tongue flattening over her outer lips and starting to probe deeper. She lay still, but she was not soft and yielding – she thrummed with need and her breath was ragged. He circled her hard little nub and felt her tense and start to roll her hips against him. She rested her hand on his head and her fingers fluttered against his scalp. He paused and drew back again, not knowing if she was tapping or losing control.

‘Remember, no coming until I say so’ he scolded, and was rewarded with a long low groan. He moved up the bed to lie next to her and look into her eyes to find out what she needed. Her face was flushed, her eyes slightly vacant and she trembled slightly. He realised he had taken her so close to the edge she was fighting not to tip over.

‘Are you alright Sophia?’ he asked ‘Do you want to slow down?’ she nodded, then shook her head in confusion, her breath sounding suspiciously like a sob, but her eyes were dry. He drew her to him and held her, feeling the tension in her body melt away and her breath settle. ‘Do you want me to take the gag off?’ he asked softly. She vehemently shook her head. ‘Do you want me to make love to you properly?’ he asked, and her face softened as she nodded. She slid her hand down between them to take him in her hand, encircling his manhood with her soft fingers. She put her knee up on his thigh and pressed her hips toward his, her eyes imploring him. It was his turn to groan as he realised how much she wanted him.

He sat up and drew her with him, going to the end of the bed and pulling her to standing, to face the window where she could see out of the picture window to the hill slope down to the sea, a faint reflection of the two of them superimposing itself on the glass. He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping his hands on her hips. She drew a shuddering breath in through her nose and past the gag, the scarf hot and wet with her saliva.

‘Come to me’ he said softly ‘Let me fill you’ He pulled her toward his lap, and together they manoeuvred so that she slowly started to sink onto his manhood, enveloping him in her velvety softness. He groaned and heard her breath catch and shudder as she lowered herself. He grasped her hips as she widened her thighs so he sat between them. Together they rocked so that he started to slide in and out. He knew she wouldn’t be quite so stimulated or challenged by this position unless he hit the right spot, so he enjoyed the tempo for a while as her breath sighed in a gentle rhythm. He reached around her, one hand on her soft breast, the other sneaking low, strong slender fingers finding her clitoris and circling it, feeling her start to shudder and her breath grow ragged again around the gag. He slowed to a stop and gently pushed her off his lap.

‘I want to see your face’ he murmured ‘Are you still alright?’ she nodded silently as she stood in front of him, cheeks flushed and hair ruffled, her eyes soft, pupils dilated, trembling slightly with need. She still held the gag between her teeth and her breath was evening out. He pulled at her gently to indicate that she sit facing him this time, riding him. He rested his hands on her hips yet again as she followed his prompting. When he was fully inside her, she rocked against him and he allowed her to do as she would – changing angle, pressing against him, falling and rising, her nipples hard against his chest.

She was on the verge of making noise, her breath indicating how close she was to orgasm, head rolling, eyes closed. He started to thrust a little faster and harder to get close himself, fingers gripping her flesh. He allowed her to flood his senses – sound, touch, smell, sight, the heat of her body, the pressure and slickness of her walls, the trembling that threatened to push her over the edge. She gripped his hips, fingers digging in and slackening off in rhythm with their movements, back starting to arch, breath quickening.

‘Not yet’ he admonished ‘Just a little longer my love’ She gave a little whimper but he could not slow, could not control himself any more, and that soft sound prompted him to slip over the precipice, groaning out loud.

‘Sophia!’ her name came from deep inside him like a prayer, a poem, a word of exultation and triumph and joy ‘Come with me my goddess’ he gasped, and at last she let go, pulsing strongly around him, released from her silence and letting a deep sound escape her. Together they rode the wave until it ebbed away and he slipped out of her to lie back on the bed. She collapsed by his side, pulling at the gag so it hung loose around her neck, laughing and taking great gulps of air. He pulled her to him and stroked her hair.

‘How was that?’ he asked ‘I have to say your present is a huge success as far as I’m concerned – did you enjoy your challenge?’

‘It was so difficult!’ she cried ‘I couldn’t kiss you – and it was so hard not to make any noise. It was totally different from being quiet in case we were overheard’ she stroked her hand over his chest and belly ‘I think you should wear it next time.’ Bastien laughed

‘No, I don’t think so’ he said, kissing the top of her head ‘Now be a good girl and go and get the deck – let’s see what else we come up with’

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#kinky cards 2020 #bastien lykel #trr bastien #OC x Bastien #sophia x bastien #trr au fanfic #the royal romance au

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marvel-lucy · 5 years ago

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The Walking Disaster, chapter 5

There’s really not enough Steve here, which is what everyone actually wants. Sorry. It’s entirely possible I’m a writing disaster.

All chapters are on the Walking Disaster Masterlist

I’m a bit drunk, OK. That’s why it’s happened. I mean, it could have happened to me stone cold sober, but this time at least I have an excuse.

I shove my feet into some shoes yes. Left foot, right shoe; right foot, left shoe. It’s dark too, there’s another extenuating circumstance for you right there. So I’m sat down, I put my shoes on, I pick up my keys from the coffee table, I start walking towards the door, but my feet want to go in opposite directions, then I tread on the toe of one foot with the heel of the other, and fall straight onto the coffee table, smashing it like it was a stunt prop. It’s loud, unexpectedly so. But even as I lie there, surrounded by bits of broken flat-pack, I distinctly hear the sound of Apartment 4’s door shutting, and footsteps walking down the hall.

Lucky escape, right.

There’s a big bit of me, the wine-fuelled, lust-laden, teen-hormone-filled bit of me, that wants to scramble to the door and pull it open, and run after him and accidentally trip and have him catch me in those strong arms, and hold me steady, gaze into my eyes and realise that there I’d been, all the time (well, a few weeks), right in front of his eyes. He’ll kiss me on my nose, and my hair will blow out majestically behind me (except for one bit that will cleverly hide my missing eyebrow) and then we’ll kiss and happily ever after will happen. Yeah, OK, so I’ve thought about this a lot. But then there’s the other, logical, bit of me that realises in this scenario I’ll either miss him completely, or fall and knock him over, breaking his arm painfully, or he’ll catch me, and my hair will blow in my face and stick to my lips weirdly (but revealing my missing eyebrow) and he’ll look kinda weirded out, stand me back up, politely back away and move out, without leaving a forwarding address.

So instead, I lie there, feeling sorry for myself, until I fall asleep.

So now it’s Sunday morning and I feel even sorrier for myself. I wake up in a patch of overly-bright sunlight, hugging a broken table leg. I drag myself up to realise I have wood splinters stuck all over my face. I take a long hard look at myself, pull off my mis-footed shoes, look at my apartment, and sigh.

Long, cold shower. Large, hot coffee. Plain, dry toast. Painkillers. Water. Crack open the window for some cool fresh air. Rethink life. I’m not religious but I offer up a generalised ‘anyone out there’ in the hopes of a little support, just in case. Then I sweep up my furniture, leave it in a garbage bag by the door ready to go downstairs.

Here’s the thing, me. It ain’t going to happen. Life’s not a rom-com, and no meet-cute ever actually happens in real life. The boy next door marries someone else and the girl next door needs to do her laundry. So go do it.

Sunday morning laundry. Has there ever been a greater time to be alive? Super fun right! I collect it all up into a giant bag, and it feels like there’s every item of clothing I’ve ever owned in there. Which is why I’m wearing old pyjama trousers and the scraggiest t-shirt known to man. Dubious stains, badly placed holes, and an advert for some company I’ve never heard of. Yeah, I know, the meet-cute rules say if I’m dressed like this I’ll bump into him, right? But I’ve already told you, those rules don’t apply, so just shut UP brain.

I’m only one floor up, so there’s only two sets of stairs. Down to the lobby, then down to the basement. I’ve got my giant bag trailing behind me, a basket full of washing powder and a book and a cup of coffee juggled under the other arm. The bag slithers behind me, flumping down each step. The coffee sloshes a bit. Here’s the bit where a cute movie girl would slip on the coffee, or accidentally spill her surprisingly beautiful matching underwear all over the boy next door. Luckily my greying undies make it safely downstairs without mishap. I shove it all in the machine, I sit in a chair and drink my coffee and stare at my book for a while, then doze off. Then I shove it all in another machine, doze off some more, then shove it all back in my bag.

Even my own brain is bored at this point, and it’s the one narrating this.

Then I flump it all back upstairs, bumping on each step two flights up, then I get there, and tuck the huge bag awkwardly under my arm as I reach for my keys. My keys. Which I last saw on the coffee table, before I broke it. The coffee table that is in pieces on the other side of my extremely locked door. Fuuuuuuuck. I was doing so well at avoiding the disaster clichés this morning too.

I’m not quite sure how long I stand there, basket in one arm, bag in the other, forehead resting against my door, softly whispering ‘fuck’ to myself. Let’s just say it was only seconds, OK. Allow me that much dignity. But apparently Sunday morning laundry is a thing, so who else do you think decides to do it? There he is folks, it’s Mr Apartment 4, Captain Handsome, the Meet-Cute that never was because we’ve already met and it sure wasn’t cute.

‘Are you… trying to walk through the door?’ He says that as if he actually thinks someone like me might try it. (I have. It doesn’t work. I still have a scar. Don’t ask, it’s a thing). I can’t even be bothered to lift my head up to be honest, so I leave my forehead resting on the door, and just rotate slightly. My hair catches as I turn.

‘Is your eyebrow supposed to look like that?’ I’m so done at this point, that I just smile. This is me, in all my glory. Run while you still can!

‘My keys, right now, are only four inches from my hand. But this door is slightly in the way of me getting them.’ I demonstrate which door I mean by banging on it slightly. With my head. I’m having a bad day, OK.

‘Ah. That explains the fuck. Um. What explains the eyebrow?’ He actually looks concerned, as if he’s genuinely asking, but actually, wait. His mouth is twitching slightly, and I can see he’s trying really hard not to laugh, but this is me, OK. I’m not going to be Nat. So he’s never going to like me, so I’m not going to try and hide it any more. The bag slides out from under my arm and splits as it hits the floor, so my laundry slides like a wave across the hall, a shimmering wave of greying and holey sweatpants and sports bras, all mismatched of course. I put the basket down, and the washing powder tips over, and powder starts to pour out into a tiny mountain, just waiting for miniature skiiers to take to its slopes. I. Don’t. Care. What’s the point in even trying?

This has only taken seconds, of course, and he’s still watching me but now he’s actually smiling. Ok, grinning. Woah, here comes a chuckle.

I turn around, rest my back against the door, and slide down it, until I’m sitting down. My feet knock over the powder mountain as I go, then end up resting in a pile of clothes.

‘I singed my eyebrow cooking. So I cut bangs to hide my eyebrow. Then I wore a cap to hide my bangs. But I was leaning out the window yesterday and my cap fell off. So I’m just wearing this brow with pride now.’

‘And the bandages?’ I look down at the greying bandages wrapped around my fingers.

‘Also cooking. The pile of wood inside my door wasn’t the result of cooking though. That’s the result of putting on my shoes. I am multi-talented in the inept department. I’ve won prizes for incompetence, but I lost them somewhere. I got a medal for most hospital appointments as a child but I swallowed it. I have lost my keys so many times that the super buys them in bulk. I am banned from all glassware shops in a three mile radius and when it’s icy, all local ER departments have a special cubicle set aside for me to have my bones set. My name is used in global alert systems to indicate an above ‘red’ level catastrophe. I am, to use the technical term, a freaking disaster.’

I look up to see how my rambling’s gone down, but he’s not there. Or not where I expect him to be anyway. His head is no longer six foot something up in the air, but is about level with mine. He’s cross-legged on the floor, still with that toothy grin on, but he’s using his finger to poke around the washing powder, and he’s drawn a smily face with it. The bozo. Here I am being woeful and he’s cheering me up.

‘Is your window open?’

‘Um, yeah, why?’

‘So’s mine. You could go out my window, go along the fire escape, and let yourself in. Or, I mean, you could live out here now. Either is fine.’

‘You’re suggesting that I, me, this person here, crawls out of an open window above ground level, walks along a rusting fire escape, pulls open another window, and crawls through?’

‘Yeah. It’ll be fun to watch. I’ll film it for YouTube.’

He’s definitely smiling at me now, but you know what, it’s OK. I don’t feel like blushing, I don’t feel like the butt of the joke, I feel like it’s OK to be chaos personified for a change. So, I scoop up my laundry into the remains of the bag, and I go into his apartment. I’m not looking round, because that would be rude, but my peripheral vision is working way overtime taking it all in. There’s a load of art stuff, easels and paints. There’s a big TV and a laptop, and some unwashed mugs. It’s not that tidy, it’s kind of lived in and nice. Over by the window, there’s a sketchbook, the pages ruffled in the breeze, so I can’t see what he’s been drawing.

He slides the window a bit further up, and I stick one leg over the windowsill, and try to pull the other one over. I teeter for a little bit, but make it safely. Then I make the mistake of looking down. I can see all the way down because there seems to be a lot of holes in this fire escape, and the bits that aren’t holes are mostly rust. But I’ve got this, I can do walking (let’s not remember the times I can’t). I keep one hand on the wall, and try and stride purposefully along, but I’m doing these teeny little steps and when the metal lets out a kind of squawk, so do I.

I turn back for a second, and he’s got his head stuck out of the window watching. And yes, he’s filming it, just in case my plunge to the death can earn him a few dollars. I’d make a rude gesture but I’m afraid of moving too much.

It’s not that far, so even at my glacial pace I make it to the window pretty quickly, then I wedge my fingers in the crack of the window and heave it up. I don’t get it very far, but I just want in by then, so I squeeze through, dangling half way for longer than is elegant, with just my backside and legs waving out of the window. I can definitely hear a snort and I really hope this doesn’t get uploaded anywhere.

Then I’m in, my head all red and sweaty from being upside down, and there’s my keys, on the shelf by the door, right where I’d put them for safekeeping while I cleared up my broken table. I grab them up, and I pull the window open, and I make my way back out.

Yes, you heard me.

I squeeze out of my own window, and I edge along the fire escape as it groans even louder, and the whole time Steve is watching me and doing that thing where you laugh so hard you can’t make any noise, so he’s just clutching at his chest and gasping. Thanks for all the help.

When I get to his apartment, he’s blocking half the window, hanging out of it. I edge past him, trying to get my leg over the sill, but there’s not much room so I end up tumbling through, and slowly sliding headfirst across his floor as my legs come into the room. But I made it. I’m here.

‘You know…’ he’s squeaking, as he tries to catch his breath. ‘You could…. Oh god…. You….’ His hands are on his knees and his face is purple. I pull myself to sitting and wonder if I need to do the Heimlich manoeuvre, or CPR, or give him a shot from an epi-pen or something. Finally he manages to heave in enough air and stands up, wiping his eyes.

‘You could just have opened your door.’

