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sukiglycerin · 5 years ago

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13 minutes || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero (therefore aged up)!katsuki bakugou x fem manager!reader

* genre: pro-hero!au, smut, this is the longest warning section i’ve ever written, mainly pwp, fluff at the end :>

* words: 2,266 of all this fiLTH

* warnings: AGED UP KATSUKI, ugh tumblr deleted my super long tags so now i must redo them, this is very long & filthy, whew let's go, dom!katsuki, sub!reader, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, office sex, reader is bent over the desk ofc, master/sir kink, a little pet play (he calls reader pet/kitten), dirty talk, degradation, fingering, breast/nipple play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, orgasm denial (how contradicting), cunnilingus (f receiving), cum eating (both ends), talks of safeword/colour system but no actual usage, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pls use protection irl!!), creampie, reader is kinda masochistic, pussy slapping, crying sex (no angst here tho), hair-pulling (m receiving if it matters), implied subspace, aftercare !! the best part !!

* a/n: so tumblr messed up sO much while i tried to post this, so i hope you like this! ty @toishi for sticking with me and all of my ramblings while writing this! (and ofc @dylanxmin for her lovely support!!) this is a VERY spicy thing, and almost had actual plot before i cut it out. if you like this, i may do a fluffier pt 2!! enjoy!

being a pro-hero's manager has its perks. the pay's good, the coworkers are pleasant, and travelling is pretty fun. to you, the best part is that you get to see your boyfriend of three years every day.

you've been dating pro-hero ground zero secretly, and you happen to be his manager. honestly, the latter came first in chronological order, but that doesn't matter anyway.

you first encountered ground zero (or as he was called back then, katsuki bakugou) during your time in the business course at ua. he bumped into you quite ungracefully, cursed at you, pushed past you, then let a startled but apologetic kirishima to apologize. it was fate, in kirishima's words.

such fate led you to manage ground zero five years ago, after slowly climbing your way up from managing smaller heroes to finally reaching the popular ones. bakugou had been the only popular hero with a manager opening; you learned why soon after being hired.

the spiky haired hero had a short fuse and a tendency to cuss. he was picky, indecent, and often reckless with his public image; the calmest you'd ever seen him was when he blew up villains and screaming "die."

however, things change - things change a lot. five years later, you're here: katsuki mumbling sweet things into the crook of your neck as his hands tease the waistband of your pencil skirt.

"katsuki, we can't- you have a meeting in fift- hng-!"

his lips find yours quickly, effectively quieting you down. you're sitting on katsuki's desk - a polished cherry wood thing that took too many weeks to find - as he towers above you, pinning you to your spot.

katsuki pauses, and pulls back, licking his lips. "sounds like a you problem."

"we really can't, this meeting is really important-" bakugou's fingers nimbly find their way under your skirt, deadly close to your panties. he really isn’t paying attention to you.

"and i'm the star of the show, the number one pro-hero-" if he hears you mutter 'that's midoriya,' he ignores you and continues, "-aren't i the most important one here?" his fingers rub your clothed clit, smirking at your audible gasp.

"k-katsuki, no-" you know he can feel the wet patch growing on your panties; from the way his determined eyes lock on yours, you know he won't be finished until you are too.

"how long do we have now, love?”

"thirteen minutes, but-"

"you're going to cum for me three times in the thirteen minutes we have."

it's not a question; it's a fact. you are going to cum three times in the next fifteen minutes.

“once on my fingers,” he puts a finger up, “once on my tongue,” another finger, “and once on my cock. the only thing you have to worry your pretty head about-“ he leans in close to your ear, voice dropping a couple octaves, “-is keeping quiet enough.”

his fingers push your panties to the side with ease and play teasingly with your wet folds. he circles your clit with his middle finger slowly, dragging out each languid movement with a smirk on his face. you flush at the lewd, wet noises he elicits from your pussy. you know that his fingers are coated in your arousal.

you look down in embarrassment, gripping the edge of the desk, and stare at the cotton material of your pencil skirt.

"slut." the word is spat from katsuki's mouth. his hand holds your chin; his touch barely ghosts your skin, but the command still exudes dominance. he tips his hand up, so you're looking into his intense eyes.

"look at me, slut." the word is emphasized by the plunging of three fingers in your wet core. you whine, unprepared by the sudden intrusion. your legs move uncomfortably against the fabric of your skirt, which restricts you from spreading open your legs wider. you want to clamp down on katsuki's hand, but you know that that won't end well.

"patience, kitten." either by intuition or his own frustration, he speaks up gruffly. "all in due time." his thumb starts to knead your aching bud as he thrusts in and out, knuckle deep in your pussy. glancing at the clock, he grows impatient, quickly attempting to unbutton your blouse before ripping off the rest entirely. you'd normally protest - you liked that blouse - but you find yourself falling short of words at the pressure on your pussy. katsuki goes at a more rigorous pace, thrusting fast and deep while his free hand snakes itself under your bra to play with your nipple. the added stimulation has you keening to his touch, suddenly aware of his every touch. he pulls your bra cup down, freeing your breast and bending down to to encapsulate the hardened bud in his mouth. his tongue circles your areola and flicks your nipple; meanwhile, his pace on your pussy hasn't relented.

soon, you feel the telltale feelings of pleasure bubbling through your body. you tense against him, gasping out his name and clawing at his back. your knees buckle as your climax washes over you, making your body go limp in his hand. bakugou lets go of your nipple with a popping noise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his other hand pulls out, and he outstretches three cum-soaked fingers to you, an unspoken code for "suck." you open your mouth obediently, sucking your salty juices off his slim digits.

"fuck," he cusses, eyes blown out wide in lust. "so fuckin' obedient for me, hm? such a fuckin' whore for your master."

you let go of the fingers in your mouth and nod.

his non-wet fingers grip the bottom of your skirt. "off. now."

"yes, master." you feel his eyes pierce you, watching you unzip your skirt and panties and let them pool around your legs. he holds you steady as you step out of the garments and toss them to the side.

"sit up." he taps the desk lightly.

"it'll get w-w-"

"did i stutter?"

"n-no, master."

he hums while you acquaint your bottom with the cold, hard wood of his desk.

"colour system, love?" his voice gets soft and he breaks the hard persona. his eyes are gentle, searching yours for any speck nervousness or hesitancy.

"green for 'i'm good, keep going,' yellow for 'slow down,' and red for 'stop.'"

"and if you can't speak?"

"three taps for red, two for yellow."

"what's your colour right now?"

"green, master."

his face hardens at the title. "always a good pet for me, aren't you?"

you nod. "yessir."

he spares another glance at the clock on the wall. "you're going to be a fucking good slut for master in the next 7 minutes, understand?"

"y-yessir."

"what was that, pet?"

"yessir."

"better be. spread." his fingers gesture to your legs.

he kneels before you, your drenched core spread out and on display for him at eye-level.

"so wet," he marvels, making your face heat up. like this, you're completely exposed to him; your breasts free from your bra, nipples hard against the cool air, and your pussy glistening under the light of his office.

he licks a long stripe up your folds, testing the waters. by now, the original intensity of your previous orgasm had worn off; despite this, when his tongue met your clit, you found yourself reaching for his hair, gripping it tightly. he groans into your pussy, poking his appendage through your folds and administrating kitten licks up and down your inner lips to slurp up whatever juices were left. the teasing doesn't last for long, however. he starts to suck harshly on your clit, making you buck into his face in overstimulation and surprise. you cry out at his unceasing ministrations, tugging on his hair and your toes curling. the overstimulation is too much; pain mixed with white hot pleasure blinds you. the lips closed against your clit go hard; you're not even sure how katsuki can breathe going at such a pace. the pain starts to blend into pure pleasure. you throw your arm over your mouth in attempt to stifle your noises, eyes shut tight. you feel tears line your eyes as you cum again, katsuki's tongue pressed flat against your pussy. the pleasure is five times more intense now; you cry out, sure anyone standing outside heard, and clutch katsuki's hair as you recover from your orgasm. your pussy convulses violently, and you pant in a similar manner.

"k-katsuki- master- i-" you breathe hard.

"one more for me, okay?" he rasps into your ear. "i know you can take it, kitten. so good for me..." his chin and lips shine with your essence.

you nod, spreading your sore legs further apart.

"colour?" he checks, hands starting to reach for his belt.

"green."

he nods and unbuckles, pulling his pants and boxers down to reveal his cock. katsuki leans in, hot breath fanning against you as he peppers kisses on your clavicle.

"you're gonna be a good cocksleeve for master, yeah? gonna be all fuckin' tight and wet for me?"

you whimper a shaky "yes," the head of his cock nudging your folds.

he eases his full length into you, the stretch always being something you always need to get used to. katsuki's not particularly girthy, but for what he lacks in girth he makes up in sheer length. he pushes in gently; it's clear on his face he wants nothing more than to ravage you, but he understands your needs.

"f-fuck," you gasps as he bottoms out.

"ring ring ring," the tone of katsuki's phone rings through the room.

you lean over the desk, reading the caller id.

"it's horikoshi corp?" you say to katsuki.

"pick it up." there's a mischievous gleam in his eyes, but there's no time to dwell on it before you pick up the call.

"is this the office of ground zero?" a male voice asks through the line.

"yessir-" katsuki starts moving inside you, to which you bite your lip. "h-how can i help you?"

"this is regarding the meeting scheduled for today?"

"y-yes?" you gasp, flinging a hand over your mouth as bakugou starts thrusting into your core roughly.

"i'm terribly sorry to say this, but it appears that our boss has come down with food poisoning from lunch."

"don't- don't worry about it-" your knuckles are white gripping the edge of the desk, and you're slightly bent over it.

katsuki continues to hammer into you, speed increasing quickly.

"could we reschedule to friday, at 1:30pm?"

your mind skims through katsuki's friday schedule. "u-um... y-yes-! that can be arranged..." you're not sure if he can hear the wet slapping noises coming from your end of the line - but the thought of him knowing your dirty deeds with katsuki made you even wetter.

"alright, thank you!" the man sounds relieved. "goodbye."

"bye!" you half slam the phone down on the receiver, chest heaving.

"it's your lucky day, huh, kitten?" katsuki purrs smoothly.

you nod, pressing yourself onto his desk so you're bent over it for him.

"such a fucking slut," you can hear the pride in his voice. "you like that, yeah? i can feel you clenching all around me. you're my fuckin' cockslut, right?"

your head bobs rapidly up and down. "yes, master- i'm-" you feel the familiar heat start to bubble in the pit of your stomach.

"don't you dare fucking cum yet," he growls in your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust.

he presses you even harder into the desk, your breasts pushed up against the cold wood.

"k-katsuki...!”

"my little pain slut, isn't that right?"

"y-yes-! f-fuck, master-"

he slaps your clit, making a loud, wet sound resound through the room.

it almost sends you over the edge. almost.

"don't- cum-" katsuki grunts in between thrusts.

you're so close it almost hurts. the pleasure overwhelms you; you shut your eyes tight to distract yourself, but you can only hear the sound of katsuki's heavy breaths and his cock slamming into you.

"katsuki- master- please, i can't-" tears start to form in the corners of your eyes. the pleasure is just too much, beating into you incessantly.

"you can, and you will," he orders, voice firm.

"k-ka- ka-" you blubber, tears dropping from your cheeks. you know you won't be able to hold it much longer; your pussy aches in need of release. "pl- pl, ka-"

"cum." it was the only word you needed to find yourself toppling off the edge, euphoria rippling over you violently. tears stream down your cheeks, cum gushing from your heat. you're as limp as a doll in katsuki's arms, slumped against his desk. your pussy throbs, contracting violently - somewhere amidst your orgasm, katsuki had finished as well. your cheeks are wet, blouse thrown somewhere on the ground. your breathing is shaky as katsuki picks you up, stroking your hair delicately.

"hey, honey," he kisses your forehead softly.

you mumble incoherently, eyes drooping shut.

"you did so well for me... i didn't hurt you, did i?"

"no, 'suki.... 's good.... i liked it a lot..." you nuzzle into him, his body warmth comforting. katsuki smells of vanilla and caramel, a sweet combination that feels undeniably like home.

you don't remember many of the next events well; everything blurs into a haze. you feel him gently thumbing your tears away, slipping your skirt and panties on and buttoning up one of his extra dress shirts on you.

the last thing you hear is a gentle "i love you," and before you know it, you're drifting asleep.

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chalkrevelations · 4 years ago

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Word of Honor Ep 5, and this is a lot of politicking. (Although not as much as there will be.)

