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twobrokewriters · 7 years

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Hetalia: USUK fanfic- He’s Sweeter Than Sugar (Request from anonymous)

Written by: Admin Sunny

How could anyone live in that dump?? A few houses down from Alfred Jones’ fancy, luxurious 2-story house, there was a similar, but much larger Victorian style mansion- completely in shambles. The windows were boarded up and broken out, the yard was overgrown, and the porch was rotted out. If there was ever a house that looked haunted, it was that one. But it was definitely no ghost Alfred saw scurry across the porch and open the door, late one night when driving home from hanging out with some friends at his favorite sports bar. Despite the fact that this guy definitely had the pale, ghastly looking skin, that was about where the similarities to a ghost ended. This man was very much alive, evident by his...clumsiness? As he tried to open the door, he fumbled his rusted keys and dropped them; when he bent over to pick them up, a shiny book and a piece of malachite fell out of the black cloak draped around his shoulders. As far as Alfred knew, if a ghost carried things with him, he used his supernatural powers to keep everything from falling out, and would probably just go through a locked door instead of taking the time to unlock it.

Alfred hated to be nosy, but every time he drove past that house, or walked past it when he was walking his dog, he would always glance over at it, being careful not to stop in case it was haunted so the ghosts wouldn’t notice him. He hadn’t ever noticed this before, but there would infrequently be lights on- only in one room of the house at any given time- shining through the delicate, lacy white curtains and scratched, dirty windows. The entire house looked pathetic, which furthered the question...if there really was someone living here, why wouldn’t they fix up the place? Did they even notice what a craphole they lived in? The house was a fine, sprawling mansion built in 1905, but it was so beaten down and sad-looking that it may as well have been a simple tool shed- and probably just as dingy and full of cobwebs on the inside. But if it was that bad on the inside, then why were the curtains so white? They seemed to be the only thing there that anyone cared about. Maybe that was why the outside looked so terrible- the man that lived there spent so much time making sure that the inside of the house was immaculate that he couldn’t focus on the upkeep of the outside. There were some times when he was still outside after dark, driving home or just having been caught by the sunset while walking his dog when he started too late in the day, where Alfred could see strange colors of light flashing from what he assumed must have been the cellar door around back; or, once, from the downstairs windows. Was this guy setting off fireworks in his house too?? Alfred thought he would have heard the explosions if it was fireworks, so this just didn’t make any sense to him at all! That wasn’t to say that sometimes there weren’t explosions coming from that house- Alfred hated it most of all when it was in the middle of the night, where everything that goes boom in the darkness sounds like a gunshot. No matter how hard Alfred tried to make sense of everything he’d seen there, nothing fit. It wouldn’t even make sense for that to be a secret alien research facility. One of the very weirdest parts of all to Alfred, however, was that apparently none of the neighbors had any idea this was going on. They swore up and down that the house was vacant, and that the explosions and rainbow of lights were rowdy teenagers going and lighting off fireworks in the basement. It still just didn’t add up to Alfred, though.

But nothing had compared to what had initially seemed like a regular Friday night. Alfred had almost fallen asleep, when there was what sounded like a massive thunderclap, so loud it made the windows buzz- but there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky! He looked out the window, and he could clearly see that, over the thorny bramble climbing up the backyard fence, there was an ominous red light coming out of the basement...and more tiny, glowing white orbs scattered around the house than he had ever seen. He quickly got dressed and ran out onto the street to see what was going on. Once he got out there, almost all of the orbs were gone, but Alfred could still see some floating around the property lazily, and the red light was still there. He hated to do this, but he just had to find out what was going on here. He nervously stepped onto the cracked walkway, almost entirely grown over by the weedy lawn, nervous of what he might find as he proceeded forwards onto the creaky porch until he was in front of the door. His hand shaking, Alfred rang the doorbell. A tremendous, deep, chiming echoed out of the house. The red light and orbs immediately disappeared- something that didn't exactly sit well with Alfred. Moments later, the door slowly creaked open just a crack, allowing a glimpse of the oddly lavish inside- crystal chandeliers, damask wallpaper, marble floors- and of the man he had seen scurrying across the porch long ago. All Alfred could see through the door was his shaggy blonde hair, milky pale skin, his sharp green eyes, cloak draped around his shoulders over a green waistcoat, some kind of white shirt with lace on the cuffs, and brown slacks- and most notably, his massive, bushy eyebrows.

“Why are you here?” the man asked in a very quiet, slightly raspy, but still demanding British accent.

“Um...I wanted to ask what was with the… the red light and stuff? It’s really weird and the noise woke me up?” Alfred tried not to stare at the huge black caterpillars on the man’s head.

“It’s none of your business! Now go away,” the man snapped. He was about to close the door but Alfred stuck his foot in the crack.

“Wait,” he said.

The man came back to the door, glaring at him.

“I wanted to ask if you could keep it down to a dull roar,” Alfred said, crossing his arms. “I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one on the street that all this racket is bothering. I mean, come on, man, it's the middle of the night. Couldn't you do this during the day?”

“I do this at night because I can't do it in the day,” he responded.

“What sort of stuff can you do at night that you can't do in the day??” Alfred asked.

“Things that you wouldn't understand! Now go away, I'm very busy with my current...er, undertaking!!!” With that, the man slammed the door in his face.

That sure wasn't suspicious or anything. Alfred went back home, unable to stop thinking about how weird all this was. Curiosity flowed through him like a drug, binding him to that house and its mysterious occupant. He would periodically look out the window into the backyard of that house, only to find that he wasn't able to tell what was going on than any more than before- it still wasn't a good enough view to see more than just the weird colors of light. This continued for days, until he saw a unicorn...dashing out of the backyard...and the man chasing after it??? Something crazy was going on there, Alfred just knew it.

As much as Alfred hated to intrude, he couldn't just sit there and let all this stuff happen without knowing about it. That's why the next morning he came to the doorstep of that old house, with a flashlight in his hand, and a Swiss Army knife in his pocket, just in case a unicorn attacks him or something. He rang the doorbell and waited. In the time that he was waiting, he heard all kinds of curious sounds from inside the house…. sci-fi like levitation noises, random twinkling, even a terrifying roar-scream! But no walking up to the door and angry muttering like last time. Alfred rang the doorbell again. Still nothing.