---

@patzammit @melconnor2007 @avengerscompound @kittyslove @badassbaker @phoenix21love @lbouvet @bellenuit45 @prplprincez @gingerrootknits @pineapplebooboo @feelmyroarrrr @avengerofyourheart @eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w @imhereforbvcky @shaddixlife @supernatural-girl97 @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @algud @whatsbetterthanfantasy @pixierox101 @edward-lover18 @madcheshire89 @heartfulloffandoms @chipilerendi @kenya-17 @mckorni32843 @amandarosemire @rda89 @nyxveracity @sea040561 @mrsalh32611 @ruinerofcheese @callmebucky-doll @vintagepigeon @bubbasmom @sassycanoodler @ladylorelitany @natcad @thisismysecrethappyplace @geeksareunique @mywinterwolf @moderapoppins @rinthehufflepuff @holyfuckloueh @onebatch--twobatch @algud

#marvel au #steve rogers fic #steve rogers au #steve rogers x ofc

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seprofcorp · 5 years ago

Video

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Jackson Browne - The Load Out/Stay( AN EXCERPT FROM FROM UNPUBLISHED BOOK):” A LIFE LOST- NOT FOUND”( SEMI-AUTO-BIOGRAPHY”:FOR THE REMAINDER OF MY SHORTENING TIME LEFT, ONE NAGGING, EMPTY HOLED REGRET WILL NEVER LEAVE ME. HOW ON THIS EARTH, GALZXY, DID I EVER, EVER, "MISS A "CLASSIS "JACKSON BROWNE CONCERT ,EITHER IN"MADISON SQUARE GARENES, QUEENS, THE VILLAGE, OR ANYWHERE ON LONG (ISTHMUS) ISLAND. MY GOOD BUDDY FROM "HOFSTRA U(OWWE HIM REAL BIG TIME(FORGIVE HIS FEW "CHILDISH PRANKS(STUFFING 1 OZ. OF GRASS IN MY SPORT JACKET POCKET WHILE I'M WORKING(ASST' SUPR, AT GIMBEL'S ROOSEVELT FIELD MENS DEPT, B4 CLOSING,KNOWING SECUIRITY HEAD HATED ME & MY SEMI=HIPPIE LONG HAIR(GREAT DRESSER THOUGH,IF I DO SAY SO); NEXT' " SLIPPED "CAMERA LENS CLEANER" IN MY POCKET RIGHT B4 WE LEFT A CAMERA STORE;, HOWEVER: AT 2NS "1969 MARCH ON WASHINGTON DC. ANTI=VIETNAM/DRAFT/NIXON"MARCH(WE ARRIVED AFTER DARK, I PARKED MY IF I STILL HAD IT), CLASSIS 1963 BRITISH RACING GREEN 390 4M BARREL THUNDERBIRID AT AN ADJACENT CURB .COSE , BUT STILL OKAY, TO THE "WHITE HOUSE(ANYBODY FOR "WHITE SUPREMISIST HOUSE??). WAKING LATE MORN, GUESS WHAT??: MY CLASSIC TO BE WAS "SURROUNDING BY "GREY HOUND BUSES, UT OF A HOLLYWODD CLASSIC WESTERN "CIRCLE THE WAGONS FOR AN ONCOMING NATIVE AMERICAN ATACK!!. WHAT TO DO, NADA, WE PARTICIPATED,THE 1ST MARCH, I, WITH OTHER GUYS,(EX- 2ND AT THE TIME, BEST FRIEND STEVE( A FORMER "FORBES MAG, BIG WIG(MALCOM TOOK HIM ON HIS YACHT UP THE HUIDSON FOR BI-CENTENIAL/ROAD " MOTORCYCLES TOGETHER,REALLY), WE WERE TEAR GASSED IN AN OFFICE, WHERE WE CAMPED OUT)..WELL, HAD TO LEAVE NEXT DAY, TOSSED COIN=HECK NO, WE(GHUYS, SMARTLY PICKED FROM US, THE MOST ACCEPTABLE TO THE " SILENT MAJORITY' & tje "secret service" gurading the buse entrance. gave "george" my keys, he "managed to talk the(so the agent told gorge-he had jumped on "mrs, lacqueline kennedy that traGIS ASSASINATIO OF PREZ. KENNEDY DAY, INDALLAS),TO MY(OUR( GREAT RELIEF/SURPRISE. THE AGENT " DROVE MY T-BIRD THRU THE PARTED BUS SPACE, GAVE GEORGE THE KEYS..WHAT A "JUMPIN' JACK FLASH, IT'S A GAS GAS GAS MOMENT IT WAS" SO SWEET. NATURALLY, MY 1ST WORDS TO APPROACHING "GEORGE": " DID U GET THE GUY'S AUTOGRAPH??(NATCH-HE DID NOT). 2ND: AT "GIMBELS AGAIN(B4 CLOSEING, A COLLEAGUE(LAURA HOFFMAN(MAIDEDN NAME) APPROACHED, ASKEDA FAVOR" PLEASE TAKER HOME ONE OF HER STAFF IN LADIES FINE DRESSES(DID NOT KNOW WHO SHE WAS). HOWEVER, GEORGES EVENTUALLY WIFE, WAS WAITING IN MENS' EPT, FOR A LIFT BACK TO HOFSTRA U.(HER DORM & THEN WHAT??WE WERE SEMI-DATING(SHE WAS/IS ABEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, BIT KOOKY LUGH, saved my "bacon once when "mo' KICKED ME OUT,AFTER BRINGING HOME NEWEST FRIEND("HERE CAM WINDY, THE SHELTY MIX')(those" REALLY WERE THE DAYS, MY FRIEND, & THEY REally did end"(forgot the author/group):WELL, CALLED GEORGE,AT HIS HOME, PLEADEd for fav, he drove over(not far away, to the red head a lift home(beginning of his "odyssey march to the alter for both), why so IMPORTANT & WORDY, U MAY RIGHTLY SAY??. that give a ride hoem, sweet, really looked close to"elizabeth taylor, ingrid bergmen & to me, SIMPLY AN "ANGEL" , SOMEHOW, A MYSTERIOUS FORCE(FROM OUTTER SPACE? BLINDED, HYPNOTIZED) THIS YOUNG LASS, CAUS WE "HIT IT OFF, SLOWLY "TRUE LOVE GREW, OVERTIME, AS LOVERS, THEN SADLY, SHE WENT AWAY TO MIAMI U., AFTER A "T/GIVING HOLIDAY TOGETHER(FOR ME IT HAD TO BE 7 DAYS/NITES OF PURE HEAVEN, THAT I'KK NEVER HAVE AGAIN),SHE MOVED BACK TO LONG ISLAND. N.BELLMORE, , ATTENDED LONG ISLAND U(C.W.POST,ON CAMPUS; HERE IS THE " KICKER" SOMETIME9MID FEB. WINTER(NEVER FORGET THAT MOMENT/DAY,AT HER HOME, "SHE KICKED ME TO THE CURB, 4 EVER, IN A NICE( WHO AM I KIDDING, NOTHING NICE HERE) MANNER(REMEMBER SHE WAS ALWAYS "SWEET " TOME")MY WORLD IMPLODED. BELIEVE ME, IF NOT STRONG, COUD HAVE TAKEN THAT " LAST SUBA DIVE" TO FABLED 'davy jones locker(THIS IS THE END" MEGA HIT BY JIM MORRISON/THE DOORS(JULY 4TH, 1972( THE LADY D.S HOME, YES, I CRIED, SITTING IN ROCKER, DOWNING A " COLT 45 CAN" LISTENIN IN HORROR TO THE T.V. NEWS REPRORTIN THE "DEMISE" PF "JIM MORRISON,INPARIS BATH TUB". "THE DOORS" MUSIC'/mesages, words,were my " main stay. my "obsession,if u will). guiding my life, driving me forward(did not know where),MUSICALLY OR JUST IN GENERAL(WITH LADY D, AS MY LIFE BOAT(RAFT WILL NOT DO TO DESCRIBE HER), SHE SO SWEETLY QUIETLY ACCEPTED MY PATHOS, QUIET, ROLLING TEARS,& WE MOVWD ON TILL OUR FAYEFUL MOMENT TOO(NO ONE WAS EVER HURT PHYSICALLY). "KICKING ME TO THE CURB", I WAS LOST,GRADUATED HOFSDTAR, ALREADY LEFT GIMBELS TO VACATION W/ HER INMIAMI, EXCEPT TOR "EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S WINDY" GIVING BIRTH TO "6' german shepard mix pups(apparently "SIZE DID MATTER TO WINDY"(ACTUALLY SAW THIS PERPUTRATOR SHEPARD DOG(AFTER RAPING MY LITTLE DOGGy) LEAPING OVER THE WHITE PICKET FENCE TO ESCAPE MY YELLING, WAVING, PRESENCE. YES, FOOLISH NE, NEGLECTED TO HAVE WINDY SPAYED *DONE A.S.A.P. AFTER NURSING PUPS). (GOT TO BREAK HERE(IF ANYONE HAS EVEN STAYED THE DISTANCE)< THINK I "FORGOT "MY POINT"(ANOTHER FLAW OF MINE. THANKS IF U ACTUALLY EAD THIS BLURB( NOT A "RANT", BELIEVE ME, ACTUALLY ALL HAPPENED. MY FONDEST, ETERNAL THANKS TO " GEORGE R.AND(ALWAYS REMEMBERED FONDLY AS "LADY DIANE".(HAVE TO REDO MY TYPOS LATER.

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too-cute-foryou · 7 years ago

Note

I'm glad you like the WHO decision! I'm glad you like that actual dysphoric trans people will not longer be able to have their surgeries covered by insurance and have to pay out of fucking pocket to feel correct in their fucking bodies! I'm glad you like that suicide rates of actual trans people are going to go through the roof! I'm glad you like that transness is not a mental illness anymore, but seen as a sex disorder such as pedophilia! I'm glad you're fucking transphobic!!! I'm glad!!!!!!!!!

First of all, there was no need to phrase this so angrily, but I’m not going to hold it against you. Clearly the WHO decision elicited a very emotional response from you. And, clearly, you’re taking it out on me via my inbox. I get it. You’re probably stressed, you’re definitely jumping to conclusions, and you’re incapable of talking to the World Health Organization. What they decided made you mad or scared, but you don’t have any way to tell them that, so you’re telling me. Or, yelling at me and accusing me, more like. That’s fine. I really don’t blame you.

Emotional responses are hard to control, and sending messages like these can be some sort of release. I’m not upset and I don’t feel attacked. If anything, I’m glad you took it out on me specifically, because I know there are a lot of people who would be hurt by somebody coming into their inbox and screaming at them for being happy about something.

But, enough about that and enough about feelings, let’s talk about what your message is really about: The WHO decision.

From what you’ve said to me, I can assume that following things. You’re afraid it’ll affect your insurance coverage, you’re worried about suicide rates increasing, you’re concerned about being lumped into the same pile as pedophiles, and that I’m “transphobic”. So, I’ll acknowledge all of those things.

I honestly hope it helps you out, and I hope it calms your nerves and makes you feel less mad/afraid. I’m not trying to be condescending when I say that, and I’m sorry if it sounds like I am. Tone of voice is impossible to convey over text. It’s going to sound like I’m preaching from a soap box and looking down on you. But I swear I’m not. The rest of this is going to go under the cut, because I this is gonna be long.

So, number one, let’s talk about insurance companies and their coverage from now on.

I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know much about insurance. I’m 16 and I’ve never had to pay for it/worry about it. All I know is what we’ve talked about in my personal finance class and also one time my parent’s insurance stopped covering my therapy for a few months. That’s kind of the extent of my understanding. I’m gonna have to talk through the words of others.

The WHO’s decision probably won’t affect american insurance companies much, because the DSM is what stands in the states. I don’t know if you live in the states or not, but I hope that’s at least assuring? The WHO affects Europe. And, even then, Julia Ehrt (executive director of Transgender Europe) has said that she’s “elated to see that the WHO understands gender identity isn’t a mental health issue”

The WHO moved being transgender to the “sexual health” chapter. They didn’t remove it from the books entirely. Tt’s still there. It wasn’t ripped out of the records, and it wasn’t classified as cosmetic. It was simply moved to a category that fit it better.

My attention span isn’t too good right now, but after a bit of research, I found out that at some point the DSM did something similar(?). In the DSM-IV-TR it was “placed in the category of Sexual Disorders, with the subcategory of Gender Identity Disorders“ I’m not sure if it’s still there, since the DSM website doesn’t want to load for me, but it’s important to note that this is a change that is similar to the WHO decision. (I think, at least. Like I said I should probably do more research, but focusing is hard right now)

When The WHO decision was made, it wasn’t to fuck with insurance, and those concerns were explicitly addressed. “The change is expected to improve social acceptance among transgender people, while still making important health resources available”.

And, on top of that, Dr. Lale Say (coordinator of WHO’s Adolescents and at-Risk Populations team) says that it was “taken out from the mental health disorders because… leaving it there was causing stigma… to reduce the stigma while also ensuring access to necessary health interventions it was placed in a different chapter.”

I don’t know how insurance works, but I honestly don’t think it’ll affect insurance. And, even if it does, there’s no need to yell at me like I have a say in what is and isn’t covered. I’m just a stupid fucking sixteen year old on tumblr, my opinion makes no difference in what companies want to cover.

Now that we’ve covered that, let’s explore the next concern: transgender suicide rates and how the WHO decision will affect them. I’m going to have to be honest again because like… this is a hard topic to research? I can’t find very many sources or concrete statistics overtime. It’s hard to see if suicide rates have gone up or down, because I can’t find charts anywhere? (If you fine any, tell me) But, I don’t think the WHO decision will have much of an affect on suicide rates? Trans suicide rates are very high, but there’s so many factors that play into those rates, that it’s hard to say. I don’t know. There are plenty of resources out there, though, so I hope nobody kills themselves over this.

So, since I can’t say much about that, let’s move onto your next thing. The fact that being trans is now in the same category as pedophilia.

Before I even talk about that specifically, I wanna mention this: Margarine is one molecule away from plastic, humans are a few DNA links away from chimpanzees. Being close to something and being in the same category as something, doesn’t mean they’re the same or even similar.

But, that aside, let’s talk about it. The WHO now considers being transgender to be a “sexual health” thing. That’s a very broad category. Yes, that category has paraphilias in it (such as pedophilia) but it’s not just “oh there’s two sexual heath things, and those things are being trans and being a pedophile!”

The sexual health page on the WHO’s website mentions things like the need for knowledge about the body, education about healthy relationships, gender equality, the need for freedom from discrimination based on sexual orientation, access to reproductive health care, and many many more things.

They’re not saying trans people are the same thing as pedophiles. They’re putting being trans in a category that fits it more. It’s not a mental disorder, it’s identifying as something that isn’t your birth sex.

Say what you want about this, and think what you want about the category, but don’t go running around screaming that “THE WHO THINKS TRANS PEOPLE ARE PEDOPHILES!11!!1″ because that is not what’s happening at all.

And, to talk about your last point, I’m not transphobic. I’m literally trans.

The WHO decisions probably won’t have the implications you think it will, and it’s more than likely a good thing. You don’t need to run around scared and screaming like a chicken with it’s head cut off. And, you don’t need to yell at me or accuse me of being a terrible transphobic asshole because I apparently “like the idea of these terrible consequences that won’t even happen.”

This is probably my longest post ever, so sorry for that. I hope this was coherent. I’m tired. Idk. You’re getting panicked over something that shouldn’t be causing panic, and you’re yelling at me for a decision I didn’t even make.

#truscum #transmedicalist #transmed #anti-truscum #anti-transmedicalist #anti-transmed #tucute #transgender #world health organization #who decision #discourse

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lunaschild2016 · 7 years ago

Text

Worth Fighting For: Chapter 72 - I’ve Got Issues

Rating M ( Language, Violence, There will be smut, Angst, Tragedy, Romance, Fluff)

@kenzieam @pathybo @jaihardy @every-jai @ericdauntless @beautifulramblingbrains @bookgirlthings @jojuarez26 @oddsnendsfanfics @offroadinjandals @singingpeople @iammarylastar @irasancti @captstefanbrandt @clublulu333 @fuckthatfeeling @tigpooh67 @ex-bookjunky @jughead-wuz-here @badassbaker @beanzjellly @beltz2016 @meganbee15@affabletimelady @scorpio2009 @gylisaa @geekybeyondallreason @violetsonthelam @kyloswarstars @emmysrandomthoughts @kgurew @beltzboys2015-blog @slytherin-princess-25273 @whatwouldbuffydo666 @jaiboomer11 @holamor @wealwayskeepfighting

**I promise I have put the read more option in but it has been glitching.**

(It has been a long hot minute since I have been able to do much of writing or being on this lovely site with you beautiful people. I hope to be able to resume activities and hope you also enjoy the new chapter!)

Disclaimer: As always, this is V Roth’s Tilt-A-Whirl and I am in the hack in the DJ booth trying to spin a good remix!

Chapter 72 - I’ve Got Issues

Eric

The morning meeting with Max and the other leaders drags on and I can’t sit still for shit. I don’t know if it is because I am itching to be done with this and get back to tracking down the third person that attacked Tris, or what. Something feels off and has since I let Kat walk out of the apartment this morning. I am not the only one that felt that though. Zach had been frowning after her for the longest and then looked to me with that deepening.

“What?” I had snapped out finally as we walked towards the offices. That frown still hadn’t moved and just kept getting more troubled and deeper.

“I expected her to be more upset and harder to get any rational thoughts or promises out of, Eric. If you consider all her fears, how she reacts whenever Tris has been threatened in the past, she is scary calm for her.”

I hadn’t been able to deny it so I hadn’t said anything. I felt the pinpricks of something all over my skin and they were getting worse. I pull out my tablet and open the app I had installed by Chase that would allow me to access cameras on it. The menu shows me all the different areas I can pick from or I can do a screen that has tiny windows to show all the areas. I select the landscape room that they should either already be at or at least heading to. It looks like everyone is already there but me scanning the groups isn’t showing me Kat. I scowl as I bring the tablet closer to my face as if that will help me to see what is clearly not there.

“Something wrong, Coulter?” Raze voice breaks my frantic search on the screen.

Not even changing the camera angle showed Kat although I saw every one of her friends, even her sister. I don’t answer as movement catches my attention. Peter is pushing his way over to Chase and I don’t need to know what he is going to tell him to know that Kat is gone.