Due diligence, first: If you are NEW or JUST VISITING, this is a re-watch, so there are SPOILERS not just for this ep, but for the entire show. Scroll away and come back later if you haven’t seen all 36.5 eps and want to watch unspoiled.

Before we get to the politicking, let’s talk about what we’re really here for: Date Night For Our Pair Of Merciless Killers. I’m going float a theory about this episode. I’ve talked in previous rounds of this re-watch about how Wen Kexing’s thirst takes on a different dimension when we know his backstory and how he’s trying to get info about Siji Manor and confirm Zhou Zishu’s identity, as well as reacting to him as his one-time shixiong. I’m going to suggest that a lot of the sexual harassment in this particular episode – at least in the back half of it – is about diverting ZZS while he’s trying to figure out an op that WKX’s actual Ghosts were involved in. I think WKX is laying it on so thick here – constant come-ons and physical crowding and repeated attempts to touch ZZS that we repeatedly see ZZS step away from or actually push away - because he’s deliberately trying to make ZZS uncomfortable in order to distract him. More on this in a bit.

Re: the politicking. Straight-up, I’ll admit that I didn’t follow this aspect as close as I maybe ought to have on the first go ‘round because I was distracted by WKX’s thirst, just like ZZS is supposed to be (so, another point to you, show). I’m going to take this in basically chronological order to try to make sense of it: We open on Shenshen fighting Hao Tong and Lv Liu (ugh) to protect Ao Laizi, leader of Tai Shan sect, a lesser sect; the last two living Danyang Sect shidi; and the Danyang Glazed Armor. Shenshen chases Insufferable Grandma and Grandpa away but is kind of an asshole about wanting the Danyang Glazed Armor. He does a credible job of trying to maneuver them all into coming back to the Five Lakes Alliance at Zhao Jing’s place after Zhao Jing shows up with one of the Tai Shan disciples who ran to Sanbai Manor for help. Ao Laizi was not born yesterday and appears to outmaneuver him, although if you pay attention, Zhao Jing actually allows them to slip the snare. I have my suspicions that Zhao Jing wants the Danyang Glazed Armor to stay in the wind, where he’s less likely to be blamed once Ao Laizi gets knifed in the back and gets his newly acquired Glazed Armor took, which I’m assuming – knowing what I know about Awful Yifu from my previous watch – is the plan. This will end up being a big mistake for everyone involved. WKX then gets himself and ZZS invited to dinner at Sanbai Manor, where they get to sit at the head table with Chengling, Zhao Jing, Shenshen, and a dude representing Yueyang Sect, who is apparently Gao Chong’s favorite disciple, despite not being his head disciple, so you lose again, Deng Kuan, sorry. There’s a lot of ostentatious poetry quoting and bullshit toasting of each other at the head table, interrupting ZZS’s actual work of drinking. WKX attempts to feed ZZS by putting a prawn on his plate, which goes over about as well as you’d expect at this stage of their relationship, and which I now have to compare to the New Year’s dinner we’ll see in a later ep, at Siji Manor, which shows just how far their relationship comes. EVERYTHING about how awkward and uncomfortable this banquet is stands in stark contrast to that New Year’s dinner.

Cut to Mu Yunge – oh, this is the guy who was sitting in the back row of the cast during the WoH concert, when I couldn’t figure out who he was or why he was there instead of say, Wang Rong (Han Ying, my beloved …). We saw him earlier with the Five Lakes Alliance contingent that shows up to look vaguely horrified and tearful post-massacre at Mirror Lake. Now, he’s staggering along a deserted street after nightfall, running from Ghost Valley, who appear to be the legit deal this time, in the form of the Department of the Unfaithful. He runs into Ao Laizi and his charges (don’t they have a home to go to?), begging for help, before he gets yoinked away by a red banner that acts an awful lot like a tentacle. Ao Laizi goes running after him. BIG MISTAKE.

Back at the banquet, Shenshen appears to be disgracefully drunk (can none of these Five Lakes Alliance assholes hold their liquor? Damn.) and is busy berating Chengling about learning to drink like a man. There are a lot more weird sympathetic looks from WKX here, along with ZZS. Zhao Jing sends both Shenshen and Chengling to bed like 5-year-olds, and WKX takes advantage of his shameless persona to ask pointedly about the strapping young fellow who escorted ShenShen to bed (aka Song Huairen, Gao Chong’s favorite disciple from Yueyang Sect). There is literally no reason for WKX to need to know this, but it will help us, as the audience, to know it later. Cut to Song Huairen putting Shenshen to bed and leaving, and then we find out, surprise! Shenshen is not drunk! Is not sleeping! Is apparently going to get up and go skulk around secretly …. somewhere. Who knows? We don’t see him again until he has a chance to berate Zhao Jing, which is always a good time, even if Shenshen is insufferable. Pick your fighter, I guess. Back at the banquet again, we and WKX meet … oh. It’s This Guy, Yu Qiufeng, leader of Mount Hua Sect – remember this asshole, he’ll show up again, in various iterations – and his son, Tianjie. ZZS, meanwhile, wanders off, also acting disgracefully drunk, pretending to throw up in the bushes so the maids will leave him alone and he can drink in peace. I’m not sure why we act like WKX is the only shameless one in this marriage. Also, this is … actually not the last time he’ll resemble Shenshen in this episode, now that I think about it. Anyway, ZZS spots Yu Tianjie sneaking away suspiciously and follows him to some part of Sanbai where Tianjie sneaks in then chases out someone in dark robes with his face covered who looks suspiciously like Song Huairen, Gao Chong’s favorite disciple. The banquet gets interrupted by someone who sounds like Happy Ghost berating the Five Lakes Alliance, a maid comes screaming up the stairs, and we all rush out to discover Ao Laizi and two of his disciples, dead, hanging outside the front gate. This really is the worst party ever. Significantly, WKX takes a minute to look around the banquet hall, as if to see if anyone is eying him suspiciously. He does NOT follow everyone to the front gate, but instead ends up outside Chengling’s room when Chengling yells for his shifu because someone’s trying to get him. When they all run to Chengling’s room, WKX is faffing about outside, leisurely fanning himself and saying that surely that wasn’t Ghost Valley, because they were SUCH mediocre fighters and ran away the minute he started fighting. I JUST BET THEY DID.

OK, so, here’s the thing. Back in Ep 4, A-Xiang told Lovelace to take a message back from WKX to tell everyone to assemble at Sanbai Manor. I’m thinking that this time, this is actual Ghost Valley, that they grabbed Mu Yunge essentially as bait to get Ao Laizi, and then killed Ao Laizi and took the Danyang Glazed Armor, so that Ghost Valley is actually IN POSSESSION of a piece of the Glazed Armor, finally. They also, in the process, stole it out from under Zhao Jing’s nose, taking away his chance to have (probably) Xie’er go after Ao Laizi and get it. Ghost Valley then hung Ao Laizi at the gate and presumably menaced Chengling, either as a distraction or to make WKX look good or both.

So, we get Chengling back in bed and see ZZS tell him to go to sleep and not to cry because men don’t cry – thanks, Shenshen. I’ll be sure to remember that when you figuratively stab me in the HEART with your sad little face and crystalline tears later in the show. ZZS has a flashback to telling baby Qin Jiuxiao at Siji Manor basically the same thing, and I’m wondering if this is following Qin Huaizhang’s death? I don’t know, I don’t think we get enough info. ZZS then sneaks onto the roof to listen to Shenshen berate Zhao Jing, who supposedly discovered he had his own piece of Glazed Armor stolen during this ruckus. NOW, LISTEN. Was the dark-robed figure chased by Yu Tianjie actually Xie’er, “stealing” Zhao Jing’s Glazed Armor? Because we know, later, Xie’er wears the Tai Hu Glazed Armor as a necklace. It seems like a lot of trouble to go through, to make him actually “steal” it, when you could just give it to him and act like it was stolen, but Zhao Jing also didn’t know (I think?) that ACTUAL Ghost Valley was going to show up and create a convenient ruckus and an obvious scapegoat to pin the theft on. This is also where I’m unsure about which particular faction scared the shit out of Chengling. I’m assuming it’s actual Ghost Valley, who were “conveniently” driven off by WKX, because also in Ep 4, the Scorpions were told to assemble at Yueyang, not Sanbai Manor, and will make their kidnap attempt there in a later episode.

Anyway, we’re finally back to Date Night For the Merciless Killers, and ZZS chases WKX through the treetops, set to a romantic tune, until they arrive at what will turn out to be a crime scene, where WKX stops ZZS from walking into some Hanged Ghost-style Soul Winding Threads. ZZS remarks this must be the “real” Hanged Ghost, unlike the one at Mirror Lake, because A-Xiang wouldn’t have been able to kill the REAL Hanged Ghost. (SO CLOSE, my friend, but we know that the real Hanged Ghost got got in Ep 1. Although whoever was at Mirror Lake did have access to Soul Winding Threads, as Shenshen and his group discovered them.) At this point, WKX wants to know if ZZS is afraid of ghosts because he’s a VIRGIN, hahaha? He also starts getting up on ZZS, who walks away to continue his investigation of the tree with the Soul Winding Threads. Blood drips from a corpse in the tree down onto ZZS’s sleeve, and ZZS comments that blood “disgusts” him; I think there may be some significance to this word choice, as it correlates to his past breakdown over his work in Tian Chuang and his reaction to the deaths of the Four Sages of Anji - this is the metaphorical blood on people’s hands, including his own, literalized. Anyway, at this point, WKX cuts ZZS’s sleeve. I mean. :hands: He also tries to joke and bet about the identity of the corpse in the tree, who turns out to be Yu Tianjie. ZZS once again will not be diverted and keeps investigating this crime scene like the most devoted Fantasy Ancient China CSI ever. WKX rushes after him, saying that HE’s afraid of ghosts (implying that HE’s a virgin?) and getting right up on ZZS, enough so that ZZS physically pushes him away, as they reach a second body on the ground. Dark-robed, masked, turns out to be Song Huairen, Gao Chong’s (former) favorite disciple, who ZZS theorizes is the traitor who was after the Tai Hu Glazed Armor. There’s a repeated pattern here of WKX really pushing the sexual harassment and other diversionary tactics every time ZZS is working to figure out a piece of this puzzle, which might take him too close to WKX, up until the point when ZZS advances a theory that points away from WKX. ZZS is clearly working his way toward WKX, though, even with some of the wrong turns he’s making. The last thing we do in this ep is move on to the Zhao Coffin Home, where they encounter the Drunk Like a Dream incense and the Drug Men. On entering the place, ZZS pulls WKX back from more Soul Winding Threads, but he then pulls away when WKX tries to put a hand on his shoulder. WKX asks ZZS who he is, again, and it sounds like this time he’s asking more than what the face under the mask looks like. ZZS responds by asking WKX who HE is, and the way he says it – this is where I really begin to think he’s getting suspicious. You can see the wheels turning.

Final observation:

We get two SUPER SIGNIFICANT things at the end of this ep: There’s what I think is the first use of “Lao Wen,” shouted by ZZS in warning when WKX is wandering around high and the Drug Men show up. And WKX calls ZZS “Zhou Zishu” – not Zhou Xu – when he complains about being made to drink the Drunk Like A Dream antidote. ZZS notices.

#zhou zishu #wen kexing #zhang chengling #zhao jing #shen shen #word of honor #word of honor episode reax #will be cross-posted to ao3

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b00t-s · 4 years ago

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We're all gossip-y bitches sometimes

this is part two

Janus xey/xem

Roman she/he

Patton he/him

Virgil he/him

See the character intros for more info

TW. Swearing, arguments, alcohol, drunk characters, the word v//mit is used once, characters being characters, past trauma mentioned, tiny tiny tiny sprinkle of angst but just a passing of it at end, and nothing to intense

Again, tell me if I'm being insensitive. Shout at me if I am.

Summary: Patton goes to talk to Janus about Roman. The group opens...'some' bottles. Virgil adds on some...interesting opinions.

Events occur few hours after this.

Janus just finished xeir nightly shift when Patton came bounding up to xem. Janus raised an eyebrow at how ecstatic he looked.

"Yes?" Xey managed out, forcing back the hundreds of snarky comments xey could of said right then.

"Can you hang out at My house later?" Patton practically beamed out.

"why would I want to 'hang out'? It's just a social construct created to give people a higher sense of being." Janus remarked, flipping to closed/open side to closed.

"So you'll be there?"

"hmm. Will doom-and-gloom be there?

"doom and---ohhh, Virge. Yeah, probably," Patton realised now that this was a bad mix of people to invite "probably-probably not for long though!"