Okay, something was very wrong with this picture. He tried opening the front door, but it was locked. Alfred ran through the tangle of weeds that was the lawn to the backyard, where the gate had literally fallen off its hinges. Taking his knife out, he walked around the absolutely disgusting fountain onto the cracked bricks of the back porch, and tried the back door. Not only was it locked too, but the knob was rusted, and wouldn't even jiggle as a typical locked doorknob would.

Alfred was starting to worry. Was that man okay?? What was going on in the house? Had mutants taken the house over and killed its occupant? He hadn't heard the man’s voice at all yet, or anything human in nature… only the chilling sounds of whatever beast was in there.

A bright flash of violet light shone through the cellar doors...one of which was wide open!

Alfred didn't even care about being scared anymore, and climbed down the rickety stairs into the cellar, turning on his flashlight.

It was like walking into Doctor Frankenstein’s laboratory, mixed with tinges of 15th century alchemy. Vials of neon colored liquids lined the walls on wooden shelves, arranged carefully by size. A pot-belly stove sat in the corner, with a massive copper pot on top, filled with a foul-smelling black boiling goo. Books lay open on every surface, except for a few levitating books. There were empty cauldrons and large crystals lining the walls, and all manner of large, intricately carved sticks. Alfred walked across the room tentatively, carefully observing his surroundings. He looked down and noticed he was standing in the middle of a pentagram painted on the stone floor, surrounded by small candles. Alfred jumped and ran out of the summoning circle, staring at it. He then turned around and started for the door again. Past the summoning circle, around a bend, was mostly ordinary looking objects… the operative word being mostly. There were things like a chair turned upside down on the floor, an inexplicably floating table, a vase that would slide across the floor every so often, and a ceramic poodle statue that, as soon as it noticed Alfred, opened up its red glowing eyes, and let out this surreal sounding, deep bark that sounded more like ten poodles barking in a cave.

Creeped out by the poodle statue, Alfred turned around and ran back towards the door to the rest of the house. The door to the rest of the house was thankfully unlocked.

He opened the door and found himself in a hallway. It was just as Alfred thought- the inside of the house was beautiful and immaculate. There wasn't a single cobweb or blemish on the ornate damask wallpaper, nor a strand of the runner carpet out of place.

Alfred walked down the hall, mesmerized by the cleanliness of everything. But when he reached the end of the hall, what he saw shocked him. The window didn't look dirty at all from the inside, yet he had seen this window from outside, scratched and marred with age.

Alfred stopped before a painting of one of the queens of England, and he noticed it seemed to be one of those trick paintings where the eyes always look directly at the person viewing the painting no matter where they stand.

“My, today is just lovely, isn't it?” the painting spoke. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

Alfred screamed and ran back down the hall. That painting just talked to him! This house was really starting to play tricks on his mind. “What an odd young man,” he heard the painting say faintly from down the hall.

Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of red light from the door back out to the cellar, followed by black fog creeping out into the hall. Alfred stuck his head into the open door, and looked inside.

The room was full of red light, and directly inside on the summoning circle, a figure shrouded in tattered black robes, with only its wings, skeletal hands and shining red eyes visible, floated on a swirling cloud of black fog.

Alfred screamed and slammed the door. He liked the talking painting better than this. He turned around to go explore the other end of the hall...and was face-to-face with the demon he just saw.

Alfred tried to run but it snatched him up by his shirt with its bony hands. It wordlessly scrutinized him, and threw him on the ground.

“Stay back! I've got a knife!” Alfred threatened in a tight, wavering voice, reaching for his Swiss Army knife. The demon let out a low growl and, with a swish of its hand, the knife was out of Alfred’s pocket, encapsulated in a red orb, and incinerated into ashes that swirled down to the carpet gently.

“Dammit, that cost sixty-” Alfred was cut off by the demon encapsulating Alfred in a translucent black orb.

“See… you… in… hell…” the demon slowly and deliberately said with a voice like nails on a chalkboard.

Was that… Alfred could feel the life forces being drained from him slowly. This was the end, wasn't it? This wasn't how he wanted to die, in some trippy house, killed by a demon!

The world began to fade around him…

Alfred, all at once, felt his body fall onto the ground. He sat up, gasping. “What happened???” he asked, looking around the hall.

The man with the large eyebrows and black cloak from earlier knelt in front of him, a wooden, curved staff in one hand and a glowing crystal in the other. A spell book lay open on the floor.

“You died, for just a moment,” the man explained, moving closer to Alfred. “I saw him as he was starting to remove your soul. But I trapped him in this crystal and returned your life energy to you. I saved you.”

Alfred looked around again, sighing and laughing a bit. “I survived,” he said. “I'm alive. I'm actually alive! I.. I don't know how to thank you! Thanks…”

The man pulled down the hood of his cloak and stood up, smiling just a bit. “Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.” His forest green eyes were full of a mystical light and joy at having defeated the demon.

“...Arthur,” Alfred finished his sentence.

“What were you doing in my house??” Arthur asked, holding his hand out to help Alfred get up.

“I was worried about you.” Alfred took his hand and got up. “I mean, there were all these scary noises, and you didn't answer the door! I thought something killed you.”

“I kept you away from here for a reason. It's just too dangerous here. But I should have known someone like you wouldn't listen,” Arthur chastised him, shaking his head.

“I'm sorry, but I thought you were dead! Is it wrong for me to be concerned about you when I don't even know you?” Alfred said.

“Thanks for checking on me, I'm fine,” Arthur said shortly. “Now you know the truth. I'm a wizard. You know why my house keeps making weird noises.”

“Really? Aren't wizards supposed to be all wrinkly and old, with the weird pointy hats with stars?” Alfred asked.