“Eric?” Max calls out to me and I look up as I am standing.

“Missing initiate.” I grind out roughly. His face goes blank and he gives me a single nod.

“Go.” He orders and motions to the door but I am already making my way.

I hear heavy steps behind me and look over my shoulder to see Raze following. I know saying anything to the older man is useless so I just sigh and lift my phone to my ear. Part of me wonders if Raze is still sticking so close when it comes to Kat and I because he still isn’t convinced I am not really going to hurt her in some way. I know he still thinks I am completely in Erudites pocket. I shelve my irritation at him and that situation. I can’t let it cloud my thinking or actions right now.

Finding Kat is the priority and I at least know he will be with me on that.

“Control, scan the corridors from the landscape room to the pit and tell me if you have any movement from initiates.” I bark out the order quickly and then dial Chase.

He answers immediately and I can tell he is moving too. “Peter thinks he knows who it is and that Kat figured it out too. Not sure how but considering he is the only initiate not accounted for…”

“Who?” I interrupt, my jaw clenching.

“Al.”

“Find him and we find her.” I snarl out before hanging up and picking up the pace.

“Who is it?” Raze rumbles from beside me.

People are moving out of our way quickly once they catch a load of our demeanor and expressions.

“They think the third was Al.”

“The farm boy?” Raze asks with an incredulous expression.

I can only nod as well. I am pissed that I discounted him as anyone that might be a threat during our previous review of anyone that might have been responsible the first attack. Molly, Drew; hell even Christina had all been on the forefront of the list at the time. Chase and I had both dismissed the former Candor. A mistake that had my blood raging.

Alerts popped up on both of our phones indicating the path Al had taken, leading straight to the dorm. Kat had disappeared off the cameras but I knew she was there. She knew the hidden paths well now, she would have taken them just like I would have. Avoid being seen. Which meant she had nothing innocent in mind for the coward.

I didn’t need to communicate that to Chase, he already knew. What we didn’t know was what we would be walking into when we finally made it in.

Third Person

The rumor mill in Dauntless was working. Working overtime at that. Once again it seemed like a certain transfer was at the heart of those rumors. For once the seemingly outrageous rumors weren’t that far off the mark.

All Tris knew was that she was not allowed to see or talk to her sister once again and it was driving her crazy. Especially since she couldn’t get it out of her mind...what if…

What if she had told someone, anyone, what Al had tried on visiting day and what she had felt. She had reasoned out that it was just an awkward attempt at a kiss. A misunderstanding from a friend that could be gotten over given a little space. How could she explain the flash of something in his eyes that had unsettled and frightened her? She wouldn't admit to being scared of something or someone. Not here in Dauntless and at the time especially not of someone like Al.

Then had come the attack and while she hadn’t seen Al she had somehow known it was him. His smell had overwhelmed her and she had recognized his voice in the dark before things got blurry for her. Even Tobias hadn’t believed she didn’t have her suspicions. Still, she had kept them to herself. She didn’t want him to win...she reasoned. She didn’t want any of the three to think they had gotten to her. Al was already headed out of the door, she was sure, based on things Tobias said. He would have punishment enough living among the factionless.

Even when he had confronted her she still hadn’t said anything to anyone. She had seen him taking off and she had a shiver of foreboding run down her spine. The same feeling she had the day she stepped into the aptitude test room and the same feeling the first day of sims.

So many things she had kept to herself until she was feeling like she was going to snap. Guilt weighed her down and had her curling her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly hoping to hold herself together.

Kat wasn’t even in Dauntless. The attack had finally been bad enough that she was taken to the cities medical facility. She didn’t know how to feel that the rumor was going around that Al was just as bad.

Somehow he had come by a knife. There had been a struggle when he attacked her and they both got cut up badly.

Lynn sat beside Tris in her own quiet worry for her sister. She had gotten word from Shauna, some details about what happened though apparently most of it was being classified. All Lynn’s own sister could tell her was that when the leaders and trainers made it into the dorm, they had found Al straddling Kat and trying to slit her sister's throat while yelling that this time he would finish the job.

Lynn supposes that it was Al along, working with the other Candor’s. There had to be truth to that because leaders had taken Christina away to be questioned.

That didn’t make Tris feel any better. Another potential betrayal from another supposed friend.

As if she could sense the line of Tris’ thoughts, Lynn threaded her hand through the other girls after taking and squeezing it a little tighter than what would be considered reassuring. It was almost like a promise, as was the look in the Dauntless-born’s eyes.

One thing was for sure, from now on Tris knew she would be more mindful of who she trusted and if Christina had been involved in some way, she could guarantee at least one person would be with her in making her life hell should she show her face again.

Uri found the two girls in the Dauntless-born training room looking strained and panting.

“They’re moving the transfers to the Dauntless-born dorm.” He looked behind him to see Marlene coming up behind him carrying one of the bags they had collected for their friends then looked back to Tris and Lynn. “We didn’t think you would want to go into the dorm, so Marlene got your stuff for you, Tris.”

“What about Kat’s stuff?” Lynn asked in a ragged voice.

Uri shook his head. “They wouldn’t let us take it. Lauren said something about it being looked over as part of the investigation.”

“Why?” Tris asked in confusion and worry. “It was clearly Al during the other attacks too.”

Marlene’s expression turned sour and she spits out the answer with venom. “Lauren.”

Lynn gave a low growl as she popped up. “Stupid bitch.”

“What about her?”

“She’s jealous of Kat. Has been since the beginning. You too but not as much as she is of Kat. Lauren was a transfer from Erudite and has always lorded over everyone that she was one of the few high ranking girls much less transfers of her year. You two being ranked so high has her boiling with jealousy and it hasn’t gotten much better after Kat beat Tank.”

“She let it slip that she thinks one of the members had been giving Kat access to knives. So now she is under suspicion.” Uri said tiredly, wiping a hand over his face.

Zeke walked up behind them soon after while they were still discussing what had happened and if there was any word on Kat. He was as tight-lipped as the rest of the leaders while he escorted them all to the new dorm situation. All initiates were under lockdown for the rest of the day. Most considered it a rest and were even happy when dinner was brought to them in the dorm.

Tris and the rest of the group felt like climbing the walls with worry and frustration. It was a long and sleepless night ahead of them.

Erudite Medical - Secured Room

Third Person

He was cuffed to the bed even though he had no illusions that he would have been able to run even if he were not. Actually, the truth was that he didn’t want to find out what would happen if he tried to run. The looks he got from Eric, that he expected even if he still dreaded it and felt like he was barely holding onto his bowels. The ones from Four and Chase, on the other hand, he had not counted on.

He was glad for the brief break from the three older Dauntless’ presence. They had all left to go question her; Al thought of her with malice and frustration. He had failed to eliminate her again and ruined any chances of getting away.

That was what he should have done. Instead of making a last-ditch effort to get Tris alone and take her with him, he should have just run. Even when Kat had first come into the dorm, he had plenty of time to grab the crap he had been given and make a run for it.

Seeing the reason all the plans, everything he had been promised, to be snatched from him walk in that door had taken what little sense he had away. It was all a nightmare, one long fucked up nightmare. From Choosing day until now, it was all a nightmare. One hellish day after another that had kept spiraling until he could almost believe that the fires of hell would be a relief.

All those carefully made plans. All the preparation and excitement he had on that fateful day, had gone up like so much smoke. He had done as instructed though. When he saw Tris’ blood hitting the coals, not stones, he followed her even if he had felt like throwing up while doing it. Of the possibilities that he had been told to expect, Dauntless had never been mentioned.

Abnegation or Erudite. Those were the two that he was meant to follow Beatrice too. He had been promised, though, that it would be Abnegation. He had it all planned out. The life he would have had and was meant for. He had been promised that Beatrice and he would marry after initiation. He would finally have the girl he had pined over from the moment she had helped a shy and terrified ten-year-old when he had been being picked on by others of his faction. Beatrice had stepped in and helped to pick up and give him encouraging and kind words. She didn’t remember him and they never spoke again. He had watched her from afar and fantasized about her and him being the very best of friends. He hit puberty and the dreams changed. He always meant to go to Abnegation because he knew she would be there.

There was only one person that was to blame for that dream being shattered.

Mary Katherine Prior. Kat.

He almost had her that first time. Just a little harder and little longer would have been all it took to squeeze the life out of her. He hadn’t, only because his orders were to bring her to him. Orders that he should have ignored but now it was too late.

There had been a hope when Kat had fought him back in that dorm that she would end him. He had seen it in her eyes. Knew she was capable of it but it was like she had held back. In the end, he knew that there was no getting away, but if he was going to go down he had been hell-bent on at least finishing her off.

Marcus had promised to protect him if he succeeded. He never said what would happen if he failed.

There was the sound of a code being put into the security pad of the room he was in. The door opened and then a procession of bodies started to file in. Mostly black-clad men, a few blue-clad medical professionals and then what he dreaded most….the black and white of Candor.

They circled around him. Surrounding him. The air in the room was already cold, but with the looks he was on the receiving end of as well as the dread that filled him upon a syringe being filled with a familiar colored liquid, it dropped to an arctic level of cold.

“Albert West,” Jack Kang began as he stepped forward. Al swallowed heavily as the nurse with the syringe came over to him and started to push the serum through his IV. “You are being given truth serum and will be questioned in regards to a series of attacks as well as the possibility of aiding in illegal activities and treason.”

He couldn’t believe what was happening. He had been assured that Dauntless wouldn’t investigate any assaults. That it was commonplace enough that it would just be written off. Dauntless prided themselves on handling everything internally, not letting anyone see weakness within and Candor was rarely, to the point of never, becoming involved.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He tried to protest but it was useless. The questioning began and no matter how hard he tried to stop from telling him the names of everyone involved or what his real motive in everything was, the more violently ill he became. He never could tolerate pain well and broke fast. All resolve to hold the truth in crumbled and he spilled everything.

Al was oblivious to the reactions of those in attendance. He missed the snarls aimed in his direction or the whispered words from one person to another. He missed the strained sharing of glances and the subtle restraining hand upon the arm of the man in black with the maze and symbol forearm tattoos.

Lastly, he missed the lanky frame of Four as he slipped out of the hospital room door with rage and pain in his eyes and the bearing of a man on a mission.

Factionless sector

Third Person

Shadowed figures made their way stealthily through the rough sector of the city. Staying to streets and alleys that had holes in the surveillance cameras Dauntless tried to keep in working order, they moved quickly. It was a small group. Easily able to slip through those holes, especially since it was led by someone who had complete knowledge of them. Regardless of the assurance that the cameras would not capture their activity, the group of five men further concealed themselves with masks of a black wool material drawn over their faces. The only visible feature being the eyes that had cutouts that allowed the wearer to have an unobstructed view. Even the nose and lips were covered with the material being easy to breathe through.

It took some time to pass the sector for the displaced residents of the city. Their real goal was located in the sector of the caretakers of the denizens, Abnegation.

The home they approached in the deep dark of the night was one of the first one came upon as they entered Abnegation. In appearance, it was a mirror of all the others. Grey concrete formed into the uniformly rectangular house. It was slightly larger than all the others. A privilege afforded by the owner's position in the faction.

The placement was also a symbol of position. It stood apart and ahead of the others to signify that above all, the members of that house stood to take care of and sacrifice for the city. It was a belief held as truth by all members of Abnegation. It was also regarded as a convenience that the revered leader was usually the first person sought out by the factionless who wandered into the factions area.

This was also something that the leader of the group used to his advantage and had intimate knowledge of. If they should be seen, it would look just like other similar occurrences did. It would like a group of the poor factionless seeking assistance from the man that had the power and giving nature to provide.

All of that was lies of course. There would be no assistance sought tonight but justice long due being meted out and the man within might have power but giving was not his nature.

Sadistic. Manipulative. Cold.

Those were the words that could describe the man that lay in his bed, unsuspecting that his bill was coming due faster than he could work to make disappear.

Three of the cloaked men remained outside. Posted as lookouts while the other two slipped in the back door. There was a slight hesitation from one of them before he passed over the threshold. His blue eyes widened and looking as if he was moving through a dream or seeing a ghost.

The other man whispers a question. “Are you sure? I can do this if not.”

It snaps the other out of whatever was holding him back and he shakes his head. “No. I need to do this.” He whispers back fervently with a hard edge to his words.

He gets a small firm nod back before he steps in front and leads the way up the stairs. The wind picks up outside, making a whistling, howling sound between the buildings. It is just loud enough to mask any muffled shouts or thudding of bodies that might escape from the thick concrete walls of a house used to masking the pain it had housed within.

#divergent #divergent fanfiction #divergent au #eric coulter fanfiction #eric x oc #romance #angst #tragedy #fluff #smut #eric coulter #oc #tris #four #jai courtney #chloe moretz #shailene woodley #theo james

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creativeashproductions · 7 years ago

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A World Apart // Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve has his eye on a special girl with a rocking tough demeanor and caring attitude, once helping her out of a sticky situation he decides he needs her. The problem in her eyes? Well they’re obviously different from each in more ways than one.

Characters: Steve Harrington x WOC!Sinclair!Reader (woman of color), Lucas Sinclair, Billy Hargrove, Max Mayfield, Erica Sinclair (mentioned), Mike Wheeler (mentioned), Will Byers (mentioned), Dustin Henderson (mentioned), Eleven (mentioned)

Words: 3.3k

Disclaimer: I do not own Stranger Things or the characters. Nor do I own any gifs or images that may appear. The reader is a female black woman, I reached out to @lively-disrespect for help as she did request this.

A/N: This is a long ago requested fic of an interracial relationship with Steve Harrington. There might be racial slurs in this but know that I would never use these horrible words in real life. I will refer to the reader as a black woman and hope to high hell I don’t offend anyone.

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*1984*

If you could give a definite percentage of racial groups in Hawkins, Indiana you would say the amount of black families was low. Your eyes tended to search streets and crowds for any person that related to you; seeing as the media was flooded with the typical fair skinned actors. Often you met eyes filled with judgement, hate, and disgust despite the many years that had passed since lawful segregation ended. You didn’t have to live in a different neighborhood or attend a separate school, but that didn’t mean the mentality had gone away.

Your family was well off for a black family in a small Midwest town, and you would bet on your life that Erica and Lucas would grow to be highly successful in the career fields that they decide on. Lucas got high grades and was integrated into a group of non-judgemental middle schoolers which you believed came from them all being considered outcasts. Erica was intelligent for her age, based on her knowledge and ability to talk her way out of trouble.

“Y/N?” Lucas called from his room. His fast paced footsteps coming to your half closed bedroom door.

“Lucas! Don’t run in the house!” Mom shouted from downstairs. No doubt at the small desk in the corner of the living room surrounded by papers from work. She always brought work home on Friday to lessen the load.

“Sorry!” Lucas called back before stumbling into your room. A camp bandana wrapped around his head and his infamous red corduroy jacket.

“What’s up?”  

“My bike doesn’t have the new chain…could you fix that?” Lucas slowly asked. His bike was one of the few things he couldn’t fix for the life of him. You however had a vast knowledge of cars, bikes, and anything with a motor. It didn’t mean you entirely enjoyed it though.

“Has it arrived?” You questioned.

“No.” He said sheepishly.

“I can’t then.” You shrugged.

“Could you give me a ride? I have to mow two lawns on the other side of town.” Lucas pleaded.

“Can’t.” You shrugged, “What car would I drive? The invisible sports car I own?”

“Ugh!” Lucas exclaimed stomping downstairs in exasperation. You chuckled to yourself before flicking to the next page of your magazine, “Mom! Y/N won’t drive me!”

You heard the reprimand of yelling in the house before the conversation went down a few notches to where you heard the voices but not the words spoke. Soon the door was open with Lucas smirking in front of Mom.

“You can pick up Erica from Mary and Todd’s house.” Mom spoke holding her glasses in hand, “Drop him off and Dad will pick him up later.”

“Fine.” You grumbled lowly before grabbing your jacket off the back of the chair and slipped the shoes from the side of the bed.

You slipped passed Lucas and Mom after closing your bedroom door heading to the kitchen where the keys hung on the wall. You grasped the car keys while Lucas ran down the stairs smirking at you in the way you would describe siblings did to each other.

“Come on!” Lucas called over his shoulder, “I need money for the arcade.”

“Don’t run in the house Lucas Sinclair! I’ll take the radio away!”

The door slammed shut on your mom’s sentence as you walked to the well used Volvo parked in the garage; you didn’t use it as often as you liked. Your family had two cars for each parent that were used regularly. Lucas talked your ear off on Mr. Clarke’s newest class experiment to Dustin bragging about his new teeth and the atmosphere changed with his words involving Will.