"Fine" Janus replied, taking off xeir apron. Xey ignored the obvious lie. "I'll be there in an hour." Xey knew one way or another xey would end up there due to Patton's... effective persuading.

"Great!" Patton exclaimed "oh yeah, and...um...it's raining outside so..take my umbrella, kay?"

His tone more serious all of a sudden, Patton nodded to Janus' heavily made up face, so well done an ignorant bystander wouldn't of noticed the thick layers of foundation on xeir face.

Patton handed xem a translucent umbrella, patterned with cute frogs and flowers, to Janus. Ignoring the distasteful cartoons, Janus nodded and took the umbrella.

"See you soon, Jan!" Patton cheerily waved as he bounced off.

Janus folded xeir apron, opened Patton's umbrella and braved the outdoors.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Janus arrived at Patton's house exactly on time, bone dry, despite the heavily flowing rain. Patton expected nothing less of his friend. He invited xem inside, amazed as always by his friend's everyday fashion.

Jan was wearing a casual yellow shirt over a long sleeved black shirt. Fishnet gloves adorned xeir hands, and xeir ruffled hair was let lose.

Xeir fashionably messy hair was topped with a neatly placed black fedora, which of xey never took off. Xey even scarred persuaded Thomas to let xem wear it to work.

Patton offered xem a smile, and walked xem upstairs. "Hi Jan!" He grinned.

"Hello" xey replied mundanely.

Xey absent-mindedly glanced at Patton's outfit, which contained a violet cashmere sweater, bell bottomed jeans, circular silver glasses and a sunflower clip in his perfect curls.

It was a good look, xey had to admit.

When they both reached Patton's room, Janus stood still, taking in xeir surroundings.

Patton's room was covered with things from the 2000's; Tamagotchi's, stickers pressed up against the pastel wall, stuffed animals, wristbands, old CD's, care bears posters and butterfly clips littering the floor in a deadly trap.

A trans flag was pinned above the single bed with blue tack, right next to some inspirational and motivational quotes.

The whole place looked like it had been puked on by unicorns.

It hurt Janus' eyes.

Xey was a little overwhelmed by all the spiraling colours and nostalgia-inducing objects, so xey sat cross-legged in the middle of the pink carpet. The world slowed down.

Janus wondered, not for the first time, how a 29 year old could be this cheerful.

Or appear this cheerful.

"Jan?"

Janus gave a small twitch of xeir head, realising that xey had spaced out. "Hmm?" Xey replied.

"Hey, you were up with the clouds! I was just saying, I think Virge is here" Patton chirped.

"oh"

"he...might be staying for a little longer then i said"

"How wonderful." Janus muttered, knowing this would happen but hating it anyway.

"oh, don't be like that! I'm sure you guys could become friends!" Janus snorted. "Or...at least not kill at each other whenever you're in the same general area" Patton corrected.

"Anyway! I'm going to greet him at the door!" He suddenly proclaimed, skipping downstairs.

Janus was disgusted at how naïve this man was.

But that was a lie.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patton slowed his happy skip to a casual walk. His grin slipped into a content smile as he reached the end of the stairs. Being so happy takes its toll on people, he thought. Soft tapping of the door interrupted his thoughts as he opened the door to reveal Virgil.

The first thing you notice about this man was his unfair tall-ness. He nearly had to duck to get inside; being too skinny didn't help. Virgil was wearing a plain black hoodie over a mcr top, completing the look with a short, pleated skirt and docs. His face was slathered in white foundation, accompanied with dark eyeshadow under his eyes.

"Virge!! I'm glad you could make it, even if you are late!!Again!" Patton hugged his friend, genuinely glad for his presence. The taller man patted Patton's curls awkwardly.

"Heyyyy Pat-" Virgil did the awkward pats on the back everyone does when they want to get out of a hug but don't want to say it in fear of hurting ones feelings. "Traffic-"

Patton withdrew from the hug and smiled. "okay! at least you're here safe! Can't control the traffic"

"Janus is waiting for us upstairs" Patton continued. He hurriedly carried on speaking before Virgil could spit out an insult about xem "say, you know what I hate about stairs? They're always up to something!" Patton laughed at his own joke, whilst Virgil pretended to face-palm, hiding a snigger.

"Alright, Alright dAd, didn't you say snake face was waiting for us?" Virgil mocked. Patton chuckled uncomfortably at the nickname, but nodded nonetheless.

"Yeah, we shouldn't leave xem waiting"

They both entered his room, having walked the short journey there in a comfortable silence. Patton noted Janus had not moved from were he left xem; xey had just shifted to read a book xey most likely found lying around. Janus looked up upon their arrival, xeir face immediately twisting into a mocking grimace upon seeing Virgil. "ah, you brought the racoon"

"Janus play nice--"

"you're one to talk, you participated in 2012 Tumblr" Virgil threw back

"must you be so wounding" Janus dramatically threw xeir hand against xeir forehead.

"okAY, that's enough guys." Patton firmly said. Janus pulled a face in reply, and Virgil returned the favour. Patton sighed. He just wanted them to get along, which was probably a high expectation by itself.

Perhaps he had booze leftover somewhere.

--------------------------------

Twelve near fist fights, two crying sessions and many, many, many bottles of alcohol later, it was nearing eleven pm and the group was drunker than a litter of catnip high kittens.

They all crowded into a close-knit circle on the bed, nearly falling off but not caring.

"ssso your telling me that flashy asss hhimbo sssssaid I wasss hot but then rude and that I wore too muchh makeup? What a *hic* bitchh" Janus hissed.

Patton giggled. "yeeeeee, be nice though! She was kindaaaa alllllllll over the place!" Patton continued bluntly, "But how would you feel if I set you guys up????~"

"oh pleassssse do, I would just love that" Janus may be trashed but xey still knew sarcasm. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending who you are, Patton did not.

"yayyy! This is gonna be great!!"

Virgil butted in then, waving around the bottle he was holding "hold on, just holllld on a minute there, you're planning to set up that" he vaugly gestured in Janus' direction "with Princy??? Xey've known her for what, 4 minutes? Life isn't a disney movie"

"Dare I detect a hint of jealousy there emo?" Janus purred "am I that lovable?" Xey hiccuped.

"ooooooooh" Patton leaned into the circle, loving the drunk drama.

"wouldn't you like to know weather boy" Virgil droned back, finishing off the bottle.

"Honey, I would dare ssay that was a yesss"

"nO"

"oooooo, you liiiiike meeeEe"

"you disgust me"

"kinky"

Patton shook his hands excitingly at them, nearly hitting Virgil, causing them to shut up. "I can't believe you're finally open to a relationship after what happened! With my best friend no least! Boy did I try to get you to go on more dat--" Patton suddenly clasped his hands over his mouth as if he just said something nasty.

Everyone went silent. Janus stared at Patron, xeir mouth slightly parted. Virgil laughed nervously to try and break the tension. It sounded strained.

Janus began to speak to stop Patton from starting to spout drunken apologies. "Well thatssss jusst a liee, I've dated pleeenty of people over..well...that...period..of time."

Everyone went silent again, not quite sure on what to say.

Virgil's anxiety was heightening due to the social awkwardness and the influence of the alcohol.

Patton was fidgeting in his lap.

It was Janus yet again who broke the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Sssso, *hic* you ssaid you wanted me to go out with thisss idiot?"

----------------------------------

first-previous-next

updated masterpost

tag list: @arrowthenon-binaryroyalty, @spellingwillbethedeathofme,

ask if you want to be added or removed from tag list

and we meet our boi virgil

context is for losers

i could of probably cut out unnecessary things in that but y'know I'm new and I like it

these posts will be in chronological order, unless flashback, but it's not following a set-in-stone story line, so asks are, yet again, much appreciated.

I procrastinated too much during the making of this

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #janus sanders #genderfluid!janus #patton sanders #trans!patton #virgil sanders #alcohol mention #Janus what have you agreed to #hiss hiss bitch #this story is all over the place plz #roceit #platonic moxiety #This won't and never will be a moxiety fic I'm sorry #their father ans son relashionship #no hate on the ones who do ship it #it just isn't my cup of tea #Ok-ish

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moonstruckbucky · 6 years ago

Text

Come Over (2/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Neighbor!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you everybody for the amazing feedback on the first chapter! I don’t think I’ve ever had that much response from the get go on a new series. Anyways, this part’s a bit longer. Feedback/comments/reblogs are always appreciated! ♥ P.S. - Not sure how many of you saw my recent post regarding tag lists but I figure I’d mention it here: I am not longer doing tag lists. Honestly the work to payoff ratio is so off there’s no point in my doing them anymore, coupled with the fact that Google docs is unreliable. More than half the people on these lists don’t interact with the stories they’re tagged for anyways, so I’m just not doing tag lists anymore. Please don’t ask me for tags.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Your first day at Stark Industries goes perfectly. Tony is a little ...out there for lack of better terminology, but overall he is the perfect boss—not too needy except in his caffeine addiction. He doesn’t go easy on you, firing off press conferences and meetings and so many other events at you in some funny attempt to get you to slip up. You surprise him by repeating each event, date and time included, in perfect chronological order. Behind his sunglasses, his dark eyebrows raise.

Your lunch is taken at your desk as you fill in your new planner with all the events Tony had given you. Your entire month of September seems to be filled to the brim with meetings you’re required to sit on, presentations of new tech, and luncheons with other big conglomerates in the industry. It’s overwhelming, but you didn’t plunge yourself into massive student debt for easy.

You even get a chance to meet a few of your coworkers when you step out for coffee for both you and Tony. Unsurprisingly, he takes it black with two sugars. A brunette woman and a tall man with glasses stand in front of you in the coffee shop on the bottom floor of the building, and when she notices you, she smiles and turns around to fully face you.

“You must be Tony’s new assistant,” she says. Returning her smile, you nod and throw out a hand.

“Y/N.”

“Wanda. And this is Vis, he works in Finance for Stark Industries.” The tall man smiles too and instead of shaking your hand, he kisses the back of it. Wanda giggles at the surprised look on your face and lightly slaps Vis in the chest.

“Vis, don’t scare the poor girl on her first day.”

The two of them step up to the counter and order, and Wanda waits while you do the same. She pulls you into a light conversation, asking how your first day is going, what it’s like so far working for Tony, where you moved from, and you answer them all easily. Wanda seems to be an easygoing person, one you look forward to getting to know better. Vis is quiet, but he interjects here and there for clarification on some things or to ask you questions of his own.

Wanda works in Marketing for the company, a huge duty in your opinion, but she seems to like the responsibility. She’s funny and sweet, and the three of you get into the elevator together once you all have your coffees. After exchanging numbers and a promise for a night out together soon, you part ways. Tony’s on the phone when you step into his office after knocking lightly with your knuckles, and he waves you in while telling the person on the other line just where he can shove “such a bullshit offer”.

Your face must show your slight shock at Tony’s mannerism because he smirks and accepts the coffee you hold out to him, downing half of it in a single gulp. He jiggles the cup idly.

“Sometimes you gotta play a little hardball. I’m expecting his call back in about, oh, twenty minutes,” he boasts, spinning on his heel to saunter over to the workstation set up in his office. “So, new blood, why me?”

You’re momentarily surprised by the question; most of your day had been spent following Tony around and scribbling down notes, and now you find yourself put on the spot by his suddenly asking about you. Mentally you fumble for an answer, your confidence a little wobbly after the surprise wears off.

“Where else am I going to be part of the greatest technology to ever exist?” is the response you settle on, if only to stroke Tony’s wild ego a bit. He grins cheekily and sips at his coffee.

“I like you,” he mutters, as if to himself.

He asks you a few more personal questions about yourself, questions that weren’t answered in the interview he regrettably, so he says, could not be present for. It feels rather odd having this kind of rapport with your boss, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a bad thing. Your previous employers only cared about your being on time and getting your work done, but Tony seems to take an honest interest in your schooling, your experiences, and where you see yourself headed in the future.

“Yikes,” he yelps when he checks the Stark Watch on his wrist. “I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I’m sure you have some work to finish up before you go home.”

He says it with an apologetic smile behind his sunglasses, and the responding smirk you send him feels natural.

“Of course, Mr. Stark—”

“Ah, ah, Tony, please. Mr. Stark makes me sound old and cynical.”

You snort. “Very well, Tony. If I don’t see you before I leave I’ll see you in the morning for our seven AM meeting with AIMTech.”

Winking quickly, you spin around and head back to your office, humming lowly but happily. Your first day at Stark Industries has gotten much better than expected and it puts a small spring in your step as you head back to your office. Office. You can’t even believe that as a personal assistant you’re entitled to an actual office as opposed to just a desk out in the open. But, from what you could gather from talking to Wanda, working for Stark Industries won’t feel like work at all.