“Why does everyone I meet think that?? This is part of the reason I don't tell people I'm a wizard. In reality, most wizards look pretty normal, save for sometimes having a clothing item that enhances our magic capabilities, like my cloak. In this case it also serves as storage.” Arthur looked up at the ceiling. “I know you walked across the summoning circle. That's why that demon appeared. This is a dangerous place for anyone without magic. Come, I'll walk you to the front door.”

Arthur led Alfred down the other end of the hall, stopped about halfway there to greet a painting of Winston Churchill- which really gave Alfred the creeps when he tugged on his jacket and muttered a greeting back around his cigar- and unlocked the front door.

“You can just go on home now...but wait. Before I go, I just wanted to know your name,” Arthur said.

“My name is Alfred Jones, and thank you once again for saving my life,” Alfred answered, holding his hand out.

Arthur timidly shook it. Alfred noticed how soft and silky smooth his hands were. The kind of hands used to holding wands and turning spell book pages.

“Until next time, Arthur.” Alfred turned around and started down the walkway to his house.

All Alfred could do was smile as the windows of Arthur’s house glowed with a green light.

It wasn't too long after Alfred sat down to his usual fast food dinner, a day after the fateful first visit to Arthur’s house, that there was a knock at the door.

When he answered it, a nervous Arthur stood on the doorstep, his cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders with one hand and the other behind his back, and his feet turned inward. To all the neighbors he probably looked like a vampire trying to weasel his way into the house.

“Arthur? What's going on?” Alfred stared at him curiously. He hoped he wouldn't notice that there was ketchup on his shirt.

“I… I just wanted to say thank you…” Arthur said. “You were the only person who gave me a chance. Other people are so judgmental, and run from me… but you sought me out. And that you said you were worried about me… you are just too sweet. That's why… that's why I put this together for you.”

He held out a basket, with a nice little purple ribbon on the handle, full of all kinds of sweet treats.

Alfred excitedly took it. “This is awesome! How did you know I loved cupcakes?”

“Who doesn't?” Arthur chuckled at his own comment. “I made all those, except the butterscotch candies in the bottom of the basket, from scratch. Go on, try one!”

Alfred set the basket on the porch end table and unwrapped a chocolate muffin. It looked good enough, he thought. He took a bite of it, and his eyes went wide in surprise. It wasn't sweet at all, and it was pretty dry.

“So? What do you think? I've never cooked for anyone but myself before so I was sort of scared to make these...but I just knew you'd love them!” Arthur beamed.

There was no way Alfred could crush Arthur's spirit like that, with his green eyes sparkling like fireworks and that cute smile with his uneven teeth showing… it’s the thought that counts, right?

“This is absolutely delicious, Arthur,” Alfred forced himself to say, grinning. “Best muffin in the whole dang world. Thank you!”

“I've never had anybody to give treats to,” Arthur said shyly. “I'm glad they turned out well.”

“Can I offer some constructive criticism?” Alfred asked.

“Sure,” Arthur said.

“Try using more sugar, and less cocoa powder….”

Arthur's eyes went wide. “You have to put extra sugar into them???”

“Yeah,” Alfred said, ashamed that he got caught lying about the muffin being good.

“I thought cocoa powder came with sugar in it!!” He grabbed one of the muffins and bit into it- and immediately spat it out. “It's terrible!! How could you possibly like this stuff?? I'm so sorry these came out so bad!”

“It's okay, Arthur, I'm glad you brought these. They might not be the best, but it's the thought that counts, right?” Alfred said.

All Arthur did was stare at his feet.

“I want you to teach me how to make cupcakes,” he finally said.

“What??” Alfred said. “You're kidding… I can't make cupcakes! I mean, not without a mix! And that's if I'm lucky. I'm sorry but I'm just not a baker.”

Yet somehow, later that evening, he stood in Arthur's kitchen, staring at an empty bowl and the crumpled piece of paper that held a cupcake recipe he printed out just before coming over. Arthur looked over his shoulder.

“What's a ‘tisp’?” he finally asked.

“A what?” Alfred held up the flour bag and shook it. Little white clouds of dust spewed out of the partially open top and made both of them cough.

“Look, see,” Arthur pointed out on the paper once the flour settled. “It says one ‘tisp’ of butter.”

“I think that means teaspoon,” Alfred said. “Or is it tablespoon? Ugh, I don't remember. My mom would know. She was great at cooking. Measuring, too.”

“I didn't measure the ingredients when I made those cupcakes and muffins,” Arthur confessed.

“That's an issue. They put the directions on cake mixes for a reason,” Alfred said.

“Let's start measuring?” Arthur held up the paper. “What goes in first?”

“I think you put the dry ingredients and then the wet stuff like eggs and milk?” Alfred realized he really didn't know either. His mom hadn't taught him how to make cupcakes from scratch either. He hated to admit it but pretty much the only way he could bake was if he used a cake mix or premade cookie dough.

After some disagreement, they got all the ingredients into the bowl.

“So is it ready to bake?” Arthur asked.

“No, we need to mix it.” Alfred looked around the kitchen. “Do you have a mixer?”

“I think so, somewhere in a drawer.”

Alfred looked through all the drawers in the kitchen until he found an old electric mixer.

He plugged it in, and turned it on.

“Now you just put it in there and stir it!” Alfred gave the mixer to Arthur. He dipped it into the top, which flung egg whites around.

“No, no, put it all the way down! All the way down!” Alfred cried out.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur said.

“Here, I'll help you stir it…” Alfred took Arthur's hand and gently guided his arm as he stirred the cake ingredients.

After a few minutes the batter had been mixed.

“Does this- does this look okay?” Arthur asked.

“I think so,” Alfred said. He dipped a finger into the batter to taste it. “I mean, it definitely tastes sweet enough. Let's put it in the cake pans! You do have cupcake pans, right?”

“In the oven!” Arthur declared.

“We preheated the oven!” Alfred cried, running to the stove with oven mitts in hand. “You're not supposed to put the cupcake batter into HOT pans!”

“I'm- I'm sorry,” Arthur apologized.

“It should be fine anyway. Here, let's pour the batter in…” Alfred said.

The fact that as soon as the batter touched the hot pans it sizzled and bubbled didn't look right to Alfred but they put the cupcakes in the oven this way anyway.