“He’s just…a shell of who he was before.” Lucas mumbled looking out the side of the window.

“Understandable.” You spoke, “Remember our neighbours before they moved? When their son came home from war? He changed. Mood swings, violence, he’d go into his head sweating and swearing as if he was back in the war zone.”

“Aren’t they doing experiments on that?” Lucas spoke to himself, “That trauma would be devastating.”  

“Don’t join the army.” You side eyed him, “Work at NASA or something. Get a Nobel prize ”

Lucas rolled his eyes at your words as you pulled up to a stop at the house of a widow old man you deemed the nicest person you ever met. When a child was born or someone died he was the first to offer advice, a shoulder or just kind words. He brought flowers to Erica after he fish died and paid too much for lawn mowing but refused to give less.

“Call the house if Dad can’t make it.” You spoke as he got out. Old man John already standing full height on the porch with a kind smile at you two.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be an ass. I won’t take you to the costume store.”

“Dustin, my bike is broke! I don’t have a ride man! Mom would never let me walk that far at night!” Lucas exclaimed.

 “I’d say Steve and I would swing around to pick you up but it’s out of the way man.” Dustin replied, for once they were on the house phone. Lucas got the radio taken away.

“Ugh!” Lucas grunted slamming his head on the counter. You had wandered in to grab a glass of water when you froze. The eyes resting on the back of your head so intense you nearly shuddered, “Never mind I have a ride.”

“No.” You firmly spoke.

“Yes.”

“No!”

Twenty minutes later you glaring at the stupid road with Lucas in the passenger seat waiting for the Party to show their faces. You barely understood how he managed to get you to drive him but you knew it included blackmail.

“Hey Blacky Chan!” You tensed your asshole radar going crazy. Resting against the passenger side was a smirking Billy Hargrove. His hobbies included smoking, fucking, and racial slurs.

“Shut it Hargrove!” You shouted back.

“You remind me of my toast this morning!” Billy exclaimed with a cocky grin, “It’s in the garbage where black things belong!” You clenched your jaw as Lucas shuffled in his seat.

“Excuse me.” You calmly turned to Lucas before harshly throwing the door open and stepping out. You slammed it shut before taking in a deep breath.

You stomped your way over to Hargrove ignoring the cars parking to let kids out; abruptly you came to a stop standing in front of the racist ass. You gripped his wannabe Hasselhoff hair tightly before kneeing him in the nuts; when he doubled over you slammed your knee harshly into his nose before slamming his head against his car door.

Stationary on the ground, he blinked up at you deliriously while you dropped the accumulated hair in your hand on his chest.

“Keep your pube hair and wannabe James Dean attitude the fuck away from me and my family you piece of racist shit.” You shouted pulling your foot to land a solid kick to his ribs before arms wrapped around your waist. You were dragged to the other side of the road by Dustin’s honorary older brother Steve.

“Whoa there Tiger.” Steve mumbled moving so you were looking at him, “That was cool but don’t kill the guy.”

“Sorry.” You grumbled huffing with your arms crossed in front of you.

“Harrington and Sinclair.” Billy slurred a little as he stumbled to his feet, “Oreo Couple of the Decade.”

Steve stiffened before rage filled his body and he was suddenly in front of Billy slamming his fist into his face. Already hurt Billy fell unconscious to the ground with a grunt then silence.

“Holy shit!” Dustin exclaimed.

You noticed the Party standing there shocked with a newly integrated Max in the group staring at you in awe. Fuck the comics or action films, you were the goddamn real thing boosting yourself as her idol.

“Leave us alone.” Steve hissed at the prone body before gripping your hand tight in his.

“That was amazing!” Lucas exclaimed with a massive grin. The Party nodded an extreme while Jane said her iconic catchphrase.

“Bitchin’.”

Slowly overtime you became closer with the Party and Steve after your time being spent grounded faded into the past. When your parents found out you beat the living shit of Billy you were grounded for months after the threat of charges were ended. Apparently Neil Hargrove gave more punishment for his words, who knew Neil didn’t like racist remarks.

“He doesn’t.” Max spoke after you explained your theory, “He’s the biggest racist I’ve ever known. He just likes punishing Billy.”

Max didn’t go into detail on why Neil likes punishing his son or how he did it but you had a feeling it was the fuel behind Billy’s abusive and violent behaviour. Honestly you didn’t give a shit on the ‘reasons’ he had to be a dickhead.

“Hey.” Steve spoke stepping into your backyard. While not as extravagant as Steve’s backyard with the spacious area and a freakin’ pool it was a quiet beautiful with the typical play area and sandbox. A barely used treehouse from your childhood and once upon a time was the notorious summer D & D location.

“Hey.” You spoke sitting on the edge of the deck. The Wheeler’s were redoing the basement leaving the Party to scramble for a location.

“You doing okay?” Steve questioned taking a seat beside you breaking away from the young kids watching a film in the living room.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I noticed after Max told you above Neil and Billy you just kinda...disappeared.” Steve hesitated to reach out to place a hand over yours.

“I may appear to be this tough thick skinned girl but I’m still human. It hurts.” You admitted looking at your dirty shoes. It felt odd baring your insecurities to Steve being that he used to be the most popular guy with an asshole attitude and posse behind him.

“I think that makes you tougher.” Steve smiled turning his whole body to sit by you, “You take the shit people show you, tell you and you don’t let loose in public. The only time I’ve seen you truly react was when you beat Billy’s ass.”

“It felt nice.” You chuckled brushing a single tear from your cheek.

“If I were you. I would have...have done the opposite of what you did. I can’t explain it without unintentionally insulting you but I wouldn’t be the type of person you are.” Steve explained slowly pushing his hand over to yours until he linked your pinkies together.

“Thanks Steve.” You smiled.

“I’m serious. I admire you and I hope the world gets better than it is today.”

“You know. You’ve changed Steve from the teen I knew a year and a half before. You were an ass to everyone without a thought on the repercussions. It’s nice to see the real you.” You bumped your shoulder into his.

“It’s nice to be seen. If you’re not busy on Friday, do you wanna go watch a movie?” Steve shuffled sadly as you unconsciously tore your hand away from his arm.

“I’m sorry Steve.” You sadly spoke turning to him, “I like you. A lot, but I can’t go out with you. It’s not because of your past, but it’s about our society. No one would fully accept you and I together. Let’s say we get together and end up married. It’s not illegal but it’s almost taboo, and imagine how our kids would be treated.”

“Then we don’t have kids.” Steve spoke, “We have a bunch of kids in there that have proven that children can be trouble and difficult.”

“That’s only part of being a parent. You get to see the highs, the firsts and be that role model.” You sighed, “I know by the way you act with those kids that you’ll want kids in the future.”

“I think we can get through it if we work out.” Steve urgently spoke.

“Billy called us the Oreo Couple of the Decade. Oreo because you’re white and I’m black. Our potential kids would get shit for our skin color.”

“We can do it. Together.” Steve spoke sliding closer, “With you by my side I feel like I can do anything. Screw the world, things can change. We’re literally only seniors and we have our lives to decide and the world can and will change.”

You bit your lip contemplating the decisions before taking a deep breath to fully turn to see Steve. Your decision was heavy but you hoped it was the right one. Before you could answer, you were interrupted by your mother.

“Y/N!” Your mom called from the kitchen. You mumbled to Steve before heading into the kitchen, “Can you help me bring the laundry up?”

“Sure.” You followed her to the light coloured basement to the back area designated as the laundry room.

“What’s wrong?” She asked beginning to fold the dry clothes.

“What do you mean?” You questioned.

“I know when my kids are upset. I also know when they’re stuck making a decision.” She softly spoke as you grabbed a shirt to fold.

“It’s uh...Steve.” You mumbled.

“Don’t mumble Y/N.” She rose one eyebrow before shaking that off, “I see how you look at each other. That’s something rare Y/N.”

“It wouldn’t work.” You spoke meeting her eyes. She snorted in response with a shake of her head.

“Why?”

“Uh...we’re not exactly the same.”

“So?” She questioned, “Honey, I’m not saying the difference in color isn’t important. It is and always will be but do you like him? Do you think you could love him?” “I do.” You admitted.

“So if you could love someone as kind, caring, and responsible as that boy why would you give it up?” “Kids. If we are together so long we get married and have kids. Our kids will be growing up with what I grew up with.” You weakly said.

“Bullshit.”

“What?” You were surprised at her cussing. “You can’t determine the future. Sweetheart, you’re eighteen. You don’t know if you’ll stay with Steve. You don’t know if you will decide to have children. Kids are asses to each other for everything. Don’t let people decide on your happiness. If you love him then date him.”

*1994*

“Mom!” Lucas screamed wiping the sticky juice off his face with disgust.

“What?” She snapped from her seat rubbing her temples.

“She threw juice at me!”

“Lucas Sinclair, you are twenty-three years old! You can’t very well fix this situation.”

“But she threw-”

“Why?”

“He said he didn’t like the tie!” You exclaimed pinching the bridge of your nose tightly as you wandered into the quiet room.

“Lucas. You were kindly asked to be in the party along with your friends when you didn’t need to be. You were very kindly given the decision to wear a discrete camouflage tie.” Mom sternly spoke, “Why is this a problem? You don’t need to wear it anymore! Pictures are over.”

Lucas grumbled under his breath as he retreated to his friends at a table close to the front of the room. All at age twenty-three they were grown ups, taller than you with degrees and well paying jobs under their belts. You watched as your younger brother sat beside a quiet Will, who was wearing a navy tie with tiny blue music notes on it, and Max. Max integrated quickly into being part of the family with how long Lucas and her had been together.

The room wasn’t overly filled to the brim like some people had wanted nor was it as extravagant as some people wanted but it fit the occasion. As you happily looked around the room you saw Mike and El awkwardly dancing, El with a simple ring subtly perfectly fitting her as a newlywed still in community college. Mike had a light blue tie with light markings you understood had something to do with Dungeons and Dragons. Dustin was chatting up some distant cousin of Steve’s near the table, he wore a tie with some kind of character from an arcade game on the black background.

“Hey babe.” The chair beside you made a sound as the male sank into the seat exhausted.

“Hey.” You grinned leaning in to kiss him quickly. You hesitated before pushing away from the kiss, “How you doing?”

“Well I just had to keep Bronwyn from shoving a chair to the buffet and pushing the punch off the table.” Steve winced leaning back.

“Mischievous.” You muttered, “I blame the party.”

“It was so Dustin.” Steve shook his head.

The sound of tiny feet in fancy shoes trotted up to climb on your lap with some difficulty.

“Bronwyn!” Steve exclaimed trying to save your outfit. You waved him off to pull her up so she could see Steve and rest on your chest.

“Mommy?” Bronwyn asked looking up, “Aunt Erica told me all about the ocean! Can we go?”

Bronwyn’s big brown eyes, courtesy of Steve’s genetics, bore up into yours with such innocence you never wanted her to grow up. Her curls without a doubt were from you, while her skin was this gorgeous, flawless, glowing bronze; kissed with darker brown freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. If the world saw wrong in your baby then the world was blind to her beauty. You would gladly fight with Steve against anyone with words against Bronwyn.

“Maybe one day sweetheart.” Steve grinned down before looking up at you, “She’s four and has a better vocabulary and sentence structure than me at four!”

“The people that babysit her have decided to start her education early. I tried to stop them but it’s the Party. They wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Mommy!” Bronwyn exclaimed wiggling off your lap before dancing on her tiptoes, “Unca’ Dustin is waving!”

Steve and you looked over to see that Dustin in fact was waving your daughter over with a wide grin displaying his perfect teeth. Bronwyn was close with Dustin and Lucas out of the males but almost closer with Max and El.

“We created her.” Steve breathlessly spoke leaning back, “I didn’t think I could love someone as much as you again but she’s proved that wrong.”

You smiled thinking back to that fateful day you had accepted a date with Steve and reflected on the ten years since.

It had been a hard time at the beginning of the relationship; you were only dating a couple of months before you each mutually agreed for a break only to come back a mere six months later. While it was rocky at times you were a strong couple and you couldn’t imagine anyone spending your life with anyone else. Proven as to the fact you were parents to a four year old and today’s events.

“So Mrs. Harrington.” Steve smirked holding his hand out, “Can I have another dance?” “The first of many I hope.”

“We have a lifetime of you stepping on my feet.” He teased leading you to the dance floor.

“One time! One time Harrington!” You groaned.

“Who are you referring to? Me or you?” He joked with a playful wink.

“Oh boy.” You chuckled.

“You married me!” Steve laughed back before grunting when you were both nearly tackled on your asses.

“Daddy! Daddy! Dance with me!” Bronwyn bounced before Steve scooped her up to dance with both of you, “I love you Daddy. I love you Mommy.”

Your heart simultaneously grew and melted at her words and smile before you smiled at little.

“Hey Wyn? I have a secret. Would you like to know?” You whispered earning an earnest grin. You whispered quietly to her leaving both an over excited little girl and your confused new husband.

“Can I tell Daddy?” Bronwyn leaned in. With a nod she leaned over, “Daddy?”

“Yes, Sweetie?” Steve asked brushing a curl behind her ear.

“I’m going to be a big sister.

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the-magnus-archives-archiver · 6 years ago

Text

Thrown Away

Case: 0092302

Name: Kieran Woodward Subject: Items recovered from the refuse of 98 Lancaster Road, Walthamstow Date: February 23rd, 2009 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I work as a bin man for Waltham Forest Council. It’s not a bad job, really, as long as you can handle the smell and the early mornings, not to mention that when winter really gets going it can be pretty unpleasant. I’ve had to chip ice off more than a few bins in my time, just to get them open. Still, the pay’s pretty decent; at least it is once you throw in the overtime and the bonuses, and once you’ve done the rounds you’re usually off for the day, so you’re working fewer hours than your average office monkey; it’s just that those hours tend to be a lot less pleasant than anything you’re likely to find staring at some accounting spreadsheet. But I didn’t come here to talk about the benefits and problems of working in waste collection. At least, I guess I came to talk about one very specific problem that I encountered last year, when doing the rubbish collection for 93 Lancaster Road.

Now, you encounter weird things in this job all the time. People have an odd mental block – this idea that as soon as they put something in the bin it’s gone. It’s officially been made rubbish and no-one will ever see it again. The fact that someone had to take it from your bin to the landfill or the recycling centre doesn’t really enter their heads, and nobody ever seems to realise that up to a dozen people might be seeing what you throw away before it finally disappears forever. But no, as far as the rest of the world thinks about it, once it’s been thrown away, it’s gone, far beyond all human understanding. This leaves those of us who work in waste collection seeing kind of a strange side to humanity, but an honest one at that. If you’re a bit of a boozer, there’s every chance that your bin men know how much you drink better than you do because we empty all the bottles. And yes, we do remember, and we also get quite judgemental at times, although not about the things you might think – you can throw away a mountain of grotesque porn and, as long as you’ve tied it into neat bundles, we’re fine with it, but if you throw away cat litter without properly bagging that, you’d better believe that you’ve earned the hatred of every bin man that ever slung a sack. Still, I’m getting off topic.

Point is, the bag of dolls heads didn’t bother me. I mean, it was freaky, don’t get me wrong – hundreds of small plastic heads, staring out of the refuse sack at me, but aside from a slight rip on the side of the black bag, they were thrown away very neatly, and were easy enough to toss into the truck. The bag was full of them, mind. It was placed next to the green recycling bin and at first I thought that it was just a single doll with its head positioned near the tear, but when I tossed the bag into the truck the rip split, spilling forth a whole bunch of the things. At a guess I’d say there were over a hundred in there. They were made of hard, rigid plastic with that infant doll face that you seem to find on every toy like that. Several of them had different hair moulded or painted on, so it was clear that they weren’t simply from a hundred or so of the same doll. Someone had spent time acquiring a whole variety of different dolls, which they then beheaded and stuffed into the sack. They were very battered, but not with age – it looked as though someone had taken the brand new heads and dragged them over rough concrete, though I couldn’t say whether they’d have been attached to the rest of the doll at the time. It was creepy, sure, but the sun was shining and there were four of us working the truck that day, so it was easy enough to laugh it off. It was the old crew – me, David Atayah, Matthew Wilkinson, and Alan Parfitt, who drives - drove - the truck.