You finish keying in changes and adjustments to Tony’s schedule that you’ve received via email. Fortunately, your meeting the next morning remains unchanged, but you feel secure in staying on top of everything. There’s a comfort and a calmness that comes with strict, almost obsessive organization for you. Things feel complete, in their proper places, and so you spend the last fifteen minutes of your work day organizing and reorganizing your desk in a fashion that seems most efficient and less hectic. Your planner is within easy reach, and your computer calendar is pinned to your taskbar. You feel good, at home here, where you can keep someone else’s life perfectly organized.

You take the subway home, earbuds shoved in your ears and streaming the latest episode to the My Favorite Murder podcast. Your feet are a little sore from your shoes, only slight relief when you shift your weight and readjust your feet inside them. The couch, a blanket, and some tea are desperately calling your name as you step off the subway and walking stiffly back to your apartment building. Your first real day in the city had been spent familiarizing and memorizing the routes to and from work so as not to be late for your first day. Now you know it perfectly and you greet the doorman to your building with a tired smile.

Your day was invigorating, but man, are you exhausted. Now that the pressure to be professional and keep focus is off, you allow your shoulders to drop with a sigh. The rickety elevator doors open with a squeak and you step inside and lean against the cool metal of the back wall.

Bucky is in the hallway when the doors open on your floor, looking like he’d just gotten home from work himself and on the phone. Your steps falter a little at the look on his face; it’s pinched, brows furrowed low over his eyes and jaw muscles jumping. You can’t hear him from the elevator where you wait, his voice is low and hurried and sharp. He’s arguing with someone, that much is obvious.

Carefully you step forward, acting as if you weren’t assessing him and his body language, and busy yourself with unlocking your door.

“Oh, hey.”

You look up and over at Bucky, who has ended his phone call apparently but still holds the device in his hand. His smile is faint, and you give him a small, tired one of your own.

“Hi Bucky. Long day?” He catches the quick glance you give his phone and huffs, shoves it roughly into his pocket as if he wants to forget to conversation that’s just taken place.

“Somethin’ like that. How about you? You look tired, doll.” You swallow at the pet name, the way it rolls off his tongue lighting something warm in your belly. It’s forgotten though when Bucky’s face brightens with realization. “Oh! Today was your first day with Stark wasn’t it? How’d it go?”

“It went very well actually. Tony Stark is...not who I imagined he’d be when I first applied to work for him. He’s better, but he’s definitely way more out there than I’d expected.”

The two of you shoot the shit back and forth for a few minutes longer, Bucky’s previous phone call nearly forgotten until it rings again and his face falls when he checks the caller ID. He wags his phone in the air as it continues to shriek.

“I should take this. Hey, um, maybe this weekend you can tell me all about your first week?” He looks shy when he asks, and it only serves to make your face flush crimson. “O-Only if you want to, that is. I’m sure you’re still trying to get settled in.”

“I’d love to,” you interject before he can go off on a nervous tangent. “Maybe you can come over for coffee and help me assemble some furniture?”

“Sure,” he replies softly and with a grin. He seems to have forgotten about his phone until its ringing shatters the small silence again, and he frowns. “I’ll see you, Y/N.”

“Bye Bucky.” You just get the words out before his door closes and the lock flips.

Sighing, you enter your own apartment and kick the heels off your feet, wiggle your toes to get some feeling back into them. Through the walls of your apartment, you can hear Bucky’s raised voice, though it’s still muffled enough that you can’t make out the words.

Truth is, you’ve heard Bucky arguing a lot the past few days. Despite only been here a week, you’ve come to enjoy having Bucky as a neighbor. He’s a tattoo artist, you’ve learned, which explains sometimes why he’s home or away at weird hours, and you’re not surprised to learn he designed his own tattoos. And aside from the recent conflict that seeps through your conjoined walls, he’s quiet and doesn’t do anything untoward that would have you calling the landlord. He says hi to you when he sees you in the hallway or at the mailbox, asks about your day, and goes on his merry way.

And because of all that you may have developed just a teensy crush on the guy, for which you’ve scolded yourself because how could you possibly like a guy you’ve known, barely, a week?

With a small grunt, you head to the kitchen for a hefty glass of much deserved wine.

Chapter Three

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes neighbor au #neighbor au #neighbor!bucky

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beautifulandbleeding · 5 years ago

Text

I’ve been writing about Valery for a few weeks now, and I’ve finally decided that I want to post some of it. Like all the best stories this is really just an excuse to write about someone getting hurt haha

Summary: Private Investigator gets kidnapped after looking too deeply into things that he shouldn’t have. It is to his horror that one of his captors is someone that he knows. Captivity, sadism, torture, rich people being awful, and maybe a bit of a conflict of interest. Absolutely not written or posted in chronological order, but I’ll try to indicate when everything happens.

* * *

Valery Meets Earnshaw For The Second Time

< | One Month After Being Kidnapped | >

After only half an hour Valery’s knees hurt from kneeling on the hardwood floor. He couldn’t adjust how he sat, as every attempt to shift his weight in any direction just earned a jerking pull at his head; the security guard that Earnshaw had ordered to stand with his hand twisted through Valery’s hair to keep him still apparently taking his job far too seriously. Valery knelt on the ground between Earnshaw and the woman that he was entertaining, just out of the way enough that he wasn’t in the way. His hands were cuffed on his lap, and by now his shoulders hurt. The ground pressed up against his shins, and he was sure that he’d be bruised later.

More bruised, anyway.

“Is he another one of your projects, Henry?” The woman asked randomly, after a brief silence where she sipped her tea. Her hand briefly rose to gesture towards Valery, before returning to the arm of the settee. A prickle of heat rose to the top of Valery’s back and across his neck, and he grit his teeth. She’d not even looked at him.

“I haven’t decided what I want to do with him,” Earnshaw said. “Why, do you like him? Do you want him?”

The woman huffed. She was beautiful like a gun was beautiful, with her white-blond hair pinned at the top of her head and a suit that was also white. She had green eyes that looked like sea-glass. She held a delicate china cup with her delicate hands. Valery didn’t miss how they shook; had been watching them, so that he had something to focus on. She acted like she didn’t notice.

“You know that you and I don’t share the same tastes.”

“So you don’t think he’s interesting,” Earnshaw said. “Will you be more interested when he’s another broken, simpering idiot? Come on, Gail. I know you.”

“What will you do with him?” Gail asked.

Earnshaw sat back in his seat, turning his gaze towards Valery. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Valery glared. “You won’t do shit to me.”

“I’ve already hat a lot done to you,” Earnshaw said fondly. “Or do you mean that I won’t do anything new? In which case, you’re wrong.”

Valery laughed until a sharp jerk at his scalp cut him off, and Earnshaw turned back to Gail.

“He was a private investigator. I’m sure that you can imagine how he fell into my hands.”

“What could he possibly have wanted with you?” Gail asked drily.

“He thought that I had something to do with this missing girl, you know the one—Maria, Martha…. What was her name, Valya?”

“Valery.”

“I don’t think that it was, actually.”

“That’s my name, you fucking—” A jerk of his head again, and the press of the guard’s knee against the middle of Valery’s back. Like a warning. So far Earnshaw had yet to be alone with Valery. Valeyr clung to that. There was no end to what he would do to Earnshaw. If he just had the chance—

“What was the girl’s name?” Earnshaw repeated.

Valery glared, and Earnshaw just shook his head. “It doesn’t look like he wants to cooperate, today.”

“You don’t say.”

“I dare say that he’s making me look bad.”

“Marissa Shale,” said the man holding Valery’s head said. Valery closed his eyes, shuddering at the voice. Just another security guard. Just another one of Earnshaw’s goons—didn’t deserve to even sound like he had a respectable job. Who cared if the voice was a familiar one? He was no one to remember, no one for Valery to be twisted up about.

“Thank you, James,” Earnshaw said. “Yes, that’s right. The girl’s name was Marissa. From what I gathered from Valery’s notes, she went missing almost a year ago. The police didn’t think that her disappearance was suspicious—she was over eighteen, and her relationship with her parents wasn’t the best anyway. Of course, they thought that something was up. I believe they suspected her boyfriend at the time—they didn’t like him much—and so they hired a private investigator to help. That would be our Valery, and something in the investigation led Valery to me.”

Had he read through all of Valery’s notes, or did one of his goons do the reading and just report back to him?

“God knows what that could be,” Gail said with a little laugh.

“Truly,” Earnshaw said.

Valery rolled his eyes, although neither of them saw. His heart beat harder, and he swallowed down the dread that had managed to sneak up on him. There was no way that anyone would ever have him so afraid that he didn’t even dare do something that came as naturally to him as rolling his goddamn eyes. He’d kill himself if he reached that point.

“For now I’m just letting the boys take care of him,” Earnshaw went on. “It’s good to let them have their fun. As long as they don’t kill him while I decide what I want to do with him.”

“You’re so generous.”

“Do you want to know something really interesting? Do you see James there?”

Valery couldn’t tell what changed, but something in the way that the man stood behind him shifted, such that Valery was suddenly more aware of the guard than he was of Earnshaw or Gail. James had been behind Valery the whole time, and it wasn’t possible to forget about his hands twisted in his hair, but at the sound of his name Valery suddenly felt how solid he was. Like he suddenly became a real person, and not just another body. Someone with a face and not just a feature of Valery’s nightmare.

“He and Valery knew each other before Valery decided to start investigating me. Isn’t that right?”

Silence from James. Valery didn’t say anything either; wished that he could see James’ face.

“I’m hoping for something interesting,” Earnshaw went on. “How did you know each other again?”

“We dated for two years,” James said. “We split up three years ago.”

It hadn’t surprised Valery to find that James was working for Earnshaw. No, in the course of Valery’s investigation he’d learned that relatively early on. He’d not known what to think. He still didn’t. James had a good punch and Valery knew it even before they’d split up. Did it change anything to know that he was working for a fucking scumbag like Henry Earnshaw? Did it change anything that James had beat the shit out of him multiple times since he’d been taken?

Valery didn’t know.

But traitorously, he ached for wanting to lean against James. Even now he was still the most familiar thing in the room, even if he wasn’t the safest.

“Do you want to kill him?” Gail asked James. “I can think of a few ex-boyfriends that I’d want to put through the wringer.”

When she smiled it was horrible. Valery wished that he’d never seen that. He wished that he could turn away, but James was holding even more tightly to him, keeping him in place. Dimly Valery thought that he should be fighting harder, but it was impossible to imagine actually doing anything. Sitting here he felt more like the audience, watching a movie and screaming at the main character to just do something while knowing that it was hopeless. What was going to happen was already written, and he couldn’t look away from her face.

“I don’t need to kill him to put him through the wringer,” James said, with a laugh.

Earnshaw waved the air dismissively, like brushing away James’ words. “It doesn’t matter. Listen. Let him stand up, there, that’s good. Valery, stand over here.”

James untangled his hand from Valery’s hair, and Valery reached up with his cuffed hands to rub his scalp. It itched and burned. He pushed a few loose stands of black away from his face, then froze.

Earnshaw was pointing to the space directly in front of him, next to the table on which he was serving Gail her tea. “Come on. Get up.”

It was only a few feet away from where he’d had Valery sit, but he may as well be asking Valery to step into an open fire or lay his hand down on a burning stove. He couldn’t do it. His legs were cramped and the blood was rushing to his head for the effort of standing up. Valery felt first lightheaded, and then angry.

“What the hell are you playing at?” he snapped, drawing on some well of anger like he might have once drawn on his water-bottle replaced vodka to get through a particularly difficult ordeal. “If you want me to stand there, you’re just going to have to make me.”

“Don’t be difficult,” Earnshaw said with a glee that Valery hated. Earnshaw’s wide, open face was the epitome of an almost-fatherly patience. He looked at Valery as if he wanted to believe in him, as if he didn’t want to be disappointed. His expression was calm and that made Valery immediately suspicious, because no one in this world had any reason to look so at ease and excited.

“Fuck off,” Valery muttered. He couldn’t stop himself from hunching his shoulders.

“Really?” Earnshaw asked. “I’m disappointed. You’re making this harder for yourself.”

“You have me chained up in a dark room, being tortured!” Valery shouted. If James wasn’t standing right behind him, Valery would have hurt him. He felt his hands wanting to. “You said yourself this is some kind of entertainment for you! How much harder can it get?”

The woman snorted.

“Do you really want to ask that question, Valery?” Earnshaw inquired—and this time there was something darker on his face, a hint of malice to his smile. He might have hidden it before, but it had always been there. Of that, Valery was certain.