“Now cook for 30 minutes,” Alfred read off of the page.”

“In the meantime, may I show you my library?” Arthur suggested.

“It's not like I have anything better to do,” Alfred said over a giggle.

The two men went up the stairs, Alfred being careful to not make eye contact with any of Arthur's creepy talking paintings.

Arthur opened the first door on the right, and before them was a beautiful library, shelves lining the walls and a fountain pen on the ornate writing desk.

“This is beautiful,” Alfred gasped, spinning around the room. “How many books do you have in here??”

“Several hundred, at the very least.” Arthur took a book out of its place on a shelf. “Many of these are very old books. This particular one is from...it seems to be 1899.”

“It looks like new!” Alfred exclaimed, taking the book out of Arthur's hands. The cover hadn't frayed at all, and the crisp pages were still their original silky ivory white color.

“Well, restoration is so much easier when you can use magic,” Arthur said with a chuckle.

“What else have you got in here?” Alfred gave the book back to Arthur, looking around the room excitedly. He hadn’t been much of a reader before, aside from reading texts and posts on social media, but somehow, Arthur was able to get him all excited about books.

“Alfred, I think a better question would be, what don’t I have?” Arthur hesitated for a moment before taking Alfred by the hand and leading him around the room, showing him his favorite books. Alfred noticed Arthur only let go of his hand when he absolutely had to, to get books from the top shelves or things of that nature that required two hands. It wasn’t too much of a surprise to Alfred, but he was just fine with this.

“Wow, this book smells weird,” Alfred observed, giggling a little when Arthur opened a book of Shakespeare’s plays. “It smells almost like something burning!”

“It does?” Arthur leaned in and sniffed the pages of the book. “It just smells like paper to me.”

Suddenly, out in the hallway, a faint, “Arthur!! Arthur, it’s an emergency!” rang out.

“The Queen’s calling us!” Arthur practically dragged Alfred downstairs to see what the painting wanted. The burning smell was much stronger down here.

“Pardon me for interrupting, but your cake is burning!” the painting cried out.

“Oh, God, the cupcakes!! I forgot!!” Arthur exclaimed, running to the oven and turning it off. Alfred put on two oven mitts and opened the oven door. Smoke poured out of the oven, filling the kitchen with a terrible burnt smell. Alfred picked up the charred cupcakes and set them on the countertop. They didn’t even look like cupcakes; instead, they looked more like dark volcanic rocks sitting in cupcake pans.

Alfred and Arthur stared at the cupcakes in disappointment.

“You like your cupcakes well done?” Alfred finally asked. “At least they’re not going to be gooey in the middle!”

Arthur laughed, though he was still disappointed about the cupcakes being burnt.

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” he finally said after a few minutes. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you up to my library. If we had stayed down here on the lower level, we would have heard the timer.”

“It’s okay, Arthur, this was just your first lesson.” Alfred put an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, looking into his eyes knowingly. “Looks like the lesson here was: don’t leave your food unattended!”

“Can- can we do this again tomorrow?” Arthur asked, smiling. “I like baking with you. I feel like you’re the only person I’ve ever really been able to have fun with.”

“How about brownies?” Alfred said.

Every day that Alfred wasn’t busy after that, he came over to Arthur’s house, with new recipes, ingredients and baking supplies. Ever since the first time they had successfully created a finished dessert that wasn’t burned, their cooking lessons were filled with friendly touches and caresses, shy glances and turning away once the other noticed he was staring, and occasionally feeding each other the delicious treats they made together.

This all eventually culminated in Alfred one day suddenly bolting upright in bed, realizing that he wanted to be more than friends with Arthur. His feelings didn’t come as a surprise to him, but what did was the realization that it seemed like Arthur wanted to be more than friends too. Alfred had to tell Arthur how he felt, but it was just such a precarious subject. He had to word it just right, or he’d risk losing everything he and Arthur had achieved so far, over these months they’d been friends, since that first day Alfred went and knocked on his door with peeling paint. Three days, countless Google searches for “how to tell your friend you want to be more than friends” and lots of worrying later...there was a knock at Alfred’s door.

Alfred answered it. His heart thudded to a stop when he noticed it was Arthur, once again, hiding something behind his back. His cloak was drawn down over his shaggy eyebrows, and he looked even more pale and nervous than usual.

“Is- is… is something w-wrong?” Alfred managed to stammer out.

“Um…” Arthur hesitated, staring into Alfred’s eyes and seeming to zone out for just a tiny second. “Oh. Right. I… I noticed that you didn’t come by for our cooking lessons in the past few days…”

“Oh. I’m really sorry about that. I was...busy...doing things…” Alfred mentally facepalmed. That reeked of awkwardness. He couldn’t sound more like he had something to hide if he tried.

“I was a little bit worried about you. I’m- I’m really glad to see your face again.” Arthur smiled feebly.

“I’m glad to see you too, Arthur.” Alfred tucked a piece of his blonde hair behind his ear.

“It- it gave me some time to think about...er….things. Can- can I come in to tell you...the news I have?” asked Arthur. He sighed deeply. “I’m not sure whether it’ll be good news or bad news to you. I imagine bad news.”

“S-sure,” Alfred answered, surprised. He stepped out of the doorway, letting Arthur inside. Arthur carefully walked through the door, making sure to not show what was behind his back to Alfred.

Alfred closed the door, making note of the fact that whatever Arthur had made a rustling noise.

Arthur looked around the room. The inside wasn’t quite as spotless as in Arthur’s house, but it still looked presentable. Shelves containing various sports memorabilia and American flag motif items lined the walls, interrupted only by the wall-mount flat screen TV and entertainment center. A large bookcase filled with DVDs and video games sat next to the leather sectional sofa, which had a throw blanket featuring a bald eagle draped over the armrest on the chaise lounge.

“What was the news you wanted to tell me?” Alfred asked, settling down into the recliner.

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to not look nervous.