What it did do, though, was mark out 93 Lancaster Road in our minds as “the Doll House”, since we spent the rest of the day making off-colour jokes about the sort of people who must live there. I said before that your bin man knows a lot about you. Now that’s probably not actually true for most people – we service hundreds of homes each day and who can keep track of that many people? Who wants to? You do have houses, though, that you learn to keep an eye on; the sort of places that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things. Like I said, we probably know if you’re an alcoholic, but it’s not because we watch you obsessively or care about your health. It’s because smashed bottles and broken glass are dangerous and you learn to keep an eye out around houses where you’re likely to find them. I read once that waste collection is the second most dangerous profession in England. Not sure I believe it - they said the first was farming - but you do see your fair share of injuries, so you learn to keep your eyes peeled and mark out in your mind which houses you want to stay wary of.

Now after that the Doll House became one of those houses for our crew. Not so much for any known danger, but when someone throws out a bin full of weird stuff like that, you never know what else they might decide to toss. Also, Alan, well, he had kind of a twisted sense of humour, and he loved the doll heads. When we told him he insisted on stopping the truck and getting out to have a look, so after that he always made a point to ask us to keep an eye on 93. And we did. The next couple of weeks, when we pulled up to 93, I took an extra second or two just to check for anything strange in the bins, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Alan especially was disappointed by this but it was hardly something to dwell on, so we put is out of our minds and pressed on with the day’s work. This continued for what must have been a few months and the whole doll heads incident hadn’t come up, except for a few interesting conversations at the recycling plant where, to be honest, I don’t think anyone believed us, or if they did they’d immediately try to top it with their own story of bizarre finds.

It was the start of spring when we got the next strange bag from 93 Lancaster Road. Again, it was an unmarked black refuse bag placed next to the recycling bin. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was another one. The shape of it was too regular to be full of the normal assortment of rubbish. As I picked it up, I realised it was far too light as well. It seemed to weigh almost nothing, but was bulging with what sounded like a whole load of paper inside. I gave the others a look and told them I thought we had another odd bag. David and Matt started discussing whether we should open it, as this one didn’t seem to have a rip like the last one, and we were still talking it over when Alan came back to see what was taking us so long. He knew where we were and you could see it in his eyes that he’d been hoping this was the reason for the delay. One look at his face and I knew that if we didn’t open it, he would.

I looked up towards the house, checking for anyone watching, but 93 was right near the start of our route, so it was still very early in the morning and all the lights were off. There was no sign of movement so, very carefully, I opened the bag. Inside was paper, as I expected. It seemed to be a single strip of thick white writing paper, maybe an inch wide. The paper was long, so long that it seemed like the whole bag was filled solely with this one piece of it, wrapped and curled and crumpled to fit inside. There was writing on it in another language, I think Latin. Matt, who was raised Catholic and never shut up about it, said he recognised it and claimed that it was the Lord’s Prayer, the Our Father, written over and over again. He seemed pretty rattled about it, especially at the fact that at certain points the edges of the paper seemed to be slightly singed, as though it had been passed over a candle or a lighter. He even seemed hesitant about throwing it in with the rest of the garbage, but we didn’t have anything else we could actually do with it, so into the truck it went. Alan was smiling the rest of the shift, and there was a delight there that, quite frankly, had started to unsettle me a bit. As far as I was concerned this was a bit of a let- down after the dolls’ heads, but the way the others had reacted put me on edge.

The third bag was the one that really changed things. It was a fortnight after the one with the prayer paper in it. As we approached 93, I noticed there was another bag sitting next to the bin. The others clearly noticed as well, as everyone went very quiet. The first two had been the only times there had been rubbish bags at the house that weren’t in the actual bin itself, so there was little doubt in my mind that this was going to be more creepy trash. Alan turned the engine off as we pulled level with the house, and got out. Whatever was in this one, he was going to see it. The bag bulged, just like the others, but had a bumpy sort of look to its surface. We all stared at it for several seconds, before I realised that the others were waiting for me to pick it up – I’d picked up the others, and apparently this was how it was done now. It almost felt like a ritual.

I walked over and lifted it off the ground. It was heavier than the last one, and as it moved it made a sound, like shifting sand or gravel, or maybe more of a rattle. I started to carry it towards my colleagues to open it, when I accidentally caught the bottom of it on the low brick wall at the end of the small front garden. Already filled almost to bursting, the bag tore open easily.

From the newly ripped hole, poured teeth. Hundreds, thousands of teeth; they came streaming down it a waterfall of white, cream and yellow, bouncing as they hit the pavement, and gradually forming a pile of astounding size. When the bag was finally empty, we just stood there in silence, staring at the mountain of teeth that now lay on ground before us. They looked like human teeth to me, but I wasn’t exactly an expert and I sure as hell didn’t want to check closer. Finally, David broke the silence by vomiting loudly into a nearby drain and I backed away from the grisly mound. Even Alan looked shaken by this – I suppose some things are disconcerting however grim your interests. We phoned the police.

That’s something else that people always forget about garbage men – we’re perfectly capable of calling the police if we see obviously illegal stuff being thrown away. Usually we don’t bother if it’s just something small, but this... for this we phoned the police. They came in surprisingly good time and I reckon they were even more freaked out than we were. One of them took our statements, while the other went up to the house itself to check on the occupants, and see if they knew anything about the teeth. As the officer knocked on the door, we all strained to get a better look at what greeted her. There was no way after all this we were going to pass up a chance to actually get a look at the residents of 93 Lancaster Road. Eventually the door opened, and an old woman stood there, blinking in the early morning sunlight and clearly slightly alarmed to see the police. Needless to say, the old lady and her husband had no idea about any of the weird bags that had been appearing in their rubbish and seemed properly upset when they were given the details. The police spent a good ten minutes doing their best to collect up all the teeth, and we were sent on our way. I have no idea what, if anything, the investigation turned up. Certainly I was never contacted by them again, and if any of the rest were, they didn’t mention it.

And for a while, that was it. We kept an eye out whenever we were heading down Lancaster Road, but didn’t encounter any further ominous garbage bags. I thought maybe the involvement of the police had scared off whoever was leaving them. Maybe the police had caught the culprit and just hadn’t told us.

I did start to notice, though, that Alan wasn’t doing well. He was often late to his shift, and when he finally got there he’d be exhausted and grumpy, snapping at everyone and rudely brushing of anyone asking about his health or how he was doing. He seemed even worse whenever we approached the end of Lancaster Road, sometimes speeding up the truck slightly so that we had to run to keep up. Eventually, after I tripped over the curb while hurrying and twisted my ankle, I confronted him, told him that whatever was going on with him, he could talk about it or get over it, but that he clearly needed to deal with something. He got very quiet, and said he’d been watching number 93 some nights. Said he wanted to see whoever was dropping this stuff off. That he had to know.

I don’t know what I expected. Trouble at home, maybe, or depression, but this took me by surprise. I told him it was a really bad idea, that if the police were still investigating they were more than likely to pick him up as the culprit, and even if they didn’t the old couple at 93 could just as easily get him arrested for harassment or stalking. Alan nodded along and agreed with me as I spoke, but I could see he wasn’t listening. He just said again that he needed to know, told me he’d be careful, as though that was meant to reassure me. It didn’t, but I could see I wasn’t going to talk him out of it and we ended in an uncomfortable silence.

What I didn’t say, is that I’d almost done the same thing myself once or twice. There was something about this, beyond anything else I’d encountered, that... I don’t know. It drew me in almost as much as it disgusted me. Almost, but not enough to do anything, and if I needed any further convincing that leaving it alone was the right decision, I only needed to look at Alan. As time went on, the bags under his eyes deepened, and I’d watch him down half a dozen energy drinks over the course of a morning, just to get through his shift. I could have said something to our manager, but even then Alan was still my friend and I didn’t want to be the one to get him in any sort of trouble. Eventually, though, it came to a head anyway. Alan fell asleep at the wheel of the truck and drove it into a parked car. No-one was hurt and the truck was going too slowly to do any real damage but, at that point, it was enough to get him fired. We were sad to see him go, but to be honest, by the end of it he’d become quite unpleasant to be around and no-one shed any real tears over it. We got a new member on our crew, a kid named Guy Wardman, and life continued in relative peace. For a while, anyway.

Then, on the 8th of August last year, at nine minutes past two in the morning, I was woken up by a text message from Alan. It said “FOUND HIM”. I texted him back immediately – What had he found? Was it whoever was leaving the bags? Had he brought another one? No response. I texted Alan again to ask if he was ok. I sent that text a lot of times, but never heard back. I tried phoning him but nobody answered. As the minutes stretched to hours, the worry that had been growing in my gut settled into a grim certainty, and I knew that Alan was gone. I also knew that I had to go to 93 Lancaster Road and see for myself. I got my coat and headed out into the night.

I walked slowly, with a kind of reluctance, so the sky was starting to get light by the time I arrived. I knew what I’d find when I got there, and I was right. There was no sign of Alan, or of whoever he might have seen. There was, however, a new rubbish bag sitting there in its usual place. It was full, and this time the top of it had been tied off with a dark green ribbon, arranged in a bow like an old-fashioned Christmas present. It bulged in much the same way as the last one.

I picked up the bag, which turned out to be quite light, and I took off the bow. Opening it, I saw shifting white and, for a second, I was sure it was more teeth. Looking closer, though, I saw the truth: packing peanuts. Polystyrene packing peanuts. Enough to fill the bag to capacity. I almost felt relieved until I realised there was something else in there, something making it heavier than a bag of polystyrene should be. I closed my eyes and reached in, expecting to find something horrible inside. My hand closed instead around cold metal, and I drew out a fist-sized lump of... I think it must have been copper or bronze, and had been roughly carved into the shape of a heart, but like a real heart, not like a Valentine's one. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come out of a freezer, and it almost stuck to my skin. Engraved on the side was the name “Alan Parfitt”, the letters carved in with machine-like precision. That was the last sign of Alan I ever found. As far as I’m aware he’s never been seen since.

I gave the lump of metal to a friend of mine who works the medical waste run and owes me a favour. I asked him to throw it in with a shipment, as the medical incinerators burn hotter than any I have access to, and I figured that was my best shot at getting rid of it properly. I still work the Lancaster Road route, but since then there haven’t been any more weird bags turning up at 93. Mostly I’ve just tried to forget about it.

Archivist Notes:

It’s nice to have a statement where most of the particulars are easily verifiable. It comes with shorter supporting statements from David Atayah and Matthew Wilkinson confirming the contents of the first three bags, as well as the details of Alan Parfitt’s behaviour prior to his termination from the employment of local government. In an uncharacteristic example of actually dealing with modern technology, my predecessor had the good sense to make a copy of the final text conversation between Alan Parfitt and Mr. Woodward.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

Sasha had more luck following up with the old police reports. Alan Parfitt was reported as a missing person by his brother Michael on the 20th of August 2008*, and his location remains unknown. The bag of teeth is also corroborated by the police reports of Police Constables Suresh and Altman, though they can provide no further details, as they never made an arrest or even located any suspects. The medical report on the teeth themselves does give one puzzling detail: the teeth were confirmed to be human, but more than that, as far as the examiner was able to determine... they were all in different stages of decay and didn’t match any available dental records, but all two thousand seven hundred and eighty of them were the exact same tooth.

*corrected from 2009 to 2008, confirmed by Jon Sims (writer) as misspoken on the podcast

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 5 Thrown Away)

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG5 #MAG 5 #ThrownAway #Thrown Away #Statement #The Stranger #Not-Them

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csykora · 7 years ago

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Much love in my heart for Kuzy, obviously, but do you have an opinion about why someone who is so good at stick handling seems to take so many careless stick-related penalties (slashing, hooking, tripping, etc.)? I read in the Washington Post today that Tom Wilson was the only Cap with more penalties than Kuzy this season :(. Obviously I don't expect you to know everything that goes on in his head; I'm just wondering if you have a guess as to why this seems to happen so often.

In the immortal words of McKeen’s 2010 Draft Guide,

“he is ornery and does not hesitate to stick the opposition as he plays with sandpaper and grit.”

If it’s not immediately clear, they thought that was a great thing. Because the value of penalties in hockey is some complex and loaded silliness.

Thanks for pointing this out, it was interesting to look into. I’m going to look at the situation first, and then come back around to why I think it is this way.

My answer is also going to be entirely positive, so anyone who is suddenly horrified for tonight: be calm.

Kuznetsov came in third in penalty minutes for the regular season, behind Tom Wilson and Brooks Orpik. Kuz is also third in the playoffs at 12, led by Wilson (16) and Oshie (17) as of Game 2.

If we look at their running totals, he’s still behind Orpik (who has also added 4). So I don’t know where the idea of him being second comes from. (What’s up, Washington Post?)

Because of how much more attention I think Kuznetsov draws in the playoffs and also because I think using running totals is rather Improper, I’m going to look at the regular season and the playoffs separately, and use these numbers.

No one is taking Tom’s bloody crown here. But what else does 48 mean in context?

Well, it’s barely more than Bäckström, and nobody is talking about careless can’t-control-himself Nick.

I mean that completely gently, just that we should all remember to put a single statistic in context and examine our eye tests—why is it that Kuznetsov’s mistakes catch our eye? Is it about the type of plays and penalties? Our expectations for him, or our expectations for other guys? Why do we notice them sometimes and not other times?

He’s held steady between mid 20s-mid 40s in PIMs his entire career. He was consistent at 30-40 PIMs with Traktor (the KHL plays 60 game seasons), dropping to 24 his first full season with Washington and then stabilizing at 30-40s again. It’s slowly risen over the years with Washington, but so has his time on ice (and the amount of attention he gets, which I’ll come back to.) While 48 is his career high, it’s only one penalty more than he took last season, and it isn’t wildly outside his normal range. So his game hasn’t changed.

It’s the rest of the team.

Last season Kuznetsov took 46 penalty minutes but came in 7th on the team. Wilson took 133, and after him Orlov, Ovechkin, Williams, Winnik, and Orpik fell in with 51-48. He was 8th the year before that.

You know who I blame for Kuznetsov coming in 3ʳᵈ this year?

Tom Wilson.

Specifically, Top Line Tom.

(Also a bunch of trades.)

I was looking at other players to put Kuznetsov in context, and saw something I didn’t think I would. We’re going to take an apparent detour because we need to check this out.

Ovechkin has been a PIM leader his entire career. For the last few years he’s held steady in the 50s, always taking a spot ahead of Kuznetsov. This year Ovi dropped to 32. That’s from 25 individual penalties to 16 penalties, none of them majors.

His hits are down from 216 to 139. That’s from 2.6 hits per game to 1.7 hits per game. He managed to cram in 120 during the shortened lockout season. 172 as a rookie. He’s a solid 200+ hitter, and he’s down to 139?

I’ve thought this watching games all season, but I’m a grump and I was sure the statistics wouldn’t back my eye-test up, actually. But here it is, so here’s what I think. Ovi is focused on playing high-flying technical hockey now that he has a right wing who can clear space for him and his center.

Ovechkin wanted to make a point of coming back faster this year, so he would be playing a little more like this regardless, but he would be fighting for it. He’s spent the last few years trying to shove the other team off him and his center and use that space at the same time. Wilson is making it possible for him to focus.

I don’t mean that Wilson is “taking the penalties Ovi otherwise would be.” I think Wilson’s penalties are still almost entirely a hangover. I mean that in his dreams, Ovechkin wants a right wing who’s both stunningly fast, to counterbalance Ovi and his center as they set up, and strong enough to force the other team to pay attention to him instead of them. (Ovi also likes it when they punch people, but no one ever said Ovechkin has great taste in men.)

That’s pretty hard to find (sorry, can you all hear me grinding my teeth?), but under the habits, Wilson is a bizarre rare mix of talents, and he’s not only started to use them for Ovi and Kuznetsov, I think he’s allowing Ovi to meaningfully change his own game.

So Ovi’s making fewer hits and taking fewer penalties.

And they’ve traded Williams, Winnik, Chimera, and the ~50 PIM guys.

They also dropped the collective weight of the D-core on Orlov’s fabulous shoulders, and he took a deep breath, looked the problem right in the eye, and committed. He’s gone from 19 to 23 minutes of ice time a night, but dropped from 51 to 22 penalty minutes. We wanna talk about penalty minutes as an evaluation of play, lord have mercy, let’s talk more about Orlov’s.

So that all explains to me how Kuznetsov took just one more penalty this year than last year, but suddenly he looks worse, in comparison to teammates who are taking fewer penalties.

I’m still pretty sure “taking 48 penalty minutes” wasn’t part of Kuznetsov’s thesis on penalty killing.

It’s a really average penalty time compared to other players, but he isn’t. So would I like him to be in the box less? Yes. (Nicky too.)

Would I like him to slash less? The first answer is yes because I don’t like slashing much—but before that I want to know what’s leading to him doing it, and I want that to happen less.