“You’re either going to hurt me again or you’re not,” he said, which later he thought might have sounded brave if someone else said it, but really it just sounded afraid. It was more like a bargain against the inevitable, a justification for what was about to happen. And the worst part was that he wanted Earnshaw to prove him wrong. He wanted James to prove him wrong, to help him—

But James wouldn’t do anything for him ever again.

“Get over here, Valery,” Earnshaw snapped. “Gail wants to say hi.”

The woman raised a hand in a mock-wave, and Valery was thankfully overcome with a wave of hatred towards her. It was enough, at least, to push himself up to his feet and take those two steps over to the side of their little coffee table. The room almost toppled, all the weeks that he’d barely been fed everything definitely catching up to him, but Valery pushed past that. Gail was right there, and he was so far in shit that it didn’t matter if he tried to kill her. What would happen then? He thought that he could walk up to her and rip her face apart. But then she looked at him with such a hunger on her face that Valery froze, his blood suddenly running cold. It was like for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

He forced himself to hold onto the anger and to turn to Earnshaw. Something familiar sang at the back of his thoughts: Do you worst, you asshole. What are you going to do to me? As Valery watched, Earnshaw stood so that he could better face Valery. He was a good few inches shorter than Valery, although he was wider, with broad shoulders and a haircut that made him look practical instead of elegant. Everything about him looked modern, the kind of person that Valery would have pegged as being this close to stockpiling his yacht for the apocalypse. When Earnshaw raised a hand Valery flinched, and Earnshaw laughed.

He touched the side of Valery’s shoulder, crawling his hands along the bare skin of his neck before reaching the side of his face. He cupped his hand around a large bruise, almost covering it completely.

Valery’s breath hitched.

“You’re nervous.”

“Don’t know how I’m supposed to act in this situation,” Valery murmured.

“Try opening your eyes.”

Valery laughed brusquely, tense and waiting for whatever was to come. The only warning that he got was Earnshaw’s deep sigh, like he was disappointed, and Valery pulled away but he wasn’t quick enough. Earnshaw wrapped a fist through Valery’s hair and with a practiced grace slammed his head against the table, driving him unconscious.

#whump #writing tag #captivity #valery #james #earnshaw

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freedom-shamrock · 8 years ago

Text

Everything’s Better

Also on AO3 Chronologically follows “Our Cake” which was also posted just a little bit ago. It can stand on its own, but if you want to read in order, catch that one first.

He was tired, and it would have made a lot more sense to just stay home and sleep, but after this particular shit show of a day, what he really needed was his princess. She never judged him as too emotional or picked apart his appearance until all he could see were his flaws. She wouldn't toss him into a wall and throw trucks at him.

It was also much later than he preferred to show up. Marinette may be on summer break at the beginning of her gap year, but she also helped out in her family bakery and worked hard on her designs. He didn't want to short her on sleep or interrupt what she was doing, but at the same time, she'd made it abundantly clear that he could show up at any time if he needed something.

He landed lightly on her balcony, pleased to see the Chat flap was open. As he crouched to go through, a voice called up to him.

"Chat, is that you?" She sounded scratchy and oddly anxious.

"Yes. It's just me," he assured her before dropping through the window. He'd barely gotten his footing when he was tackled onto the chaise. "Oooph." She had had him pinned on his back, her legs straddling his waist and her face tucked into his neck. "I'm happy to see you, too."

"I've been so worried about you," she whispered. "I saw the attack. I thought that one was going to kill you. I'm pretty sure I saw you lose consciousness at least once…" She faltered to take a deep breath, her whole body trembling.

"It's okay," he whispered, carefully squeezing her just tight enough to not cause injury. "I got knocked around a bit, and it was pretty horrible. But I'm okay. I bought Ladybug the time she needed to defeat it."

"I hate seeing you get hurt," she whined, nuzzling him again.

"Ladybug always fixes things in the end," he assured her. For some reason that didn't help, and he felt her flinch.

"But what if she's off her game one day?" she asked, her voice so quiet. "What if she messes up of just can't do it? She's never as good when you're not there to help her, and what if that's enough and she fails?"

He felt dampness on his neck and suspected there were tears. "Oh love," he murmured, looking down at the armful of girlfriend holding him down. "I trust Ladybug, and I know you can, too."

"She gets so angry when you're hurt," she went on as if he hadn't said a thing. "She makes mistakes."

While it hurt to see he so sad and worried, especially since he was the cause, there was something really nice about knowing she cared enough to be worried. "You know, I'm going to get the feeling you're fond of me."

There was a hesitation, then she loosened her hold on him and raised up on her elbows. "I should hope so." She sniffled. "I mean, we are dating."

He reached up to wipe away her tears. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry, I should have asked. How are you?" she asked, slipping one hand into his hair.

He closed his eyes and relaxed under her touch. He didn't even resist the purr tonight. "I won't lie. It was a rotten day. Nothing went right, both in my civilian life and with that damn akuma." Her fingers wrapped around the base of his cat ear, gently tugging as she stroked it. He hummed. "But it's all better now."

"Really?" she asked in surprise.

"Princess kisses make everything better." He hummed and tilted his head to direct her scritches.

"Can you stay tonight?"

"Need to leave by six," he mumbled. Her hand left his hair and his eyes snapped open to see what he'd done wrong.

She grinned down at him. "That's a lot of time for Princess kisses."

"Yeah," he agreed, feeling stupid. Should he be alarmed? No. Princess would never harm him.

"Let's go up to my bed, sweet Kitty," she said, climbing off him and catching his hand. "I think we're due for another first." She gave him a little tug.

"We are?" He let her pull him to his feet. "Which one is that?"

Turning to face him, she continued walking backward toward her ladder, drawing him with her. She caught his bell in her free hand and tugged just enough to start the zipper. 'Can't get you out of the leather yet," she said, her voice low. "But we can maybe get a peek at what's under there."

He knew he'd be embarrassed later by the tiny whine that sneaked out of him, but right now, he didn't care. "Sure," he said, trying to sound cool and collected. "We could definitely do that."

Next in series > Bug Out

Marichat May, Day 28, Kiss it better This is also a continuation of my Miraculous Acts of Kindness series proposed by @squirrellygirlart on Tumblr. @ferisae is a writer and artist who has put together some fantastic art and comics. I absolutely could not pick a favorite. You can find Ferisae on Tumblr, or check out their well done angsty piece on AO3.

#miraculous ladybug #Marichat May #fanfic #my writing #ferisae #squirrellygirlart #marichat #Miraculous Acts of Kindness

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kevinsynnott · 6 years ago

Conversation

Memories

C. Kevin Synnott

Introduction = Here it is!

Preface

I believe laughter heals. Belly laughs heal completely. I thoroughly enjoy making people laugh. I do not tell jokes, but rather find humor in life's ups and downs and other everyday activities.

I always keep a positive attitude toward life to the best of my ability regardless of what may be in my path. I believe that acting in a positive fashion in situations is the best course of action rather than reacting in the same situations.

I believe perseverance will always pay off if I keep a positive attitude and keep failing forward.

Memories

I was born in Waterbury Connecticut on January 19, 1945. My family moved to Cheshire Connecticut in 1948. My mother Peggy, father Charlie, sisters Carol and Monica, my brother Neil, and I lived on the corner of West Main and Grove Streets. Across the Street was a building with the West Cheshire Post Office in one half and Keane’s Grocery Store in the other half. Mr. Keane and his wife Lucille and their two sons lived with Mrs. Keane’s mother Mrs. Logan in a large house on the corner of West Main and Warren Streets. The building is still referred to as the “Logan House.” The Cruess family from Waterbury bought the grocery store when the Keans moved to Florida. They expanded the store when the West Cheshire Post Office moved to the Notch area of town.

My mother was a remarkable woman. She was teaching second grade at Sacred Heart in Waterbury at the age of 19 after two years of college. She left teaching to start a family. She loved animals and opened a pet store in the basement of our home. My mother became a single parent with four children ranging in age from seven to 13 in 1957. I was twelve years old, adorable, and a delight to behold. The other three were horrible children. (They might disagree with this assessment. However, this is my story.) When she could not support a family as a single mother based on the Pet Shop’s revenue, she returned to teaching. Dr. Thorp the Superintendent for the Cheshire School System made this possible. He was a patron of the Pet Shop. The conditions for this return involved completing the final two years of her four years of undergraduate college and earning a master’s degree. Mom began teaching second grade and taking one course a semester. She completed this daunting challenge at 55 years of age. During her teaching career she taught at Chapman, Darcey, Norton, Doolittle elementary schools and Dodd Junior High when Chapman was being renovated.

The following memoirs are presented in approximately chronological order.

Colorful Home

Last year my niece Rebecca shared photos on Facebook of the home my family lived in when we were growing up in Cheshire Connecticut. This sparked a memory from my nephew Chris who wrote, “I remember the walls of the bedrooms upstairs were wallpapered with the comics from newspapers.” I responded, “True, but they were the colored comics from the expensive Sunday Paper.” Some may think this is boasting. It is not. It was not my intention to make others jealous.

Deceased Flock Member

When I was about seven or eight years old, we found a small dead bird in our backyard. All the kids in the neighborhood including my sisters and bother decided we needed to bury her properly (I have no idea why we thought she was a female.) We used a small old cardboard box as a coffin.

We formed a single line of 10 or 11 mourners as a funeral procession and proceeded up Grove Street to the middle of a wooded section. We were very serious as we walked very slowly to her burial plot. We took turns digging a hole. We carefully placed the coffin in the hole. We all said kind words about her during the eulogy. She was a very good bird. She was an excellent daughter and sister who loved her family. She always got up early to find worms. She was very good to her flock friends and neighbors. We concluded the ceremony with several prayers, then walked in a procession back home.

I should leave it there, but full disclosure is in order. Two weeks later I dug her up to see if she was still dead. Unfortunately, she was still dead. I reburied her and told her how much we all missed her. I said some prayers and left.

PDA: Then and Now

When I was 13 years old in 1958, I was walking down Maple Avenue in Cheshire, Connecticut holding hands with a girl. I said goodbye and headed home. It took about ten minutes to reach home. Someone had already called my mother to inform her that "He's at it again." Public displays of affection are different today. One can observe a couple of teenagers in a mall who are "an item." The girl puts her left hand in the boy's back left pocket, the boy puts his right hand in the girl's right back pocket, and they waddle through the mall. I never would have seen 14 if I had thought of that when I was 13.

Waddling in public alone is okay.

A Case of Mistaken Identities

My seventh grade class went to CHS. However, with the school system expansion in progress our eighth grade class went to CHS in the morning. Afternoon classes met at St. Bridget’s for the first half of the year and then the second floor in Dodd for the second half of the year. The first floor was used for elementary classes.

One day Bob S. and I were kept after class. I am certain that it was due to mistaken identities regarding some mischievous behavior during a class. The teacher assigned to monitor detention instructed us to clean all the erasers and the blackboard in the classroom where we were being held. We were doing an excellent job when suddenly for no apparent reason one of the erasers flew out an open window just as the monitor passed by the classroom. Bob was sent to see the principal. I was not so lucky. I was sent to my mother’s second grade classroom on the first floor.

Favorite Brothers and White Gold

We have snow headed our way this afternoon and evening. This reminds me of my first date when I was 9 years old. My brother Neil and I were would shovel snow together in the winter and mow lawns together in the summer to earn money. We would walk up and down our neighborhood streets knocking on doors looking for customers to shovel walks and driveways or mow lawns. Our competitive advantage over the other kids was that we were adorable. (This is my story and I’m sticking to it.)

One day in December 1954 when I was 9 years old and Neilly was 8 we shoveled the walkway for the parents of a girl in my fourth-grade class. When we were paid, I asked to see my classmate. When she came to the door, I asked her if she would like to goto the movies with me now that I had money. She said yes. We went to see a movie at the Cheshire Theater with chaperones. This was my first date (I cannot speak for her). The adults thought this was cute.

Bullying Gone Wrong

When I was 12 years old and my little brother Neil was 11 years old, we lived in Cheshire Connecticut close to the railroad train tracks. A canal ran alongside the tracks. It had been used to transport cargo barges. The cargo barges were pulled by horses on the path that eventual became the roadway for the train tracks.

One day I walked behind a neighbor's house and saw a kid my age pinning Neil to the ground with his knees on Neil's arms. He hit Neil, and Neil called "Uncle." The kid stopped and got up. He stood there all puffed up with himself with his hands on his hips. He said in a very loud voice, "Anybody else?" I said, "Yea, me." I threw him in the canal about four or five feet away. I stood on the bank and stared at him. He stayed in the water and did not move. The next day he said he slipped. (If he could slip five feet by accident, he should have tried out for the long jump on the track team.) He never bothered Neil again.