“I had some time to myself when- when we weren’t having our lessons, and I realized something. Something rather astonishing.” Arthur hesitated, then continued. “I realized- I… Alfred, I’m- I think you… I wanted to be… I love you, Alfred.” Arthur instantly regretted wording it this way. What if it came across as creepy? He shut his eyes tight, and held out the roses, white lilies and deep blue chrysanthemums he had brought out to Alfred.

Alfred didn’t say anything, his eyes and mouth wide open in shock. After a moment he took the bouquet, staring at it.

“Arthur, I…” Alfred was too surprised to say anything.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes. The expression on Alfred’s face was too hard to read. Was he angry or happy?

His question was answered when Alfred jumped up out of the chair, threw his arms around Arthur and kissed him on the lips.

Arthur pulled away instantly out of shock, but upon seeing the hurt in Alfred’s blue eyes, realized this was the wrong move to make and kissed him back instead. Neither of them could believe this was really happening. Besides abstract love, the only other thing running through both of their minds was that they should have done this earlier.

After they parted, it was now Arthur who was left speechless.

“Arthur, I wanted to tell you the exact same thing,” Alfred said, cupping Arthur’s chin in his hand. “That’s why I didn’t come by. I was trying to figure out how to tell you how I felt. And then you came over with flowers, in my favorite colors too, and- and that was the only way I knew how to tell you I felt the same way. I love you too.”

None of his magic potions he’d tried had made Arthur feel quite this way before. This was what being in love felt like? It had been just as good as all the authors who wrote about it said it was- possibly even better. No- definitely even better. They hadn’t been in love with Alfred Jones, and he hadn’t loved them back.

Their cooking lessons resumed, but this time they spent the time waiting for the cakes, brownies and macarons to bake doing things such as kissing in the dining room, or sometimes just holding onto each other and wondering exactly how they got so lucky as to be brought together.

It was Arthur, actually, who had suggested they go on their first proper date...which would actually have been the first time Arthur had been out in public with regular humans since he was a young child. Alfred was kind of surprised that he wanted to do this, but Arthur had said to him that he gave him the courage to try all sorts of things he wouldn’t have so much as dreamt of doing before. And so the two men went out for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant. Arthur didn’t even care that almost all of the patrons had been giving them funny looks- most of them for Arthur’s odd, almost vampire-like appearance, and some of them for the fact that they were two men on a date together- and neither did Alfred. Their date went splendid, even during the part where Arthur attempted to offer the waiter a charm or enchantment of his choice as a tip.

But the very best part was the kiss good night. It further reminded both of them of the loving, intimate bond that neither of them had ever expected that they would one day share, as did all the kisses they shared after that.

For Alfred, curiosity most definitely didn’t kill the cat. He had never been so thankful to have been a concerned neighbor. He thanked his lucky stars every time he held Arthur close to him and kissed him that he visited that run-down, beaten up old house so long ago.