People always do things for reasons. I don’t know what all their reasons are, and if I did I might not agree that that was a great reason to do that, but I kind of think it’s wrong to say that someone ‘just does’ things, that they’re unreasonable, inexplicable, “stupid and dumb” or “crazy,” that their thoughts are so unworthy of understanding that they’re not even real. I don’t know what he’s thinking, I might not like it, but I’m going to respect that he’s thinking something.

This is what we’re gonna call my working theory of his mind.

So here’s where I start to look at Kuznetsov’s role.

This is the year Kuznetsov is an NHL star, right? He’s not only on the top line, other teams’ commentators are calling it the Kuznetsov line about as often as the Ovechkin line now. Other teams’ fans not only know who he is, they know their team will have to know to plan around him.

I think in regular season games in the past, teams have been able to get away, or thought they would be able to get away, with just shutting down the shooters he always passed to. Now it’s impossible to predict whether he’ll pass or shoot, and his good passes are going to Ovechkin, who is great at catching passes.

He’s also always lit up in the playoffs. (Every year this is when the media start saying, “Oh! This guy might be a star!”) The format works for him: I think he likes getting so much time to test things out and pick another team apart, especially in overtime. The more time he has, the more chances add up. So you have to, have to, have to plan your playoff series around shutting him down.

The obvious way to shut a possession guy down is with physical play, but Kuznetsov makes that difficult. He is fast, and more than that he’s quick—he can react and reach top speed in very little space or time—and he’s very, very mobile. Most opponents never get close to him.

If you’re tied with John Carlson, you don’t smash much. (Contrast this with the heavy hitters, Oshie, Orlov, Ovechkin, Smith-Pelly, Orpik, Wilson—between 124 and 250 hits.)

Kuznetsov was hit 65 times this season.

(I’m not sure if the good folks at morehockeystats were including the 3 times Wilson’s destroyed him.)

For comparison at the same position, Bäckström has taken 103 hits and Eller was hit 156 times this season. I expected Kuznetsov’s hit count to be lower, but 65 is pretty wild.

What this suggests to me is

he’s effective as heck at avoiding hits.

65 is only a couple times more than people laid hits on Ovechkin, and people do not want to hit Ovechkin. It’s like hitting an opossum with your car instead of hitting a moose—I’m not advocating either, but one would fuck up the possum, and the other will wreck you.

But Kuznetsov was also awarded 23 penalties against the other team. Bäckström only drew 18. What are those penalties for, if he’s not getting hit so much?

Well, you can’t hope to catch him, so what do you do?

You use your handy hooking stick.

I tried to take these all last game. It wasn’t scientific, but it was a lot of photos. You can see from his posture Cirelli knows he won’t be able to pass or keep up with Kuznetsov, so he’s throwing himself forward off his feet to get a little closer. He has enough control to make try to make that a strict stick check, but how easy would it be for someone to hook or slash instead?

And the same goes the other way. Kuznetsov doesn’t want to let opponents close to him, so if he wants to reach them, he’s reaching out with his stick.

(I wrote a whole extra essay on his particular style of stickhandling in here, but then realized it wasn’t germane and all the quotes I found for evidence were bad porn dialogue.)

In his mind, I think he does stuff

to stop people tripping and slashing him

because he can

Here’s why I don’t like getting to the end of the season and lumping all penalties into a big bad pile.

Right now I can still remember when Letang slashed Kuznetsov twice in Game 2, injuring his hand, and Kuznetsov slashed back and took a penalty.

I had no problem in the world with that*. If I were any of his teammates or his coach, I would be screaming at him from the bench to get that guy off him one way or another. The ideal course of action is for Kuz to not respond risking a penalty and for Letang to not slash him a third time. But Letang is not going to not slash him again, and Kuznetsov’s hands are worth a heck of a lot more than 2 minutes, at least in most game situations. If we’re thinking strategically, yeah, we can eat that penalty.

He also takes penalties for doing some wild stuff. I’ve mislead a little, because Kuznetsov loves to get up close—on his terms. He can and will, as Joe B. puts it, “skate between their legs.” (I miss Joe B.) When he’s chasing an opponent he’ll rush up from behind and then instead of laying a hit he’ll keep skating with them, placing his feet in between theirs. This is not something most people do, because it is a terrible idea, but he thinks he can do it, so he does.

Often he really does skate or stickhandle around them with tripping them. But when he doesn’t get it quite right, it looks blatantly bad, because no one else would think they can get under someone else’s feet and somehow not trip them.

“What do you mean, I tripped him?”

“You stuck your foot between his feet, and then he fell down.”

“Well, he’s probably a terrible skater, no?”

By the end of the season, I don’t know how many penalties he took for slashing in (in his mind) self-defense, and how many times he stuck his stick or his foot between somebody else’s skates because he could (or thought he could), and how many times because he was annoyed and wanted to smack someone. I know there’s some of each in the mix.

I don’t like all of them. I’m also not worked about them as a whole, and I’d encourage anyone who is to look past the scary #3 in the rankings to the context. (And I realize I probably just said that to a Washington Post sports writer somewhere. Uh.)

Numbers and figures from NHL.com, Corsica, Fox Sports, Elite Prospects, and MoreHockeyStats.

*this is a lie, I was displeased with them both, because I don’t want anyone slashing anyone.

Note: I don’t feel like reading any “ugh, of course Orpik would be in there!” on this post today. I agree it’s part of the emergency math that needs to be done about his place on the team, but if you didn’t already know his numbers, please save it.

#evgeny kuznetsov

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kellykadesperate · 7 years ago

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and yes, i’ll always know

my attempt at an idea jenny had @scrapyardboyfriends with robert knowing all the answers at the pub quiz about aaron and not being able to say anything. for @susieskinner93 and @mrshiftysugden too!

It's not meant to be a dig at him, but he would have thought that a year ago.

He would have sworn that a pub quiz on a quiet Tuesday night was Chas' way of trying to prove something.

Something like,

Here's where Alex proves that you've been replaced.

Only now, the air is clearer in his mind and his finger doesn't make a small clinking sound when he drinks his pint.

And so, he rises above the thoughts.

The pub is crowded as he sits and observes, Vic's finally realised he needs his own space and not a night out on the town to try and fish for 'someone new.'

He's just got over Aaron, just come to terms with the fact that they were done. He'll take a little longer to begin imagining himself with someone else.

He knows that.

He's got his head round that now and it feels good, it feels good to know that he isn't holding onto something which doesn't exist anymore and -

Chas' voice is all high pitched and screechy and he winces a little as she starts clapping her hands together and bopping happily to the music.

"Right, we've got a pub quiz now and the lovely Frank's going to start so, huddle up and -"

He stops listening, because Aaron's walking in with Alex and he doesn't want to actually be here when it happens.

He tries to escape, drops his head down and hears Alex mumbling something about it being a right laugh. And Aaron, he mumbles something back, something staggered, something like:

'Alright then.'

Robert gulps hard, thinks back to the year before. Aaron hadn't wanted to stay, they sort of accidentally found themselves answering all the questions right and whispering in each other ears and just getting a sort of thrill out of this happiness between them.

It's a soft sort of memory.

He's nearly by the door when Aaron looks up and smiles at him. It's only small, hardly anything really but Robert doesn't want to wait around and see how much he can make of it, see how fast he can try and look for something in his eyes.

It's typical of him and yeah, he hates himself for it.

He looks away, turns a little and then he feels a hand on his arm.

It's Vanessa and she's smiling at him.

He doesn't want to be horrible but -

"Going somewhere?" She says, and she's got a playful look on her face, one that makes Robert know that she's up to something. It's not like they're friends or anything, well, sort of, maybe they are but -

"Yeah, Vic's rung me and -"

"Vic who's having a night out?" And apparently she's more of a gossip than he thinks. So, he's honest.

"Don't really fancy sticking around." He shrugs, because she'd seen the whole present disaster in the pub just before Christmas, she knows.

She makes a small sound, "Or you could come over and sit with us." And by us, she means Tracy and David and he doesn't know what to say.

Because yeah, he doesn't really want to spend a whole night -

"Oh come on, Charity'll eat me alive if I look at her one more time." And she makes him smile, makes something settle in his chest and he's walking towards the table awkwardly whilst Chas rabbits on about getting into teams.

He wins Tracy round with his knowledge of the Irish mainlands.

Because she wasn't too keen on the 'Moody Sugden' joining their team.

So he makes up for it, tries not to think about last year as Frank bangs on and tells them he's correct.

He blushes under the praise of David of all people and when he looks over towards the bar, Alex is laughing at something and Aaron shakes his head.

Not in a dismissive way though, in a sort of trying to hide his laugher way and Robert wonders when his skin will stop prickling whenever he hears that sound.

He hears it, again and again and soon it makes something turn warm inside him.

Instead of making him cold, it makes him warm and that's progress.

It must be.

Because when he watches a rather animated Alex click his fingers and whisper an answer lowly into Aaron's ear, he just simply looks away.

He doesn't want to punish him. And maybe that's the real change that's taken place. Not Aaron's happiness or the ring on his finger just -

Looking away instead of watching and feeling everything get broken inside of you again and again.

Alex is a clever bastard, Robert will give him that.

And there's an addition of a science sort of based round and everyone looks at him and Chas is grinning as Aaron lets out a groan because of the attention like its his attention.

And Robert can't help but wonder if that's how it feels to him now. If Alex and him are so much of a thing, that what effects Alex, effects him too.

Robert slides the thought out of his brain, instead listens to Tracy going on about how bad she is at general knowledge, how the quick fire round is theirs for the taking.

And Robert just nods his head, sips at his pint and looks around for their competition. Liv's slipped in with Gerry and Gabby and they're a team now, Diane and Doug in the corner as well.

It won't be that hard, he thinks.

Especially considering now they've got to try and explain a word without saying a word and -

Well Robert's suddenly standing up and becoming animated and he's watching Aaron smile and click his fingers quickly and wave his arms about and they're winning and they're hugging and -

Robert's a stupid sap who needs to learn how to just *leave memories where he found them.

In his stupid head.

In the past.

"You alright?" Vanessa's leaning over, she's had a fair few and she's telling him that she's not up for doing the quick fire round. "You and David up for it?" She's asking, head tilted a little and Robert isn't really, but Tracy looks like she's going to fall asleep any second and David seems pretty pumped.

He nods because of that.

And he isn't even that bad really.

David's a little bit more dense than he thought but it doesn't hold them *that far back.

Only he can't make stories to jog his memory the way he did with Aaron.

"It's - it's a city in Italy. Dead romantic." He tries to move his hands and get David going and yeah they get there in the end.

"Rome?" David's guessing because apparently Robert banging on about the architecture just isn't working.

In the end they get eight points and it's not amazing but it's something.

And he even watches Aaron clap for them as they sit down, the crinkles around his eyes are soft and visible and make Robert look away.

It hurts less when he does that, hardly hurts at all.

Because of, well you know, progress.

It's their turn now, Robert's watched Gerry nearly spill his pint whilst trying to explain what his word was to a frustrated Gabby.

Robert's never heard someone get so worked up over the name of a superhero before.

Anyways, now Alex is talking quickly and won't stop moving his arms about and he's doing exactly what Robert did last year.

He's trying to attach stories to what the word is.

Only Aaron's just frowning and pulling all these faces and Robert gulps hard.

The words's mug.

"You know, I - you have loads at yours. It's - something you drink out of. It's - your favourite one is green."

Blue, his favourite one is blue with the different shades.

It starts with a soft light colour and turns darker as it reaches the top.

Aaron winces a little, Alex getting more enthusiastic.

"What? Like a mug?" He stumbles out and Liv's piping up.

"He doesn't even have a green mug. Try again!" She's laughing, shaking her head and that's the way that round goes really.

Painfully.

And they get five points.

Then David and Tracy are doing a more couple sort of round.

The sort which him and Aaron would have excelled in. And it makes Robert wince a little as he waits for Alex and Aaron to start, and they do and -

It's a shitty addition to the pub quiz. Real shitty.

And although David and Tracy don't do so badly, he has to sit and watch Alex totally fuck things up in his attempt to put on some sort of united front.

And he watches Chas' face fall a little by the other side of the bar too.

Aaron's trying, face blushed red and a bead of sweat on his forehead. "What's my favourite place to go?" And Frank's over his shoulder, leaning down and everyone is just staring at Alex as he struggles and yeah, it's not a pretty sight.

Because whilst Alex's face is blank, Robert's mind works overtime.

It screams,

The beach.

It's his favourite place because it's special and it reminds him of a soft sort of innocence and he feels so safe when he's there.

"Mind's gone blank." Alex explains with his hands. "Your bed?" And everyone starts laughing, no tension behind it, only Robert can see the way Aaron's eyes flicker. "What? You're not really a morning person are ya?"

And yeah he is.

More so than people think. He'll push his head down and groan at the slightest noise you make but -

He'll always turn over and smile and say,

"Better make it worth while." And so -

"Alright, alright." Aaron's shaking his head, "It was the beach but maybe I haven't said." And Robert's heart drops, he feels Liv looking over at him as if she knows that he knew and -

It makes him look away.

And then Frank is taking over and acting like a game show host.

"Okay Alex, what's Aaron's favourite takeaway?" He's saying and Robert's eyes flicker a little.

Pizza, hands down.

Liv knows, Gerry fucking knows by the looks of it but Alex says,

"Chinese?" He's all unsure and Aaron closes his eyes for a second before shaking his head.

And that carries on.

Because yeah, it is pizza. Nothing beats that level of comfort food.

And then yeah, the answer is his car. His most valued possession.

And then yeah, the answer is his eyes. They're his favourite feature, Robert knows, he wanted him to know how beautiful they are and he's proud that Aaron finally sees what he saw, sees.

It carries on and they stumble and yep Alex gets some right, he really does but Robert gets more right.

He doesn't want to say naturally he does, only Liv keeps staring at him like she's waiting for him to smirk and he doesn't.

He wouldn't.

He just sits there, silently burning as he knows every fucking weird question. Every single one and -

He holds his breath until it's over, until Aaron's blowing out a breath and Alex is looking all embarrassed and Robert feels something lodged in his heart almost.

This feeling of release washes through him, the timing goes off and it's done he supposes.

And Robert's team win. David buys him another pint and he dares to join him at the bar.

He dares to be a few inches away from Aaron, watches Alex disappear into the toilets and Aaron's body turn towards him a little.

"Congrats." He says, a softness in his voice which Robert latches onto, smiles a little and looks back at how Vanessa and Tracy are laughing their heads off about something.

He's had a laugh, it's been nice he supposes, and watching Aaron and Alex the whole night could have been painful but it wasn't.

And that's good.

"Cheers." Robert says, pulls his hands into the golden hem of the bar and shudders under its coldness. "It's all my general knowledge see, I sort of gave us an early lead." He explains, almost a little confident and then he sees Aaron roll his eyes playfully.

"And then Alex cocked it up for us." Aaron says honestly, no bite in his voice but this underlining sort of sadness. His shoulders hang and suddenly Robert knows he wouldn't be speaking like this to Liv or Gerry. He'd pretend it was just a stupid game, only Robert sees what it means. “He doesn't know me like you do.”

And he doesn't want to read into it too much.

He just shakes his head. “Not now maybe but - give him time to -”

But Aaron, well he sips his beer, leans closer just a little as Chas has her back turned. "You knew about the beach." He tells him, "The car, the fact that I could speak a little bit of French." And Robert doesn't know whether or not to admit it.

He's not sure if it's a question or just an answer but -

He goes to speak but Alex is coming back into the room and Aaron's leaning in even closer now, hot breath against Robert's ear.

"I saw ya mouth move. You do that without even noticing sometimes." He says hastily, before he's pulling back and turning, watching Alex sit down with Liv and abandon his pint at the bar.

Maybe he got the sign that Aaron was preoccupied with Robert.

It doesn't matter though, it's not like Robert can say anything. He's just turning redder and his eyes are flickering and he scoffs a little before -

"Used to drive me mad when ya did that." Aaron's shaking, almost tutting and Robert just looks at him. He just want stop.

And then Aaron's smiling and there's something so easy about the way he does it which makes Robert give in.

"Force of habit." He says and Aaron looks at him more seriously, almost lovingly and there's this heaviness between them which they cannot deny.

Because Robert knew all the answers, he just knew and he'd always know.

He wouldn't forget them, his mind wouldn't let that happen because he's as stubborn as Aaron is.

And it's mad really, it must be more than a little mad, for Aaron to look at Robert and know that he knows so much about him.

That this person who isn't his person anymore, is out there in this world just knowing him.