Cheshire Rifle Club

My brother Neil belonged to the Cheshire Rifle club in the 1950s. He was on the junior team then the senior team. My mother gave him a J. C. Higgins single shot 22 rifle for his Christmas present in 1957 when he was 11 years old. I went shooting with him once at the range. The shooting range was in the Chapman Elementary School. I remember walking with his rifle from West Main Street, on Willow Street, up Cornwall Avenue, and then over Oak Avenue to a sand pit. No one paid any attention to that behavior then.

The Men's Room Entrepreneur

When I was 14 years old our Neighbor Mr. Persio who worked as a manager at the very fancy Waverly Inn restaurant in Cheshire asked me if I would like to work one New Year’s Eve. I agreed to keep the men's room clean and treat the customers with respect.

I had a flash of inspiration (possibly the last one). I decided to hand each man a paper towel when he washed his hands. I also brushed invented lint off their suits. Almost every one of them tipped me 50 cents or a dollar (multiple times throughout the evening). To put this in perspective, the minimum wage at the time was about $1.00 an hour. I made a great deal of money that New Year’s Eve in 1960. There is money in imaginary dirt.

A New, New Year's Resolution

Rather than resolving not to make resolutions this year, I suggest sharing our drawers with others. We all probably have many items in dresser drawers that we will probably not wear again. We can search our drawers for one or two items of clothing once a month and donate them to people who need clothing. For example, we can drop the clothes in any one of the many charitable clothing drop boxes; bring the items to local churches or rehabilitation facilities; mail clothing to disaster areas, and so forth.

Also, old smartphones can help others. Many of us often upgrade our smartphones and keep our old functioning phones but do not use them. We can donate these phones to worthy causes. For example, Verizon has collected more than 10 million phones and given them to victims of domestic abuse. Individuals do not need a contract to dial 911. Many colleges, universities, and towns have Veterans Affairs offices that collect old smartphones and distribute them to soldiers.

Individuals who decide to donate their old phones must erase all personal information before doing so.

Using Favorite Brother's Head

I remember in my early teens we played a lot of baseball. One day we were playing ball in our backyard. My favorite brother Neil was pitching, and I was at bat. I hit the ball that was a sure fly out. Fortunately, it hit Neil on the top of his head and went over the fence for a homerun.

Thank goodness Neil had his head in the game.

Being a Semi-good Catholic in Cheshire

When we were teenagers growing up in Cheshire Connecticut, we were very good Catholic children. In fact, my favorite brother Neil and I were altar boys at St. Bridget's Church. Neilly was always a better boy than I was as I remember.

We would go to confession every week or two. I remember I would sit very close to the confessional door in order to hear other people's confessions. Then I would watch to see how long they prayed when they got out. This helped me determine what their penance was and how bad they were. (No, I never confessed this behavior.)

Sometimes when I was very bad, I would take the bus to the Immaculate Conception Church on the Green in Waterbury. I would confess my sins to a deaf priest. He would look through the screen so he would know when my lips stopped moving. It did not matter what I confessed; the penance was always three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers. It was worth the bus fare.

Summer Baseball at Humiston Elementary School

I have very fond memories of growing up in Cheshire, Connecticut in the 1950s. The summer days were special when my brother Neil, my friend Dan Sheehan, and I were in our early teens. A typical day consisted of playing baseball at Humiston Elementary School in the morning. Humiston School was on Spring Street with the front of the building facing the main road. The ball field was in the back on Spring. Home plate was kitty-corner across the square. The third base line was three or four yards from a fence that separated the schoolyard from St. Peter's Cemetery. Center field was along the building and the right field fence was parallel to Spring Street.

Kids from Grove Street, West Main Street, Robin Lane, Deepwood Drive, Ives Row, and other areas of town closer to Humiston School would ride their bikes or walk and meet at the school at the same time every day. We always had eight to nine players on each team.

One day something incredible happened. Most families at the time had milk, butter, and cream delivered to their homes. The driver would put the order in a small box next to the front door and place ice on the top. One day a milk truck was delivering milk to homes on Spring Street while we were playing a game. Home delivery milk trucks had open doors on both sides so the driver could go out either door depending on what side of the street the house to deliver to was on. One of the kids hit a homerun to right field over the fence on Spring Street as the milk truck passed by. The ball went through one door and out the other door without hitting the driver. He continued without knowing about the ball.

Another day one of us hit a homerun to left field and broke a window in the building. One of the kids yelled, "What if it hit Mr. Y?" Mr. Y was the custodian. Then another kid yelled, "What if he's dead. ? We all ran as fast as we could, jumped the fence into the neighboring cemetery, and hid behind the tombstones. We waited until we thought it was safe to leave. Then we ran home.

After the games, on most days, we went to Heath's Restaurant across from the new Saint Bridget’s Church on Main Street. Heath’s was owned by Mr. Ray Rochford and his wife Mary. They worked in the restaurant daily with their sons Dave and Ed, and Mrs. Rochford’s sister Mrs. Cook. Later the restaurant was called Ray and Mary’s. We would drink a glass of chocolate milk and eat a jelly donut from the Connecticut Time Bakery on Whitney Avenue in Hamden. Connecticut Time Bakery jelly donuts were the best jelly donuts that all jelly donuts are compared to, even today.

After our late morning snack Neil, Dan and I would go home for lunch. After lunch we would meet other kids and ride our bikes two miles to Mixville Pond to go swimming. Neil was a lifeguard there several years later. However, at this time we had what were called “mud breaks.” We all had to get out of the water for one hour periodically, so the mud would settle.

From time to time there were very special days. For example, I might have been picked to play on one of the teams second or third instead fifth or sixth. Perhaps I hit a homerun or got on base a couple of times. Our team might have won although an hour later not one of us would remember who won. On these very special days when we went to Heath's Restaurant after the games, I would have extra money from mowing lawns with Neil. This made it possible to buy a chocolate milkshake instead of a glass of chocolate milk and two jelly donuts instead of one. Mr. Rochford made the best milkshakes in the world. All other milkshakes pale in comparison, even today. He would make the milkshakes in a large metal container. First, he put in vanilla ice cream. Second, he pumped in chocolate syrup. Third, he filled the container with milk. Finally, he put the container in a green kitchen appliance to be stirred. I remember sitting there watching the green appliance stirring my milkshake impatiently, wondering if Mr. Rochford forgot it. He never did forget. I always ended up smiling with a chocolate milkshake mustache.

Since then I always refer to wonderful days as Mr. Rochford chocolate milkshakes and two jelly donut days.

A Deal with God

I remember in the ninth grade taking French I. I took this course because I did not do well in Spanish I twice. Towards the end of the year I realized that only Divine intervention would save me from failing. I decided to ask God to help me. I realized that I would need to offer Him something in return for His assistance. So, I made a deal. I agreed that if He helped me pass the class, I would be good for the entire summer.

I passed the course with a D. I was very happy and ready to keep my end the bargain. Then I learned that I needed a C to continue to French II. I informed God that although He did keep his part of the agreement, He must have known that I needed a C to continue to French II. After all, that was the goal of passing the course. Therefore, because of my values I could not with a clear conscience keep my end of the bargain.

Rationalization

My friends and I from time to time discuss the topic of rationalization. I was guilty of rationalizing my behavior often to feel better. I was adept at justifying any behavior to explain away why I behaved the way I had when it was clearly inappropriate. This topic so intrigued me that some time ago I decided to determine when I first started to use this self-defense thought process.

I engaged in a thorough internal memory search that led to my early teens. I learned that the first time I rationalized improper behavior was when I was thirteen. Two fellows and I were hanging out wondering what to do. Although it has been a long time since then I will not incriminate these fellows by using their real names. Consequently, I will refer to the first fellow as Tom and to the second fellow as Neil. (Wow, talk about a coincidence.)

Tom, Neil and I decided to visit Tom's neighbor's home. We went into the home through the back door using a hidden key under a pot Tom knew about. (Did I mention the neighbors were away on vacation?) We found our way to the basement where we noticed a large freezer. Upon closer investigation inside the freezer, we found a large ice cream cake. As I recall we thoroughly enjoyed eating that very delicious cake. Unfortunately, a short time later we felt extremely guilty.

We felt so guilty in fact that we went to Saint Bridget's Church in Cheshire to confession. After confession, we compared notes regarding what we said to Father. Tom said, "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession and this is my sin, I am guilty of stealing an ice cream cake." Neil said, "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession and this is my sin, I am guilty of stealing an ice cream cake." Finally, I went into the confessional and said, "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been two weeks since my last confession and this is my sin, I ate stolen goods." (I was probably the one who boosted it.)

Be Where You Are Supposed to Be

When I was sixteen years old, I was a busboy at a fancy restaurant in Cheshire Connecticut called the Waverly Inn. I had to wear black pants, a white shirt, a black bow tie, and a black cummerbund.

One day at work I was not in the dining room where I supposed to be but in the walk-in cooler sitting on an empty milk crate eating freshly baked rolls and butter. Suddenly the door opened, and the owner was standing there watching me. He said, "Hello, how are the rolls?" I said, " Hello, very delicious." He responded, "Good" then left. I was back in the dining room before the cooler door closed. I forgot to mention that I was adorable.

I had to edit this post due to the avalanche of comments regarding my statement "I was adorable." The overwhelming consensus was that I should have mentioned my current state of adorableness. I apologize, but this oversight was clearly driven by the high level of humility I achieved .

The Pole Vaulter

I was on the Cheshire High School track team in for almost a complete season. I did not run fast, and I did not have the endurance necessary for long distance running. I suspect smoking cigarettes played a large role in that. I turned to pole vaulting. The pit high jumpers and pole vaulters landed in was not the thick foam pits of today. The pit consisted of sawdust and in the early spring chunks of ice. We had to be sure to land on our feet. The pole was metal not like the flexible poles of today made of fiberglass.

I enjoyed pole vaulting and practicing regularly with the team. The practice paid off. I placed third in a meet at a neighboring town and earned a point towards the letter I would not earn. I was very excited about this victory because I was certain I was on my way to the cover of the Wheaties Box. I walked with a spring in my stride, I smiled more, and exhibited the confidence of other great athletes.

That all changed several days later when I read in the sports section of the newspaper that a fellow on a university track team jumped higher without a pole.

My Brother the Lifeguard

My favorite brother Neil was a lifeguard at Mixville Pond in Cheshire, Connecticut for years when we were in our teens. This was the Town's swimming recreational area. Facing the water there was a ramp on the left side of the sand that went out into the water. There was an anchored floating raft 10 feet by 10 feet about 30 feet from the beach. Kids would play on the raft and dive into the water. A small snack bar on the beach was approximately 75 feet from the water facing the raft. I remember one day I was coming out of the water by the ramp; Neil was at the snack stand; and the other lifeguard was standing in the water. Suddenly, a man about 40 feet out in the water yelled for help. Neil took off running at full speed and hit the water just like the Olympian swimmers do when they start a race. The other lifeguard also took off at the same time. Neil swam past him and reached the man first. He saved the man and brought him safely to shore. Neil was always very modest when it came to these heroic actions. He never boasted about these lifesaving acts. He was credited with saving numerous people of all ages from drowning during his time as a lifeguard.

My Best Thinking at the Time

I had a VW Beetle when I was 20 years old. I enjoyed riding around different towns, smoking cigarettes, drinking cold beverages, listening to rock and roll, and daydreaming.

One day my car was parked in front of our home when another car hit it from behind causing a great deal of damage. I was not home at the time. However, my favorite brother Neil was home, and he took care of dealing with the police and the driver's insurance information and so forth. The car was taken to an auto body shop within walking distance of our home.

After waiting for two weeks for the car to be repaired I was told that the car would be ready in three days. They only had to attach the front bumper and adjust the headlights.

I felt trapped after all this time without a car and decided to take my extra set of keys and take the car from behind the auto body shop that night. It had been snowing, but the roads were clear. I was enjoying my ride smoking cigarettes, drinking cold beverages, listening to rock and roll, and daydreaming. Suddenly, an astute police officer pulled me over because one headlight was shining into the houses on the right and the other was shining straight up into the trees. I got a verbal warning. I thought I should turn around and head home. I was about twenty miles from home.