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readbookywooks · 8 years

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26 Out in the hall, I find Paylor standing in exactly the same spot. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks. I hold up the white bud in answer and then stumble past her. I must have made it back to my room, because the next thing I know, I'm filling a glass with water from the bathroom faucet and sticking the rose in it. I sink to my knees on the cold tile and squint at the flower, as the whiteness seems hard to focus on in the stark fluorescent light. My finger catches the inside of my bracelet, twisting it like a tourniquet, hurting my wrist. I'm hoping the pain will help me hang on to reality the way it did for Peeta. I must hang on. I must know the truth about what has happened. There are two possibilities, although the details associated with them may vary. First, as I've believed, that the Capitol sent in that hovercraft, dropped the parachutes, and sacrificed its children's lives, knowing the recently arrived rebels would go to their aid. There's evidence to support this. The Capitol's seal on the hovercraft, the lack of any attempt to blow the enemy out of the sky, and their long history of using children as pawns in their battle against the districts. Then there's Snow's account. That a Capitol hovercraft manned by rebels bombed the children to bring a speedy end to the war. But if this was the case, why didn't the Capitol fire on the enemy? Did the element of surprise throw them? Had they no defenses left? Children are precious to 13, or so it has always seemed. Well, not me, maybe. Once I had outlived my usefulness, I was expendable. Although I think it's been a long time since I've been considered a child in this war. And why would they do it knowing their own medics would likely respond and be taken out by the second blast? They wouldn't. They couldn't. Snow's lying. Manipulating me as he always has. Hoping to turn me against the rebels and possibly destroy them. Yes. Of course. Then what's nagging at me? Those double-exploding bombs, for one. It's not that the Capitol couldn't have the same weapon, it's just that I'm sure the rebels did. Gale and Beetee's brainchild. Then there's the fact that Snow made no escape attempt, when I know him to be the consummate survivor. It seems hard to believe he didn't have a retreat somewhere, some bunker stocked with provisions where he could live out the rest of his snaky little life. And finally, there's his assessment of Coin. What's irrefutable is that she's done exactly what he said. Let the Capitol and the districts run one another into the ground and then sauntered in to take power. Even if that was her plan, it doesn't mean she dropped those parachutes. Victory was already in her grasp. Everything was in her grasp. Except me. I recall Boggs's response when I admitted I hadn't put much thought into Snow's successor. "If your immediate answer isn't Coin, then you're a threat. You're the face of the rebellion. You may have more influence than any other single person. Outwardly, the most you've ever done is tolerated her." Suddenly, I'm thinking of Prim, who was not yet fourteen, not yet old enough to be granted the title of soldier, but somehow working on the front lines. How did such a thing happen? That my sister would have wanted to be there, I have no doubt. That she would be more capable than many older than she is a given. But for all that, someone very high up would have had to approve putting a thirteen-year-old in combat. Did Coin do it, hoping that losing Prim would push me completely over the edge? Or, at least, firmly on her side? I wouldn't even have had to witness it in person. Numerous cameras would be covering the City Circle. Capturing the moment forever. No, now I am going crazy, slipping into some state of paranoia. Too many people would know of the mission. Word would get out. Or would it? Who would have to know besides Coin, Plutarch, and a small, loyal or easily disposable crew? I badly need help working this out, only everyone I trust is dead. Cinna. Boggs. Finnick. Prim. There's Peeta, but he couldn't do any more than speculate, and who knows what state his mind's in, anyway. And that leaves only Gale. He's far away, but even if he were beside me, could I confide in him? What could I say, how could I phrase it, without implying that it was his bomb that killed Prim? The impossibility of that idea, more than any, is why Snow must be lying. Ultimately, there's only one person to turn to who might know what happened and might still be on my side. To broach the subject at all will be a risk. But while I think Haymitch might gamble with my life in the arena, I don't think he'd rat me out to Coin. Whatever problems we may have with each other, we prefer resolving our differences one-on-one. I scramble off the tiles, out the door, and across the hall to his room. When there's no response to my knock, I push inside. Ugh. It's amazing how quickly he can defile a space. Half-eaten plates of food, shattered liquor bottles, and pieces of broken furniture from a drunken rampage scatter his quarters. He lies, unkempt and unwashed, in a tangle of sheets on the bed, passed out. "Haymitch," I say, shaking his leg. Of course, that's insufficient. But I give it a few more tries before I dump the pitcher of water in his face. He comes to with a gasp, slashing blindly with his knife. Apparently, the end of Snow's reign didn't equal the end of his terror. "Oh. You," he says. I can tell by his voice that he's still loaded. "Haymitch," I begin. "Listen to that. The Mockingjay found her voice." He laughs. "Well, Plutarch's going to be happy." He takes a swig from a bottle. "Why am I soaking wet?" I lamely drop the pitcher behind me into a pile of dirty clothes. "I need your help," I say. Haymitch belches, filling the air with white liquor fumes. "What is it, sweetheart? More boy trouble?" I don't know why, but this hurts me in a way Haymitch rarely can. It must show on my face, because even in his drunken state, he tries to take it back. "Okay, not funny." I'm already at the door. "Not funny! Come back!" By the thud of his body hitting the floor, I assume he tried to follow me, but there's no point. I zigzag through the mansion and disappear into a wardrobe full of silken things. I yank them from hangers until I have a pile and then burrow into it. In the lining of my pocket, I find a stray morphling tablet and swallow it dry, heading off my rising hysteria. It's not enough to right things, though. I hear Haymitch calling me in the distance, but he won't find me in his condition. Especially not in this new spot. Swathed in silk, I feel like a caterpillar in a cocoon awaiting metamorphosis. I always supposed that to be a peaceful condition. At first it is. But as I journey into night, I feel more and more trapped, suffocated by the slippery bindings, unable to emerge until I have transformed into something of beauty. I squirm, trying to shed my ruined body and unlock the secret to growing flawless wings. Despite enormous effort, I remain a hideous creature, fired into my current form by the blast from the bombs. The encounter with Snow opens the door to my old repertoire of nightmares. It's like being stung by tracker jackers again. A wave of horrifying images with a brief respite I confuse with waking - only to find another wave knocking me back. When the guards finally locate me, I'm sitting on the floor of the wardrobe, tangled in silk, screaming my head off. I fight them at first, until they convince me they're trying to help, peel away the choking garments, and escort me back to my room. On the way, we pass a window and I see a gray, snowy dawn spreading across the Capitol. A very hungover Haymitch waits with a handful of pills and a tray of food that neither of us has the stomach for. He makes a feeble attempt to get me to talk again but, seeing it's pointless, sends me to a bath someone has drawn. The tub's deep, with three steps to the bottom. I ease down into the warm water and sit, up to my neck in suds, hoping the medicines kick in soon. My eyes focus on the rose that has spread its petals overnight, filling the steamy air with its strong perfume. I rise and reach for a towel to smother it, when there's a tentative knock and the bathroom door opens, revealing three familiar faces. They try to smile at me, but even Venia can't conceal her shock at my ravaged mutt body. "Surprise!" Octavia squeaks, and then bursts into tears. I'm puzzling over their reappearance when I realize that this must be it, the day of the execution. They've come to prep me for the cameras. Remake me to Beauty Base Zero. No wonder Octavia's crying. It's an impossible task. They can barely touch my patchwork of skin for fear of hurting me, so I rinse and dry off myself. I tell them I hardly notice the pain anymore, but Flavius still winces as he drapes a robe around me. In the bedroom, I find another surprise. Sitting upright in a chair. Polished from her metallic gold wig to her patent leather high heels, gripping a clipboard. Remarkably unchanged except for the vacant look in her eyes. "Effie," I say. "Hello, Katniss." She stands and kisses me on the cheek as if nothing has occurred since our last meeting, the night before the Quarter Quell. "Well, it looks like we've got another big, big, big day ahead of us. So why don't you start your prep and I'll just pop over and check on the arrangements." "Okay," I say to her back. "They say Plutarch and Haymitch had a hard time keeping her alive," comments Venia under her breath. "She was imprisoned after your escape, so that helps." It's quite a stretch. Effie Trinket, rebel. But I don't want Coin killing her, so I make a mental note to present her that way if asked. "I guess it's good Plutarch kidnapped you three after all." "We're the only prep team still alive. And all the stylists from the Quarter Quell are dead," says Venia. She doesn't say who specifically killed them. I'm beginning to wonder if it matters. She gingerly takes one of my scarred hands and holds it out for inspection. "Now, what do you think for the nails? Red or maybe a jet black?" Flavius performs some beauty miracle on my hair, managing to even out the front while getting some of the longer locks to hide the bald spots in the back. My face, since it was spared from the flames, presents no more than the usual challenges. Once I'm in Cinna's Mockingjay suit, the only scars visible are on my neck, forearms, and hands. Octavia secures my Mockingjay pin over my heart and we step back to look in the mirror. I can't believe how normal they've made me look on the outside when inwardly I'm such a wasteland. There's a tap at the door and Gale steps in. "Can I have a minute?" he asks. In the mirror, I watch my prep team. Unsure of where to go, they bump into one another a few times and then closet themselves in the bathroom. Gale comes up behind me and we examine each other's reflection. I'm searching for something to hang on to, some sign of the girl and boy who met by chance in the woods five years ago and became inseparable. I'm wondering what would have happened to them if the Hunger Games had not reaped the girl. If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And sometime in the future, when the brothers and sisters had been raised up, escaped with him into the woods and left 12 behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild, or would the dark, twisted sadness between them have grown up even without the Capitol's help? "I brought you this." Gale holds up a sheath. When I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow. "It's supposed to be symbolic. You firing the last shot of the war." "What if I miss?" I say. "Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?" "You won't miss." Gale adjusts the sheath on my shoulder. We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other's eyes. "You didn't come see me in the hospital." He doesn't answer, so finally I just say it. "Was it your bomb?" "I don't know. Neither does Beetee," he says. "Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it." He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it's true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer. "That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family," he says. "Shoot straight, okay?" He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I'll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn't the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can't, I'll just have to deal with the pain. Effie comes in to usher me to some kind of meeting. I collect my bow and at the last minute remember the rose, glistening in its glass of water. When I open the door to the bathroom, I find my prep team sitting in a row on the edge of the tub, hunched and defeated. I remember I'm not the only one whose world has been stripped away. "Come on," I tell them. "We've got an audience waiting." I'm expecting a production meeting in which Plutarch instructs me where to stand and gives me my cue for shooting Snow. Instead, I find myself sent into a room where six people sit around a table. Peeta, Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Annie, and Enobaria. They all wear the gray rebel uniforms from 13. No one looks particularly well. "What's this?" I say. "We're not sure," Haymitch answers. "It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors." "We're all that's left?" I ask. "The price of celebrity," says Beetee. "We were targeted from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol." Johanna scowls at Enobaria. "So what's she doing here?" "She is protected under what we call the Mockingjay Deal," says Coin as she enters behind me. "Wherein Katniss Everdeen agreed to support the rebels in exchange for captured victors' immunity. Katniss has upheld her side of the bargain, and so shall we." Enobaria smiles at Johanna. "Don't look so smug," says Johanna. "We'll kill you anyway." "Sit down, please, Katniss," says Coin, closing the door. I take a seat between Annie and Beetee, carefully placing Snow's rose on the table. As usual, Coin gets right to the point. "I've asked you here to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this." Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta's hands. The burn marks. We are both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his brows but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they do now. "So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote," says Coin. "What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power." All seven of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna. "We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin. "Are you joking?" asks Peeta. "No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security," Coin tells us. "Was this Plutarch's idea?" asks Haymitch. "It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes." "No!" bursts out Peeta. "I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!" "Why not?" Johanna retorts. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes." "So do I," says Enobaria, almost indifferently. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine." "This is why we rebelled! Remember?" Peeta looks at the rest of us. "Annie?" "I vote no with Peeta," she says. "So would Finnick if he were here." "But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him," Johanna reminds her. "No," says Beetee. "It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No." "We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin. Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts' children? The scent of Snow's rose curls up into my nose, down into my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now. I weigh my options carefully, think everything through. Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, "I vote yes...for Prim." "Haymitch, it's up to you," says Coin. A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to, but I can feel Haymitch watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly understands me. "I'm with the Mockingjay," he says. "Excellent. That carries the vote," says Coin. "Now we really must take our places for the execution." As she passes me, I hold up the glass with the rose. "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?" Coin smiles. "Of course. And I'll make sure he knows about the Games." "Thank you," I say. People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as I'm guided to the front doors of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony. Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait. When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He's not going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president's mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have me practice. He's ten yards away. I feel the bow purring in my hand. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at the rose, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips. I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there's only the same look of amusement that ended our last conversation. It's as if he's speaking the words again. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other." He's right. We did. The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.