Aaron's eyes flicker a little and he clears his throat, "Must be." It looks like he has to mull it over and then decides against it, almost signifies it with a shake of a head. "You want to join us?" He asks, and it's to sound polite, like a grown up above the noise of the pub.

But Robert's a grown up back and shakes his head, thanks him kindly but declines.

And he leaves the pub altogether, feels Vanessa catch him by the arm and ask why he isn't staging for a celebratory drink. He doesn't even say anything, his face must give it away because she tuts and draws him into a hug and he finds himself whispering,

"I knew every single one." Before he's pulling away and leaving the pub and the image of Liv's face looking up at him with almost pity in her eyes and Alex's arm draped over Aaron's shoulder as Chas looks almost triumphant, is burning into his mind.

And he doesn't feel smug, doesn't feel like he's won and he will keep on winning.

He just feels empty and he sees them happy, sees how little it even mattered really because they were this soft sort of settled weren't they?

'I knew every single one.'

He shakes it out of his head, can't do anything about it as his mind screams:

Yeah, and that's never going to change.

Aaron has the exact same thoughts running round his head too as Alex pulls his arm further around his back.

He shuffles out of his hold.

#as always it got sadder than planned!#robron #robron fics

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multifandomhoodies · 5 years ago

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in the two minutes my brain was working i made this meme because i think it’s funny and while no one has told me to stop talking abt work i feel like this is lowkey accurate.

this will probably be super annoying and basically a ramble but hey ! I dont care. rondo alla turca just came on and that’s incredibly accurate of my mind rn just that super fast part. anyways. im so sorry.

hit that read more for the entire 2000+ word dissertation i wrote about work today.

so today was wild because fourth of july babey uh it didn’t start getting different until like,,,, 8 ish? mostly till then it was just regulars who are always in the park. i forgot my earmuffs so i couldn’t backpack blow when i wanted :c. nothing weird was in the bathrooms today! there was a lemonheads box in the women’s, but like,, that’s not very weird. i had several guests tell me that i was gonna have a rough day tomorrow w/ clean up and im like lol yeah Except i dont work tomorrow sorry tue-sat crew. love you. except fuck u danager. i had to get the cans along the beach and the guy that usually runs the beach comber wasn’t there so a different guy from the other park was doing it and he doesn’t run the beach comber v often and you could Tell. also this dude barely said anything to anyone except the one dude and honestly powermove. also he has Very long dreads. also this lady ? was laying like two feet away from where i had to backpack blow and she had the audacity to like, look at me? sorry lady its 8am the sun isnt even out stop sunbathing. anyways. i had to water the flowers i planted yesterday and after that it was breaktime (gang GANG) breaktime is like,, three hours after we start work but cleaning the bathrooms and backpack blowing and getting cans took forEVER. break was funny because it was just three of us in the breakroom and we were talking about the new manager who is. just a fucking asshole. he can choke. bitch. anyways. even tony doesnt like him and tony’s like so nice. i made a joke b4 we rolled out that liam could help me clean our part of the park and danager was like hey he can do that if you want to mulch and I thought it was mulching with HIm and I was like oh nO you thought hunty! i had to deal with your stupid ass yesterday! turns out it was just liam and tony and like honestly i would have done that that would have been super fun. and liam told me that he’d told tony about what happened yesterday with mulching. danager really called liam and i off of weedeating to mulch. at like, 1:30. we go on break at 2. he didnt care and was like oh you guys can just stay after and we’re like?? no?? unless we’re getting paid overtime and you dont have the power to make us do that? and liam today was like yeah if he does that shit again im leaving and tony and i agreed. im like ill walk home man. im leaving. tony said that even steve was getting pissed at him yesterday and steve’s a really chill dude. so collectively everyone’s like FUCk danager. and he came in from outside too and was like aight guys this is what we’re doing. hannah you should be able to weedwhip farther out away from your body. you hold the weedwhip too close and if you dont do that you can get a farther range. i kid you not the four of us that werent danager just started laughing. weedeaters (or weedw(h)ackers, or as ONLY danager says, weedwhips) arent very heavy. however. they do get heavy after a while, and they shake sometimes. a lot of times. We don’t get new equipment so it shakes. I’m hardly weak, but I’m also not strong enough to hold the weedeater like he said. so as soon as he said that i should be doing that everyone laughed. like i did too im like man you’re tripping. anyways. he left again, and so did two of the other guys again so it was just tony liam and i. kenny came back in and the three of us had been talking and when kenny opeend the door we all shifted so we could see who walked in, hoping it wasnt danager. kenny bust out laughing. “yall shoulda see your faces.” tony does a dramatic renactment of us all leaning forward to see who it is. oh it was great. tony liam and i were like in hysterics abt something (i think it was something rude abt danager i cant remember now). then we all headed out to do our danager assigned tasks. I went back to weedeating this one area. reminder that it IS the fourth of july, it’s like 9:30am and im weedeating this one part of the park. priorities? what are those. anyways so i do that. I see liam and tony leave to keep mulching. i keep weedeating. I did that and backpack blew the debris and then went over to the other part of the park to check cans. i checked cans again, had a super awkward situation with like 15 people near this sign. i tried to park my cart to check hte cans and EVERYONE STARED AT ME. like i know im wearing clothes specifcally chosen to be visible to cars and the public but the fuck you gotta stare at me for! anyways i got the cart and got the fuck outta there quick. I drove around more, some guy stopped me and said he thought there should be more speed limit signs. you’re right sir. drivers will see them and not care. i was checking trash in the one part of the park and i see tony and liam driving so i wave. by now it;s almost our lunch, its like 11:15. im going to check some cans that you like actually have to walk to, but i see tony driving towards me so i wait. they pull up, ask for the time. tony suggests we take a brisk walk to check the cans. we take a walk, but it’s not very fast. it’s very slow. we stopped to talk about dumb shit. liam’s apparently found a mink? on the pier? im so jealous? anyways yeah we wasted fifteen minutes looking at cans. we turn around and Danager’s walking towards us. tony grabs some trash off the ground immediately. danager doesnt even question it. he just tells us he wants someone to weedwhip or mow this one area, or at least be aware of it. tony and liam leave with dan, i head back to the shop. i hosed out the back of my cart cuz i got something FOUL in it. it may have been human poop. not sure. it was at least poop. lunch was more joking about danager. then danager came in and they started talking about muscle cramps. tony asked regular dan if he got cramps ever. dan shook his head. we dont think dan’s human. doesnt eat. doesnt SIT. only takes breaks because he’s legally required. jury is out. danager fucks off again. liam ate some of the ice cream. we chill until danager comes back in. then we leave. danager really told us to keep our weedwhips with us (also everytime liam or i say weedwhip mockingly we whip so i mean. yeah) and if we saw anything that needed weedeated to do it. ITS THE FOURTH OF JULY. THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE IN THE PARK. tony apparently reached for his weedeater and some lady started cussing him out. something about how there’s people around and whatever (all true) and he’s like yeah sorry i was told to but yaknow what I just wont! because it’s a holiday no one wants to weedeat. so danager told us to go clean up driftwood from the beach and tony’s like oh some of it may be big yaknow ill go with you guys. completely an excuse not to do work. it was fine. we went down to the beach. got all ten pieces of wood that were there. and we did not take them back to the shop to be dealt with. no. we may or may not have taken the trashcan full of wood to the treeline and yeeted the driftwood into the treeline/woods. then we walked back up to our carts. and didnt get in them. the three of us stood around the carts for like twenty minutes just talking instead of working. who cares honestly. i dont. as long as it’s not a habit,,, we cool. somehow we started talking abt pot and liam’s like Oh yeah i’m pretty sure everyone here gets FUCKED up on that. and tony (who’s been here for a summer) was like. oh yeah for SURE. he’s like yaknow weed’s okay. not that interesting ppl overhype it. liams like yea never done it been overed it never done it and im like never been offered, never done it. a ranger rolled by and tony’s like yo what if the ranger rolled his window down and just a cloud of pot smoke rolled out and his eyes were just red. what would we do. and we all just like essentially shrug emojid and kept talking. tony came up with the great idea to move out of the full sun into some shade. we sat in the carts in the shade and talked more abt dumb shit. we decide to eventually move and check some other areas for trash. just to look busy and also get out of an area that had a lot of people and access for a cart. so we went over to another section of the park and got trash. I had two bags, and Tony’s just like yeah as long as they see trashbags in your cart no one’s gonna care what you’re doing. We went over near that part’s bathrooms and dan and even dan was like,,, i see yall are fuckin off and i dont hate that. we actually talked with dan for a bit too. then we walked over to this area where ppl throw beercans and ““““checked”““ for trash there. skipped rocks. made stupid comments about shit. we were over there for like twenty minutes. aaaaaaaaand Danager shows up. he tells tony to go water some plants in the front. it’s 1:30 at this point, tony’s gotta go load the water, haul it out to the front, water. liam and i followed him back to the carts. he got in his cart, looked around to make sure dan was gone and did the finger gun to head thing and drove off. liam and i immediately were like okay we gotta figure something out we’re staying the fuck out of danager’s way. so we go to another pier and start walking it, looking for trash. we did actually pick up trash. there was a lot. after like fifteen minutes we headed back to the shop to take our break at 2 and danager’s on his way out and he’s like oh! hey you guys can weedwhip around the building! or clean up around the dumpsters. do something. “No use standing around for twenty minutes”. okaaaaaaaaaaaaay man. so liam and i are like oh yeah of course we’ll find something to do. FUCK I JUST REALIZED I FORGOT TO BLOW THE GRASS IN THE DRIVEWAY FUCK FUCKIJ’DJ’FKJALKJFLAKJF goddamnit. deadass sorry for abrupt switch but im sitting in my house at 10:25pm realizing i didnt get the grass in the driveway. ugh whatever. ending my regrets and back to earlier. so as soon as danager drives his way and we get far enough away both of us are like YO FUCK THAT and im immediately like.

i get as far as saying the first I from this and liam and I say the rest in unison. we share a braincell, i think. good job us. we’re both OVER IT. we throw our trashbags in the dumpster and grab pickers. we’re not sweating it but we grab some trash. i feel bad for tony cuz he’s out watering when it’s breaktime. liam says he probably wont be back till 2:25 when we have to clock out by 2:30. he wound up being right. a lot of shaking heads and muttering inbetween the four seasonals (minus dan) as soon as he was back. i clocked out and i told tony that he probably wont survive tomorrow with danager and that it was nice knowing him. tomorrow two of the techs will be back because they had today off. but it’s gonna be tony, the two techs, and danager. and possibly someone from the other park. not sure tho. like the BIGGEST oof because it’s gonna be a full day of trash cleanup and they’ve got danager there. and danager works the same shift as tony so anyday tony’s in, so it danager. the sat-thur crew got lucky. he told liam and i that on saturdays, the techs are out b/c weekends. it was just tony and someone from the other park and they’d. get the trash. trashbags and ground trash. and then fuck off in the breakroom. you can’t weedeat or cut on weekends. there’s not much to do if there’s not trash. they deadass would nap. and now they’re SCREWED because danager’s there. i’m so sad the one guy from the other park wasn’t there today. I can not WAIT to find out what he thinks of danager. fascinating. i almost worked tomorrow too, of my own request because I missed so much. but im sO Glad i didnt i do not want to spend anytime around danager that i dont have to. he fucking sucks. anyways. working my first ever fourth of july was,,, eventful. it mostly consisted of trying to avoid danager and kicking it with liam and tony. and that’s stellar. I really like both of them. i love my fucking coworkers. except danager. fuck you. also! no one offered us food :( apparently there is usually good food ppl offer to you and :( :( i didnt get food. oh today at work was wild. im so sorry for this post. it’s a hefty one. is this the longest post i’ve ever made on tumblr? yes. if you made it this far good job. I saw two REALly great dogs. the one looked like a bear. the other was a gsd. good job. god i love this job.

#work #long post #personal

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monroedakota718-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter 1

Guiding his six-foot stature from the shower. Vaughn cleared the misty mirror to admire his blond hair, blue eyes, and well defined torso."You handsome mother - shut your mouth!" He chorused bouncing his pectorals, chipper, as today was the long-awaited outgoing to Montauk with his family.Tying the bathrobe, expecting his wife, or one of two-teenage children to barge in as next when he opened the door. There was nothing. The house seemed oddly quiet. Disregarding, he moved towards the bedroom, his steps suspended by the vicious head blow sending him crumpling down unconscious. Vaughn’s head throbbed ferociously as his blurred vision strived to adjust to the gloomy surroundings. A bit more coherent, he realized he was in the living room on his stomach, handcuffed to the radiator. Managing to roll onto his back, electrifying panic ripped through his body-seeing his wife, daughter and son, all faced down on the carpet, their hands subdued behind them. "Greetings." Acknowledged the Scottish accent cheerily. Vaughn's focus moved to the unknown intruder draped in monk's cowl, it's hood pulled over his head. "I hope you're fully aware who you're dealing with! I'm N.Y.P.D.! Now I suggest you get the hell out and pray I don't make you regret this day!" Vaughn declared, his threat receiving chortles. "I can assure you when I leave here you'll be in no position to harm me. Or anyone else for that matter."In spite of his mounting fear. Vaughn's curiosity was struck, instincts telling him this wasn't just a random intrusion."Yes, Michael Vaughn. We both know you've been a real naughty boy over the years. Isn’t that so?" Vaughn remained tight-lipped."Protect and serve. Or is it serve and protect? The slogan goes something along those lines, am I correct?…You do remember reciting this when you took your oath to protect mankind, no? Of course you've broken this promise religiously. But why wouldn't you? You've severed the sacred ones to your marriage." "You know nothing about me!" "You're wrong Michael Vaughn. I know a lot about you. So does Melinda. She knows where your time is spent when you tell her you're out working overtime." He sulked, letting his words marinate. "It gets better. Apparently you're not the only one enjoying time away from your spouse. Isn't that so Melinda?"Frowning deeply, Vaughn glimpsed to his terrified wife. "How good of a detective would you make missing something so conspicuous?" The man attached. "Did you not get suspicious with her suddenly not challenging you’re not coming home at nights?""Just take what you want and get out!" "Oh. I’ll attain what I seek. You have no choice in that matter. What I desire should be of deliberation." Stalled the stranger. "You’ll confess to the world just how much of a dishonest person you are, the immoral acts you've committed, the innocent your hands slaughtered and aided to convict falsely. Along with the countless women, some no older than your very own daughter you’ve victimized. Although you wash yourself with baking soda, and use an abundance of soap, the stain of your guilt lingers before me." Vaughn’s glare sped over to his family and saw their horrid, yet inquiring stares fixed on him. "He's lying!""I only speak truth." Defended the intruder- revealing a small string bag from his pocket. Vaughn eyed-flabbergasted as three marbles magically rose and began rotating around each other, it’s dim light heightening to project images of all the stranger accused. Melinda's fright magnifying seeing the crazed look on Michael's face not knowing what was provoking it, for she and the children were facing him. The marbles light reduced as they carefully sunk back down in the bag. 'How did he do that?' Vaughn couldn’t fathom."You accuse me of lies. Will you charge your own eyes?" asked the man, the sound of two knives scraped together flared when he swiftly drew a sword from his cloak and raised it above Melinda. "Please Don’t!" Vaughn aired just when the stranger with unbelievable speed and precision swung the blade, cutting the restraints without harming as much as a hair on her. Vaughn's chest heaving forcibly from the scare. "You’ll need to attain your recording device for this segment of the Michael Vaughn’s show." Published the foreigner.Timidly reaching down, Melinda retrieved the cellular from her pocket. For the next half hour the Vaughn family listened. Taken back as Michael testified to the many people he framed, banking on the fact the court would never challenge his integrity as an officer despite-inconsistent testimony, or lack of corroborating evidence against the accused. Vaughn relayed how he would pick up young-runaway girls who served as prostitutes, and threaten them with jail time if they didn't comply with his sexual demands. His confession coming to closure mentioning the two, young, unarmed men he murdered. Vaughn's mind raced after all was said and done. His primary thought; that recording could not become public. His career would be over. Not to mention the criminal charges to follow. The least of his worries was what his family was thinking. He'd just tell them he fabricated all the mad-man wanted to hear fearing he'd harm them if he refused. "You're still pondering ways to cover your truths." 'Is he reading my damn mind?' Vaughn mugged, boggled. "How does it feel to finally rid yourself of the deceitful burdens you've lugged for so long?" Questioned the trespasser. Vaughn trying to get a visual of his face but only saw darkness as if there wasn’t one within the hood. "I have a bit of pleasant news. Which is, I'm going to give you a choice. A chance to restore the trust you've abolished." The man ended snatching Jennifer's head back by her pony tail. "NO! NO! Please!" Both parents begged when he slid the blade under her neck. "Seeming as though I have your undivided. I shouldn't have to repeat myself in the least. Makes me feel as though I'm not being taken seriously. And that wouldn’t be good for you, or your loved ones if I begin to feel that way." "Okay! Okay! Please let her go!" Vaughn pleaded. "Can I trust you? Better yet, can your family rely on you not to do anything foolish, shall I discharge your binds?" "Yes! You can trust me!" "Very well then. If it'll make you feel any better." Releasing Jennifer, Vaughn’s expression went baffled when the cuffs without explanation unhinged on it’s own. "Do you mind fetching me a glass of water?"'I'll get you some water alright.' Thought Vaughn.In the kitchen, Vaughn let the tap run a bit. Taking a peek into the living room, seeing the assailant with his back turned muttering something to Melinda. Vaughn quickly retrieved the revolver kept beneath the sink’s cabinet. Checking to make sure it was fully loaded, a feeling of empowerment enveloped him. Stealing another gander, observing the man’s back still facing him, Vaughn cocked the pistol’s hammer, then dashed out the kitchen. 'CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!' The striker hitting the firing pin sounded. Vaughn’s heart beating bearishly not understanding why the gun hadn’t fired, Uncommon for a revolver."That wouldn’t happen to be the weapon hidden below the kitchen sink, now would it?" Inquired the foreigner without turning. "I thought you said we could trust you?" He reminded..."You may return and rebind yourself." Nonchalantly he spoke.Vaughn did so. "As conclusion of this segment. You’ll inherit the inner torment thoust has cast upon thy neighbor. Thou shall know what it’s like forced to choose between two evils as did your victims. I’ve been appointed as your judge. Jury. And prosecutor." He lulled. "The plea bargain to preserve the lives of your family." Vaughn’s terror quadrupling when a recent act he committed was flashed into his mind, before the stranger pointed to his son Robby and said, " him."His pointer then swinging to Jennifer. "Or her…you have thirty seconds to decide. If time lapses. I’ll select one to be slain. Time begins now.""Listen to me for just one moment, please, sir, I don't know what to call you, what's your name?""Fifteen, Fourteen, Thirteen." The outlander counted. "Michael!" Melinda's sudden screams nearly made him drop the key as he fumbled with the cuffs.Vaughn turned and saw the firearm now clutched in her palm, her arm moving towards their children with what looked to be out of her control as they yelled in terror. "Five, Four, Three.""Look! I'm doing it!" Roared Vaughn looking back and forth between Melinda and the cuffs, desperately trying to get the key in the hole but it fell from his grasp. BOOM!' Sounded the thunderous discharge, both parents wailing out frenzied to the aftermath of their son’s brain matter and fragments scattered about."What have you done!?" Hollered Vaughn over Melinda’s bellows. "Please stop!" Melinda screeched hysterically, her armed hand fixing on Jennifer whose traumatized glare was centered on Robby’s."Thirty seconds begins now." Vaughn managed to do away with the handcuff. Whimpering as he staggered over to where his daughter lay on her stomach, kneeling down he undid his robe, then raised her gown. The sight of her lower half sickening him. 'Death would be much easier' he consummated, attempting to rise, but couldn’t move as if he was glued down.Suddenly his penis sprung to life as if he were on some supernatural enhancement, his body moving against his doing, positioning itself to rest on Jennifer with him screaming and bawling trying to fight the unseen force but failed. Back at the radiator, Vaughn wept without restraint. "Now Jenny. I'm not going to have any trouble out of you am I?" Posed the villain standing her up. Jennifer remained mute. Her stare detachable from Robby."I take your silence as compliance." The captor then steered his focus to Michael and Melinda."It seems that we're done here. In the next minute or so, you'll lose the gift of speech. Would either of you like to say anything to Jennifer before our departure?" Vaughn couldn't bring himself to face her. "I'm sorry." Melinda muttered choking on sobs. Following an unexplainable light. The intruder along with Jennifer vanished into thin air.