It began to snow again. I turned down this dirt road that led to a sand and gravel company. I got stuck in the snow and could not move. Fortunately, I came up with a brilliant idea. (Note: the consumption of the cold beverages unquestionably played a role in this thought process.) The plan was sound, but the implementation proved to be problematic. The Beetle had a throttle. A throttle for those of you under 60 was a knob one could pull out and increase the intake of gas without stepping on the gas pedal. I pulled out the throttle, put the car in gear and got out. The rear tires were spinning. So far, so good, I thought. I pushed and pushed and finally the car got traction and began to move forward. Unfortunately, it gained speed and I could not catch it. It stopped about fifty yards ahead when it hit a large boulder. The car was seriously damaged, but I was still able to drive it. I drove it back to the auto body shop and parked it were it was earlier.

The next morning, I walked to the auto body shop. I inquired if my car was ready. I was told that someone had driven into it during the night damaging it and that it would take more time to repair it. I told them that I was absolutely appalled. However, I was magnanimous and said that I did understand their situation.

Tan to Look Good Man

I was invited to a formal dance at a private girls’ high school when I was nineteen. I agreed to go to the dance and began to prepare for the big event. I rented a white sports jacket and I purchased a wrist corsage.

I wanted to look good and realizing that the dance was held in January I investigated methods of tanning because I had light skin. I purchased a bottle of Man Tan. This lotion when applied was supposed to turn the skin into a golden tan. I followed the instructions and applied it two days before the dance.

The day of the dance I was a bright orange. The color was in the skin and would not work its way out for weeks. I determined I could not let my date down, so I decided to attend the dance.

I recall ringing her doorbell and being greeted by her parents. Although they tried, they could not conceal their amazement caused by looking at the bright orange young man in a white sports jacket holding a wrist corsage in the doorway. They did recover and graciously invited me in.

We had a good time at the dance. Most, if not all, of the participants spent time, a lot of time "digging" the orange guy. We had many laughs that evening.

I did get the last laugh. The photos taken before and during the dance were in black and white. When the developed photos were returned by mail two weeks later, I looked gorgeous.

The Oilman

When I was in my late teens, I worked as a truck driver in the Cheshire Lumberyard. I delivered building materials in the spring, summer, and fall and home heating fuel during the winter.

I enjoyed delivering home heating fuel to homes in Cheshire and the surrounding towns. The one real concern I always had was encountering dogs at different stops. When I heard the dog's license and chain jangle, I would run to the truck and safety.

One day I stopped at a customer's house that I knew owned a large dog. I looked around carefully and did not see the dog, so I got out of the truck. Then I heard that dreaded jangle and jumped back inside the truck. I waited and waited, and I did not see any dog. Then it occurred to me that what I heard were the keys in my pocket when I got out of the truck. I recovered from my self-inflicted terror and was able to refocus on the task.

I may have overreacted that day since two weeks earlier I was bitten by a large dog. I was pulling the hose up a slight grade when this large dog came out from behind the house. It rushed at me and bit me in the stomach then walked away. I fell on my back. The hose went flying off in one direction and my "Then Came Bronson" knit hat went flying off in the other direction. I called the office on the two-way radio to report the incident. The manager asked if I was bleeding. One of the servicemen who was listening in on his radio cut in. He said, "That is extremely doubtful, that dog does not have any teeth." Knowing that I was gummed did not really help. I was still afraid of small dogs, big dogs, dogs with teeth, dogs with one tooth, and dogs with no teeth.

Enjoying Quality Time with The Oilman

Another day I had to make a delivery from the street to a house that had the fill pipe in the back left corner. The oil trucks were equipped with heavy rubber hoses that were 150 feet long. I knew the location of the fill pipe for this home meant I had to use the entire 150 feet of hose. Once I started to pull the hose I did not stop until I reached the fill pipe regardless of how far the fill pipe was from the truck. I wanted to keep my momentum strong. I got out of the truck and put the customer's ticket in the meter. I began to pull the hose. About halfway to the fill pipe I wondered why it was so much more difficult this time pulling the heavy hose than usual. I thought the hose might be tangled on the wheel in the truck used to roll up the hose after deliveries. However, I kept pulling until I reached the fill pipe. When I turned around and looked toward the truck, I was very surprised. Three little kids were riding the hose. The children were laughing and having a grand adventure. I laughed heartily at the sight.

Hose Pull Came up Short

Another morning I had to park on the street to make a delivery to a house that had the fill pipe in front of the house on the left side. The house was up a very long and very steep hill. The oil trucks were equipped with heavy rubber hoses that were 150 feet long. I knew the location of the fill pipe for this home meant I had to use the entire 150 feet of hose. On this day the snow, although not deep, was glazed over with a thin coating of ice. I got out of the truck and put the customer's ticket in the meter. I began to pull the hose. I struggled because each step broke through the ice and made traction slippery. I finally made it to the front of house. Unfortunately, I was two inches too far away to insert the nozzle into the fill pipe. I knew that I had to back the truck a foot to be able to reach the pipe. I carefully navigated my way back down the hill leaving the hose in place at the top. I backed the truck a foot. Unknown to me, this movement jostled the hose. When I got out, I heard a terrible sound. The sound was the hose sliding 149 feet 10 inches down the very long, very steep iced covered snowy hill.

Favorite Brother Comes to the Rescue

I went to the Newport Folk Festival three times in the 1960s. Although I never went to the concerts, I did have the opportunity to listen to music. There was always music on the beach day and night where I slept. When I was not at the beach, I spent a great deal of time in a dimly lit type of restaurant listening to rock and roll on the jukebox, drinking cold beverages, and daydreaming.

One year I was on the beach drinking cold beverages with several hundred other individuals when suddenly the Newport Police accidentally arrested thirty of us. I am sure that I was arrested by mistake because this is how I remember it. I spent the rest of that day and night in jail.

The next day we were informed that we could not leave without paying a $15.00 fine. I did not have any money, so I called my brother Neil and told him I needed $20.00 to get out of jail. Favorite brother wired me the money and I was set free. I was and am very grateful to have had such a great brother. I felt very, very guilty about lying to Neil about needing $20.00 when I really needed only $15.00. I used the extra $5.00 to buy some cold beverages. I confessed in 2016.

Speak Softly, Avoid Consequences

One day when I was in basic training the drill instructor ordered us to "Police the area." This meant for us to pick up litter. He then said, "If it doesn't move pick it up." I said to the guy next to me, "Hey, go pick up the Sergeant." My Irish luck was not with me at that moment. He heard me. Then………………………...

Living in Waterbury I

Forty three years ago I moved to Waterbury Connecticut. I lived in the Morris House for 10 months. The Morris House was a type of boarding house for men. I moved in with my matching Irish luggage (three large black plastic garbage bags). My room had a curtain for a door. The bed was an old hospital white metal bed. I remember one day I was taking a shower in the communal bathroom with snow blowing in a broken window. This was the most important experience of my life. I truly love this house.

A major part of my morning routine was to take a walk. Once or twice a week when I had a little money, I would stop to have a coffee at the lunch counter in the S. S. Kresge Department Store. This was part of a chain that evolved into Kmart. It was two blocks from the House on a corner across from the Green.

My routine crossed paths would some very interesting people. For example, I remember one fellow who would come in after me every week on the same day. He was a fascinating chap. First, he walked around the plastic chair he was going to sit in three times. Then he would tilt the chair up holding the back and tap the front legs on the floor three times. This would remove any real or imaginary crumbs. Then he circled the chair in the other direction and sat down. He ordered his coffee. When his coffee was served, he carefully added cream and sugar and stirred it vigorously. Then he lit a cigarette and doused the match in his coffee and placed it in an ashtray. I thought this was an awesome routine and looked forward to seeing him every week .

Interesting people still fascinate me today.

Living in Waterbury II

I learned over the years that the greatest pleasures in life are the small things. Every so often when I had an extra 88 cents, I would buy a brand-new pair of socks at the S. S. Kresge Department Store. After I had my coffee at the lunch counter, I would take my time and thoroughly enjoy looking at all the different colors and styles of socks on display. I would carefully choose a pair, pay for them, and leave the store. I always put my new socks in my pocket instead of a store bag. That way when I got home to the Morris House the guys would not ask what I bought. After lunch, I would shower and put on my brand-new socks. No one knew that I was wearing new socks but me. I always felt good when I was wearing new socks. Even today, many years later, wearing new socks is special.

The Evaluation

I was the director of a volunteer program in St. Mary's Hospital's Alcohol Program in Waterbury, CT in the late 1970s. The Program had two components. The first component was the Detoxification Unit which was a locked ward. Every day, 365 days a year, two volunteers led a one hour rap session in the morning and two other volunteers led a one hour rap session in the evening. The purpose of the sessions was to introduce patients to recovery from alcoholism and other drug addiction. A volunteer coordinator was assigned to insure coverage for the 14 sessions each week.

The second component was in the Emergency Room. We had a small office manned from 4:00-11:00 every day 365 days a year. Two volunteers covered two or thee hour periods waiting in the office to assist the Emergency Room staff if an alcoholic or family member came in for help. A different volunteer coordinator was assigned for each day of the week to insure coverage.

We had approximately 200 volunteers. Many of the volunteers were from the recovery community in Waterbury and the surrounding towns. Thanks to the dedicated volunteer coordinators and the other committed volunteers the program was very successful.

I was responsible for evaluating the volunteer coordinators and the other volunteers regularly and my supervisor was responsible for evaluating me annually. My annual evaluation consisted of the supervisor filling out a rating form related to my performance. Once I filled out the same form, we would meet to discuss the evaluations of my performance.

One year we met for my annual evaluation and as I recall the results were glowing. When we were ready to part my supervisor said, "I was going to mention something, but it is not that important." I said, "Please tell me." He replied, "No, it really is not that important." I said, "I insist, please tell me." He relented and said, "You do not take criticism very well." I responded in a loud voice, "You're crazy."

A Very Exciting Achievement

I attended Quinnipiac College part-time and full-time during the 1960s and early 1970s. I earned 30 transferrable credits. My dream was to be a college graduate, but I did not apply myself.

When I moved to Waterbury in 1976, I attended Post College primarily to receive my Veterans' benefits. However, something extraordinary happened when I started classes. I enjoyed learning. I completed my associate degree a year later. I was very excited. In fact, I was so excited that I asked someone in the Registrar's Office if the diplomas were ready and if the President signed them. I realized later that the President did not sign each diploma individually but that the printed diplomas included the President's signature. I laughed good naturedly because of my childlike joy and excitement. One month later, I received my diploma. I have not experienced that intensity of excitement or feeling of achievement since. I was no longer saying I could do something if I tried; I was trying to do something. Dreams come true if I try

My Wife Understands Me

When I was 64 years old, I said to my wife, "Regis I am thinking about getting a tattoo. I am also considering buying a HOG, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle." I added, "Yes, that's right and you can ride on the back and be my old lady." She asked, "What do you really want?" I said, "a flagpole." She said, "ok." Later, I got on my knees and thanked God that my plan worked. It is a great flagpole with a light.

How to Handle Marital Disagreements

Yesterday a young person asked me how I deal with disagreements with my wife without getting into a big fight. I replied when we have a disagreement I say, " Regis, I apologize for allowing myself to become provoked and I forgive you." She usually laughs. However, when she does not laugh, I remember that I have work to complete in the garage.

Regis's New Pants

Several years ago, my wife Regis came downstairs after dressing. She was very upset. I asked what was bothering her. She said, "Look at these pants, they shrunk two inches after being washed. I can't wear them." I said, "Maybe they will stretch with time." She responded even more upset, "They're totally ruined." Trying to be helpful I said, "Maybe you will shrink into them." I really thought that one through. Fortunately, I remembered I had something to do in the garage

The Cat with The Cheshire Grin

Years ago, we had a cat we both loved dearly named Perceval, also known as Perce-evil. He would jump up and hang off my butt when I was wearing nice slacks, but never when I was wearing dungarees. He also jumped up and grabbed the door frames and would slide down scratching the wood. That really bothered my wife. I would take him to the side out of hearing range from Regis and tell him how proud I was of him because he could jump so high.

I remember one evening when the family was relaxing watching television. I was in my recliner and Regis was on the sofa with Percy on her lap. She was looking at him lovingly rubbing his belly while he purred loudly. She looked over to me and said, “You know if he was a dog, we would both be dead.” Truer words were never spoken.

One Christmas we bought him a beautiful scratching post. He thoroughly enjoyed playing with the wrappings, the bow, and the box for weeks. When I die, I want to come back as my cat.

One Christmas I bought him a beautiful scratching post. He thoroughly enjoyed playing with the wrappings, the bow, and the box for weeks. When I die, I want to come back as my cat.