#Mockingjay

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turkeymonkey33-blog · 5 years

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The Driver’s Side” – News From The Motorist’s Perspective

Compiled by Otto Mobile

Your transportation related headlines for Wednesday, October 24th, 2018

CHICAGO, CHICAGOLAND, ILLINOIS HEADLINES

PLEASE HELP: Police Trying To Identify Elderly ‘John Doe’ Found Near Lake In Uptown – CWB Chicago

The Total Taxpayer Bill For Pointless Dan Ryan, Lake Shore Drive, And Kennedy Expressway/O’Hare ‘Protest’ Marches/Con-Artist-Conga-Lines Is Over $500,000 – Chicago Sun-Times

Parking Ticket Writing Stabilizes; Vehicles Getting Booted Drops By 10.5 Percent – Chicago Sun-Times

Surge-Pricing Ends For Meters Near Wrigley; Experiment Didn’t Meet Revenue Goals – Chicago Sun-Times

Chicago Clerk To Establish 4-Month Vehicle City Sticker To Try To Get More Compliance – Chicago Tribune

Protecting Parking Spots For The Handicapped: Every Police Force Needs An Officer Hill – Chicago Tribune

The 9 Illinois Cities With The Fastest Commute – Chicago Now

A Warning For Chicago — How Road Diets Are Starving Small Businesses – Press-Enterprise

Crooked Rahm Blames Everyone Else For His Miserable Failures On Biking, Transit — Wants To Tax Drivers To Pay For More Poorly Planned Pet Projects – Chicago Tribune

DuPage County Voters To Weigh In On Per-Mile Driving Tax – Illinois Policy Institute

In Transit: Road Test Failure Raises Questions For Suburban Senior. Here Are Some Answers – Chicago Daily Herald

Hotel Worker Union Sues City For Allegedly Prohibiting Strikers From Making Obnoxious, Loud Street Noise – Chicago Tribune

While Working On O’Hare Tunnel Project, Musk Announces Opening Date For California Hyperloop Test Tunnel – Crain’s Chicago Business

Cook County Board President Toni Preckwinkle And States Attorney Kim Foxx’s ‘COOK COUNTY CARJACKAPALOOZA’ — Teens Charged After North Side Carjacking – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago, CWB Chicago; Pilsen Carjacking Leads To Man, 29, Getting Shot, Police Say – Block Club Chicago; New Cameras, License Plate Readers Will Combat North Side Carjackings – Loop North News; Letter: Time To Get Tough On Carjackers – Chicago Sun-Times

Cops Getting Closer To North Side Catalytic Converter Thieves, But No Arrests Yet – CWB Chicago