If you liked what you read so far. Send friend request to view chapter two @ facebook.com/dakota.washington.9480

#calamity first of a series

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seprofcorp · 5 years ago

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Jackson Browne - The Load Out/Stay FOR THE REMAINDER OF MY SHORTENING TIME LEFT, ONE NAGGING, EMPTY HOLED REGRET WILL NEVER LEAVE ME. HOW ON THIS EARTH, GALAXY, DID I EVER, EVER, "MISS A "CLASSIC "JACKSON BROWNE CONCERT ,EITHER IN"MADISON SQUARE GAR'DEN'S VAST ARENA OR IN , QUEENS, THE VILLAGE, OR ANYWHERE ON LONG (ISTHMUS) ISLAND. MY GOOD BUDDY FROM "HOFSTRA U TURNED ME ON J.B.((OWE HIM REAL BIG TIME(FORGIVE HIS FEW "CHILDISH PRANKS(STUFFING 1 OZ. OF GRASS IN MY SPORT JACKET POCKET WHILE I'M WORKING(ASST' SUPR, AT GIMBEL'S ROOSEVELT FIELD MENS DEPT, B4 CLOSING,KNOWING SECURITY HEAD HATED ME & MY SEMI=HIPPIE LONG HAIR(GREAT DRESSER THOUGH,IF I DO SAY SO); NEXT' " SLIPPED "CAMERA LENS CLEANER" IN MY POCKET RIGHT B4 WE LEFT A CAMERA STORE;, HOWEVER: AT 2ND "1969 MARCH ON WASHINGTON DC. ANTI=VIETNAM/DRAFT/NIXON"MARCH(WE ARRIVED AFTER DARK, I PARKED MY( IF I STILL HAD IT), CLASSIC 1963 BRITISH RACING GREEN 390 4 BARREL THUNDERBIRD AT AN ADJACENT CURB .CLOSE , BUT STILL OKAY, TO THE "WHITE HOUSE(ANYBODY FOR "WHITE SUPREMICIST HOUSE??). WAKING LATE MORN, GUESS WHAT??: MY CLASSIC TO BE WAS "SURROUNDED BY "GREY HOUND BUSES, OUT OF A HOLLYWOOD ATTACK!!. WHAT TO DO, NADA, WE PARTICIPATED,THE 1ST MARCH, I, WITH OTHER GUYS,(EX- 2ND AT THE TIME, BEST FRIEND STEVE( A FORMER "FORBES MAG, BIG WIG(MALCOM TOOK HIM ON HIS YACHT UP THE HUDSON FOR BI-CENTENNIAL/ROAD " MOTORCYCLES TOGETHER,REALLY), WE WERE TEAR GASSED IN AN OFFICE, WHERE WE CAMPED OUT)..WELL, HAD TO LEAVE NEXT DAY, TOSSED COIN=HECK NO, WE(GUYS, SMARTLY PICKED GUARDING the bus entrance. gave "george" my keys, he "managed to talk the(so the agent told gEorge-he had jumped on "mrs, Jacqueline Kennedy that traGIC ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT. KENNEDY DAY, IN DALLAS),TO MY(OUR( GREAT RELIEF/SURPRISE. THE AGENT " DROVE MY T-BIRD THRU THE PARTED BUS SPACE, GAVE GEORGE THE KEYS..WHAT A "JUMPIN' JACK FLASH, IT'S A GAS GAS GAS MOMENT; IT WAS" SO SWEET. NATURALLY, MY 1ST WORDS TO APPROACHING "GEORGE": " DID U GET THE GUY'S AUTOGRAPH??(NATCH-HE DID NOT). 2ND: AT "GIMBELS AGAIN(B4 CLOSING, A COLLEAGUE(LAURA HOFFMAN(MAIDEN NAME) APPROACHED, ASKED A FAVOR": PLEASE TAKER HOME ONE OF HER STAFF IN LADIES FINE DRESSES(DID NOT KNOW WHO SHE WAS). HOWEVER, GEORGES EVENTUALLY WIFE, WAS WAITING IN MENS' DEPT, FOR A LIFT BACK TO HOFSTRA U.(HER DORM & THEN WHAT??WE WERE SEMI-DATING(SHE WAS/IS A BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, BIT KOOKY LADY, saved my "bacon once when "moM' KICKED ME OUT,AFTER BRINGING HOME NEWEST FRIEND("HERE CAME WINDY, THE SHELTY MIX')(those" REALLY WERE THE DAYS, MY FRIEND, & THEY REally did end"(forgot the author/group):WELL, CALLED GEORGE, AT HIS HOME, PLEADEd for fav, he drove over(not far away, GAVE the red head a lift home(beginning of his "odyssey march to the alter for both), why so IMPORTANT & WORDY, U MAY RIGHTLY SAY??. ON NY RIDE TO HER PLACE homE, SHE WAS sweet, really looked close to"elizabeth taylor, ingrid bergmen & to me, SIMPLY AN "ANGEL" , SOMEHOW, A MYSTERIOUS FORCE(FROM OUTER SPACE? BLINDED, HYPNOTIZED)ME: THIS YOUNG LASS, AND MYSELF "HIT IT OFF, SLOWLY "TRUE LOVE GREW, OVERTIME, AS LOVERS, THEN SADLY, SHE WENT AWAY TO MIAMI U., AFTER A "T/GIVING HOLIDAY TOGETHER(FOR ME IT HAD TO BE 7 DAYS/NITES OF PURE HEAVEN, THAT I'LL NEVER HAVE AGAIN),SHE MOVED BACK TO LONG ISLAND. N.BELLMORE, , ATTENDED LONG ISLAND U(C.W.POST,ON CAMPUS; HERE IS THE " KICKER" SOMETIME MID FEB. WINTER(NEVER FORGET THAT MOMENT/DAY,AT HER HOME, "SHE KICKED ME TO THE CURB, 4 EVER, IN A NICE( WHO AM I KIDDING, NOTHING NICE HERE) MANNER(REMEMBER SHE WAS ALWAYS "SWEET " TO ME")MY WORLD IMPLODED. BELIEVE ME, IF NOT STRONG, COULD HAVE TAKEN THAT " LAST SCUBA DIVE" TO FABLED 'Davy JOnes locker(THIS IS THE END" MEGA HIT BY JIM MORRISON/THE DOORS(JULY 4TH, 1972( THE LADY DI'S HOME, YES, I CRIED, SITTING IN ROCKER, DOWNING A " COLT 45 CAN" LISTENING IN HORROR TO THE T.V. NEWS REPORTING THE "DEMISE" OF MORRISON,IN PARIS BATH TUB". "THE DOORS" MUSIC'/MESSAGES / words,were my " main stay. my "obsession,if u will). guiding my life, driving me forward(did not know where),MUSICALLY OR JUST IN GENERAL(WITH LADY D, AS MY LIFE BOAT, SHE SO SWEETLY QUIETLY ACCEPTED MY PATHOS, QUIET, ROLLING TEARS,& WE MOVWD ON TILL OUR FATEFUL MOMENT TOO(NO ONE WAS EVER HURT PHYSICALLY). "KICKING ME TO THE CURB", I WAS LOST,GRADUATED HOFSTAR, ALREADY LEFT GIMBELS TO VACATION W/ HER IN MIAMI, EXCEPT TOR "EVERYONE KNOWS THAT IT'S WINDY" GIVING BIRTH TO "6' german shepard mix pups(apparently "SIZE DID MATTER TO WINDY"(ACTUALLY SAW THIS PERPERTRATOR SHEPARD DOG(AFTER RAPING MY LITTLE DOGGy) LEAPING OVER THE WHITE PICKET FENCE TO ESCAPE MY YELLING, WAVING, PRESENCE. YES, FOOLISH NE, NEGLECTED TO HAVE WINDY SPAYED *DONE A.S.A.P. AFTER NURSING PUPS). (GOT TO BREAK HERE(IF ANYONE HAS EVEN STAYED THE DISTANCE)< THINK I "FORGOT "MY POINT"(ANOTHER FLAW OF MINE. THANKS IF U ACTUALLY READ THIS BLURB( NOT A "RANT", BELIEVE ME, ACTUALLY ALL HAPPENED. ((MY FONDEST MEMORIES R STILL INTACT))ETERNAL THANKS TO " GEORGE R.AND(ALWAYS REMEMBERED HER FONDLY AS "LADY DIANE".

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bucketlistgirls-blog · 8 years ago

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Planning a Trip to Italy

The Idea

Where to start? Firstly I am no blogger and am not good with words, but just decided to put all our ideas in writing. The idea originated last year June when my dear friend went on holiday to London. Firstly we are Dawn and Charmaine previous work colleagues and now become closer friends in later years 😊 Dawn was busy packing for London when she called and stressed she had no idea what to pack or what she was packing, me being the friend I normally am rushed through to her place and immediately took over her packing. Anyway long story short we were chatting and after her trip to London we decided we needed to go on holiday together, so there and then my brain started working overtime as it usually does. Give me anything to organise or think about and I am your gal! My heart immediately went with Italy because if you are a reader like I am then you will understand that Dan Browns stories end up in Italy, Eat Pray Love ended up in Italy and the movie Under the Tuscan Sun was set in Tuscany so with all these stunning references I could think of no better place to go than Italy. Immediately I was on the internet during my lunchtimes researching flights, accommodation etc. I already knew which cities and towns I wanted to visit. But where to start? A few days later Dawn mentioned Russia, I had never thought of Russia being on my bucket list, but nevertheless I did a bit of research on Russia and no matter how interesting a history Russia has and the beautiful palaces to visit etc. my heart just kept returning to Italy. My first thought was I would love to try and see at least one or two of the places from the books I have read and the movies I have watched, and secondly I would prefer to eat food I actually know more and enjoy more than being in a country wondering what I am actually eating and trying to acquire the taste for Russian food. Now so far my research has brought me this far: We will spend at least 3 days in each town. We are not going to spend astronomical amounts of money on tours or 5 star hotels. But we will do one or two jump the queue tours to see the highlights of Rome and Florence at least. Oh did I say what towns we were visiting? Naples, Rome, Bologna, Florence, Cortona. Now the first dilemma was whether to hire a car or not. I really did not want to make use of public transport, had enough of that in London, but after researching accommodation etc, I realised hiring a car would be a waste of money and time especially if only using it to drive from town to town and maybe a bit of sightseeing along the way, you know the type that happens when you take a wrong turn. Okay so firstly plan is to fly into Rome or Naples will see later in the year which is the cheapest flight, but we will be starting in Naples maybe do a day to the Amalfi Coast. Then onto Rome where we will do a proper tour of the Pantheon, St Peters Basilica, Sistine Chapel etc. Oh wait back to Naples first, one place i have to go look up is the famous pizza place where Eat Pray Love went and ate the best pizza she had ever had or thought she could ever have. Right slightly back on track again, after Rome we will head up to Bologna, now this is the spot that we would have been starving ourselves for in Naples and Rome because apparently Bologna is the foodie Capital to go to and experience. And apparently enough steps to climb visiting porticoes etc. to climb to burn off all the calories of the past 6 days in Naples and Rome. Bologna is the place we are spending Christmas in as well and I am trusting I have made the right choice with this one. Then onto Florence where we will immerse ourselves in some more historical culture and tours. Finally onto Cortona where we will celebrate the New Year with the locals. Cortona will be our chilling and resting spot where we will just try and blend in with the locals, apparently also could be eating quite a lot here but then again also walking it off since we have not hired a car. Now my research on accommodation has taken me all over but have settled on Airbnb and have made some wish lists there of places to rent in each town. Did a lot of research as well on the hiring of the car and realised we could save a load of dosh by using public transport and since the Italian trains seem to be the thing to do, we can use that extra dosh for the day trip to the Amalfi coast or splash out on something else. Research has also told me that we can drink the tap water but can also get cheap bottled water in the supermarkets for cheap. We are planning on trying to get away with cheap eating by shopping in the local markets and living on pastries and coffee, apparently early evening happy hour when having an apperetif we can get some snacks and sandwiches which could serve as a light dinner and finish it off with "gelato" we cannot forget the dessert, definitely not. Every day I am googling something new to find out about the towns. But firstly been googling what to pack, what to eat, what not to eat, where to stay, will be looking for central locations in all the towns. Now as I usually do I have babbling along jumping from one point to the next and that is how my brain works and also keeps me awake at night. I was only supposed to start this blog when next visiting Dawn but alas after finding this blog spot i started typing and couldn't stop but will leave the next post for when I am with Dawn and she can assist in the putting together of sentences and ideas :) so this was just a test run for now.

And hoping to be on this blog spot by December this year when we are actually on holiday in Italy immersing ourselves in some culture and food,till next time this is Chaz signing off.

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