A Ringtone in the Classroom

I was at the desk in the front of the classroom with my roll book on a book stand taking attendance for a class of 35 college seniors. I heard a cellphone ring. I said, "Please shut off all cellphones." I leaned forward and continued to take attendance when I heard the ringtone again. I said, "Turn off all cellphones." Once again I leaned forward and continued to take attendance when yet again, I heard the ringtone. I said, "I will find out who the owns the cellphone and we will meet after class."

A student near the front of the class said, "Dr. Synnott, I think the sound is coming from your briefcase." I looked down and realized what had happened. I was wearing a navy blue tie with shamrocks and every time I leaned forward to take attendance it contacted the lectern and began to play when Irish Eyes are Smiling. The students thought that was hilarious and one asked, "Are you going to meet with yourself after class?"

Be Smart If You Lie, Hide

One day after class I received an email from a student who was absent. He wrote that he was sick at home and could not make it to the eight o'clock class. He said he would bring his report that was due during that class to the next class. I wrote back saying, “I saw you in the Library on my way to class at 7:50. I do not accept late papers.” The next class he said nothing.

Alcohol Abuse Lectures can be Humorous

For the past 39 years every semester I dedicate an hour to lecture on college students and alcohol abuse. The lecture includes information regarding students’ misperceptions regarding their peers’ consumption of alcohol. Students think that their peers drink more alcohol than they consume. The issue is that some students may drink more to fit in. They already fit in, but they do not know it.

Several years ago, I finished the lecture and assigned a case study related to the topic for students to analyze in their small work groups. I was visiting each group to see how they were progressing when a student asked, “Are you an alcoholic?” The girl sitting next to him was totally shocked and blurted out, “You can’t ask someone that. It’s like asking him if he has a tapeworm.” I kept a straight face and responded, “Yes, I am.” He then asked, “How long are you sober?” I looked at the clock and asked, “What time is it now?”

A Teenager in Love

One semester before a morning before class I overheard a female student who was very upset talking to her friends. I heard her say, "I cannot believe he cheated on me." She lamented for more than five minutes hysterically. Finally, she said, "The most horrible part is he is the only guy I did not cheat on."

Accidental Learning

When I was teaching full time, I was responsible for advising students regarding their plans of study and helping them choose courses. One day I received an email from a freshman girl who needed to make an appointment. She wrote, "Hi, like, my name is Tiffany and like, i just found out that you are like, my advisor and that like, i have to make an appointment to see you." She then described the times she could not meet. First, she wrote her entire schedule of classes. Second, she wrote, “i cannot meet on Monday mornings because like, me and Susie joined the Dance Club and like that is when we practice. i cannot meet on Monday afternoons because like, i have classes. i cannot meet on Wednesdays because like, me, Susie, and Jen go the Eastbrook Mall for lunch. i cannot meet on Thursday mornings because like, me and Julie work part-time. i cannot meet on Fridays because like, me and Susie leave early to go home for the weekend. i can meet with you on Tuesday afternoon at 1:00." I wrote back, "Hi Tiffany, my office hours are Mondays and Wednesdays from 8:00 to 10:00 and Thursdays from 1:00 to 2:00. I am looking forward to meeting with you."

Sue and Bob Axiom

Sue is a junior who has never missed a class in three years. She sometimes relates the story of driving during a blizzard to class, when two miles from campus she slid off the road into a snowdrift. She emphasizes the fact that she walked to the campus in snow three feet deep with a driving wind bombarding her with ice and snow. Yet, she made it to class on time. She also recounts the time she attended a wedding on the opposite coast on a Sunday at 2:00 and made it to an 8:00 class on Monday morning.

Sue loves everything about the course and me. I heard from the grapevine that she loves the textbook, the lectures, the group activities, her classmates, the readings, the class discussions, and the written assignments. She thinks I am funny (clearly a very bright and astute individual). In addition, she tells her friends to take my courses and that she will take me again for as many courses that I teach. She always participates and adds to the activities. I enjoy having Sue in class.

On the other hand, Bob who is also a junior never attends classes. I saw Bob only twice during the semester. He was present for the first class and the midterm examination. A friend turned in his written assignments. Bob hates everything about the course and me. I heard from the grapevine that he hates the textbook, the lectures, the group activities, his classmates, the readings, the class discussions, the written assignments, and even the color of the linoleum floor. In addition, he tells his friends to avoid taking me at all costs.

The time for evaluations has come. Sue is absent, of course. Bob is present, sitting in the front row with two sharpened pencils.

Tomorrow

This is a wonderful time to be living. Yet some people of all ages choose to settle into comfortable behavioral patterns of inactivity. They may contemplate engaging in different activities while sitting on the sofa, but think, “maybe tomorrow.”

I firmly believe that people enjoy learning once they begin to experience the benefits of participating in activities designed to engage their minds. Connecticut residents have many opportunities to do so. We have state universities and community colleges that offer credit and noncredit courses. Some individuals begin by taking one course, enjoy the experience, and continue taking one course a semester. For some, pursuing a degree is the challenge. For some, learning for the sake of learning is the goal. For example, the challenge of learning a second language is appealing to some.

In addition, high schools in many of our towns offer an array of adult education classes that interest people of all ages. Some enjoy the learning experience and continue for a high school diploma. Others enjoy the companionship of others engaged in similar learning activities. Physically challenged individuals, not able to attend learning activities in person, may join in the activities online.

How Thinking Changes with Time

When I was in my teens and twenties and dating; I was always concerned about whether she loved me. I wondered did she really love me; I mean really, really love me. Whoever I was dating at the time.

How times have changed. About two years ago I was driving down Route 6 in Andover when out of the corner of my I eye I noticed a woman wearing a bikini mowing her lawn. I almost broke my neck trying to see what kind of mower she was using.

Squirrels are People Too

Several years ago, I was driving home. My friend Dave who moved to Maine lived one town over from me at the time, was following me. Unfortunately, I hit a squirrel. I turned around and went back to make sure it was dead because I did not want it to suffer.

When I told Dave why I came back he said, “The poor squirrel was lying there in no pain because of the paralysis caused by being hit; relaxing and enjoying looking up at the sun and puffy clouds when he saw you coming back.” Dave said the squirrel probably thought, “Oh no, here he comes again to finish the job.”

Rigid Versus Rigorous Honesty

Recently a young fellow asked me what the difference was between being rigidly honest and being rigorously honest. I used the following example to explain my interpretation.

Let's say your sweet pea spends an entire day pampering herself. First, she goes to a beauty spa. There she begins the beautification process by being completed covered in seaweed for one hour. This treatment is by followed by the total mud treatment for 30 minutes. This process concludes with a full body massage.

Second, feeling relaxed and invigorated she goes to her favorite nail salon.

Here she enjoys the best pedicure they offer. Then she has her nails done. She decides to try something different. The manicurists attach one inch nails and then paints them with Christmas colors of red, white, and green.

Third, she has her hair done in a new style and color.

Finally, she goes shopping and finds the perfect new style dress. One shoulder is missing. A slit goes up the outer side from the bottom of the dress to her thigh. She settles on an off shade of purple even though it clashes slightly with her new hair color of burned blond with blue frosted tips. She decides to wear the new dress home to surprise you.

When she walks in the door you are flabbergasted. You think she looks hideous. She asks, "How do you like my new do?"

A rigorously honest reply might be the following: "I love it, you look gorgeous." Rigidly honest replies result in divorce.

Walking Straight Again?

I was in a car accident when I was in my early twenties. I walked with a noticeable limp as a result. Luckily for me, five years ago I was diagnosed with arthritis in the knee of my other leg. I walk with a limp as a result of the pain in that knee. Now that I limp on both legs it appears that I walk normally. Positive perception makes all the difference.

People Believe the Dumbest Things

Yesterday I was sharing with a friend who for some reason reminded me of the most mind boggling stupid thing I have ever heard. Several years ago, I was talking to a middle-aged man. He was an interesting chap who had some odd ideas, but I really enjoyed our conversation. However, towards the end of our chat he said, "I truly understand women." I smiled. He said, "No, I really mean it, I do in fact understand women, it's a gift." I just nodded and thought KMN. (For those of you who are less hip and cool, KMN means kill me now.)

Many people find the Holidays difficult.

Even those of us who enjoy them feel a sense of relief when they are over. We still have one more coming, New Year's Eve and New Year’s Day. If we encounter feelings of being overwhelmed, we can pause and write 10 good things in our lives that we am grateful for now. I believe living in the now is very important and that practicing this daily helps me when I encounter difficult times. The past is thought, and the future is thought. If I live in thought, I miss what good things are in front of me.

I refuse to allow the flood of advertisements beginning in August by Madison Avenue to change my love of the season.

New Happy Memories Replace Old Sad Memories

The holidays can be painful times for people due to unpleasant memories from past holidays. I believe that painful memories weaken with time. I also know that we can speed up this process. We can make new enjoyable memories. The new happy memories replace the older memories that can cause painful feelings. As time passes, we think more and more about recent good memories and less and less about old sad memories.

Several ways we can develop pleasurable new memories is by helping others. For example, we can happily give up a parking place for a stranger in a crowed parking area; pick up a piece of litter, so that a worker does not have to bend over to do so; leave bags of empty returnable bottles in bottle return areas at stores to surprise lucky patrons; drop change in a parking lot for children to find; sneak a dollar bill in the open hoodie of someone standing in front of us in line at a checkout; and visit or call a nursing home and ask to speak to someone who never has visitors. The list is endless.

Last Thing I want to Hear

Yesterday I started to think about what the last thing was I would want to hear. I believe the last thing I would want to hear is midway through a colonoscopy the doctor shriek, “What the heck is that”?

God Has a Sense of Humor

Yesterday I was thinking of last summer's heat to warm up. It reminded me of an experience I had when I was in my twenties. God showed me that He has a sense of humor. I had a new car with air conditioning. One very hot day with the temperature in the nineties, I was driving around town with the air conditioner on high, drinking cold beverages, listening to rock and roll, and daydreaming. I felt quite superior to the people suffering in the heat as I passed by them and the drivers of cars with the windows open. I was thoroughly enjoying myself when I ran out gas and had to walk more than a mile to the nearest gas station, and then walk back to the car.

Jack and Grill

Twenty or twenty five years ago my in-laws received an unassembled very fancy outdoor gas grill as a present for some occasion. The key word is unassembled. My father in-law Jack and I started to assemble the grill by laying out all the parts. There were at least 50 parts for this very complex grill. We competed the assembly in a little over three hours. We had several parts left over. There were several nuts and bolts and a small whatchamacallit. This did not concern us as this was common in most complex assemblies of this type.

We connected the propane tank, turned the on dial to high and pushed the start button. Nothing happened. We took turns trying to start the grill 5 or so times by pushing the button and getting the same results (sound familiar?). Then Jack said, "I guess we should look at the instructions.' We found that the whatchamacallit was labeled the igniter. We had to disconnect the propane tank and disassemble more than two-thirds of the grill to install the igniter. We reassembled the grill. We connected the propane tank again, turn the on dial to high and pushed the start button. The grill worked.

The Supervisor

Three years ago, I realized that the seats on our picnic table needed to be replaced. I began the project by removing the old 2" by 10" by 8' boards. I planned on using the same pressure treated boards to replace the old ones.

Fortunately for me my wife Regis, the Supervisor, was home from work that day and decided to help me. The Supervisor got comfortable on the breezeway steps in an excellent position to watch the project. She said, "Maybe we (me) could buy the composite material that doesn't need painting for the seats." I replied, "That's a good idea." I drove to Home Depot and purchased four 1" by 6" by 8' boards (the only size close enough for the project). I placed the new boards in place on the table. The Supervisor said, "The boards sag in the middle, you'll have to make a brace." I replied, "Yes, I can do that."

Then the Supervisor had another idea. She said, "It might be a good idea to replace the top boards with the same material." I said, "That's a good idea." I drove to Home Depot to get the boards. When I returned, I began to take the old top boards off very carefully in order not to damage the structure of the table. There was a total of 36 bolts and nuts holding the six boards in place that needed to be removed. It took approximately 45 minutes to remove the first bolt.

The Supervisor said, "Maybe you should rent a truck and take it to the dump." I was very grateful to the Supervisor for making that suggestion before I got to the last bolt. I immediately got my chain saw and cut up the table. The Supervisor has been known to change her mind.

How I Start my Day

I learned if I rush in the morning, that will set the tone for the rest of the day. If I give myself plenty of time, that sets a completely different pace for the rest of the day. I also

start my day on a positive note by looking in the mirror and saying, "Love you Kev, you look great." You might try this. (It will work better for you if you use your name.)

Take care!

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