Edgewater: College Student Charged With Running Over, Killing 93-Year-Old Woman – CWB Chicago

Another Uber Fake: Convicted Murderer Charged With His Second Armed Robbery, Kidnapping In River North – CWB Chicago

Street Crime Surges In River North, Mag Mile, Streeterville, Downtown – CWB Chicago, CWB Chicago

Chicago Police Recover Stolen Car, But Then It’s Stolen Again In Front Of District Station – Chicago Tribune

Cars Broken Into 3 Times On West Loop Block – Block Club Chicago

Fire Scorches Three Cars In West Town Alley: This Is A Loss For Us – Chicago Tribune

Series Of Vehicles Damaged, Ransacked Throughout West Garfield Park This Month – Chicago Sun-Times

Robber Targeting Taxi Drivers In Park Manor – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago

Police: Series Of Garage Burglaries Reported In Hegewisch – Chicago Sun-Times

Chicago Based Truck Maker Caterpillar Gets In Electric-Car Business With Fisker Investment – L.A. Biz

Alderman Rejects Two-Tower Plan For Chicago Spire Site Over Traffic Access, Other Issues – Crain’s Chicago Business

Tone Deaf Taxpayer Leeches At Active Transportation Alliance Think They Have Public Support For More Taxpayer Funded Bike Boondoggles, Even Though Only 1 Percent Of Chicagoans Commute By Bike – Active Transportation Alliance

Once Again, Transit Boondoggle Supporters Use Misguided Arguments About ‘Racism,’ To Justify Throwing Taxpayer Dollars At Foolish Projects – Chicago Streetsblog

Hearing Today On Lawsuit Seeking To Block Obama Center From Jackson Park, Along With The $200M Taxpayer Funded Road Destruction For The Obama Sledding Hill – CBS 2 Chicago; Judge Says He Won’t Let Suit Against Obama Presidential Center Drag On – Chicago Tribune; As Hurdles Mount For Obama Presidential Center, Worry And Anxiety Grow On South Side – Chicago Tribune; South Side Residents Push For Community Benefits Agreement In Fear Of Gentrification After Obama Center Opening – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago; Woodlawn Residents Push For Anti-Displacement Ordinance Amid Fears Over Obama Library – Block Club Chicago; Alternative Obama Center Designs Revealed Ahead Of Court Hearing – Curbed Chicago; Double Standard For Protecting Park Land On North Side Versus South Side – Chicago Now; City Controls Key Land For Redevelopment Near Obama Presidential Center – Chicago Tribune

Logan Square Anti-Gentrification March Draws 500 People: Fight Today, Vote Tomorrow – Block Club Chicago

Chicago Rent Control On The Ballot – Chicago Reader; Why It Will Be A Disaster For Illinois

The City Says There Are 5,540 Homeless People In Chicago. Advocates Disagree – Chicago Tribune

An Event Venue Proposal Near The 606 In Bucktown Draws Concern From Neighbors Over Parking, Litter, Noise – Block Club Chicago

Amazon Go Store To Open In Illinois Center – Chicago Tribune

CWB Chicago Reports On Ongoing Divvy Bike Theft Problem – CWB Chicago, CWB Chicago

Scooter Company Bird Has Eye On Chicago – Crain’s Chicago Business; A Warning For Chicago — Bird Scooters Pose Hazard For Pedestrians – National Motorists Association Blog

Chicago Needs Counter-Drone Program, Top Mayoral Aide Tells Aldermen – Chicago Sun-Times

Man’s Leg Amputated After He’s Run Over By CTA Bus – Chicago Sun-Times

Rahm Wants More Traffic Clogging CTA Bus Lanes, Like The Loop Link Lanes That Have Been An Utter Traffic Flow Failure – Block Club Chicago

Rahm Wants To Let Even More Connected Developers Dump Parking Problems Along Streets With CTA Bus Service – Block Club Chicago

CTA Will Test Transit Information Screens On Buses – Chicago Sun-Times

CTA-Owned Parking Lot Near Logan Square Monument Could See Huge New Development – Block Club Chicago

How Wheelchair-Friendly Is Chicago – CBS 2 Chicago

Woman Sexually Assaulted While Walking From Bus Stop: Police – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago

Armed Robberies Reported Aboard CTA Red Line At Belmont Early Wednesday – CWB Chicago

CTA Cancels Vintage Train Cars For Anniversary Of City’s First Transit Line – Chicago Tribune

How Did The Red Line Get Under The Chicago River – Block Club Chicago

Intersex Activists Plan L Train Takeover For Intersex Awareness Day – Block Club Chicago

Big Construction Weekend Coming On Metra BNSF Line – Chicago Daily Herald

Person Struck By Metra Train In Downers Grove – Chicago Sun-Times

Naperville Residents Are Waiting 7 Years For A Metra Parking Permit As Officials Brainstorm Fix – Chicago Tribune

The Grid: Exploring The Greektown Neighborhood – Chicago Sun-Times

19th Century Superior Street Row Houses Threatened With Demolition – Loop North News

On Second Try, Committee Oks Registry To Protect Murals From City Graffiti Crews – Chicago Sun-Times

Arts In The Dark Parade Celebrates Halloween, Chicago-Style On State Street – Chicago Sun-Times

New Group Targets Overlooked Stretch Of Chicago River – Chicago Tonight

We Don’t Need Additional Barriers To Stop Asian Carp From Reaching Great Lakes – Chicago Sun-Times

Evanston Street Cleaning Parking Fines May More Than Double – Evanston Now

Evanston Plans To Revamp Free Holiday Parking Deal – Evanston Now

Preservation Panel Rejects Demolition For Historic Sheridan Road Mansion – Evanston Now

How Arlington Heights Is Hoping To Make Downtown Parking Better – Chicago Daily Herald

Algonquin Township Highway Commissioner’s Salt Order Violates State Code – Northwest Herald

Algonquin Township Trustees Reject Road District’s Request To Transfer Money For Legal Fees – Northwest Herald

Letter — Route 53 Workzone Near Woodfield Mall Is Tragedy In Waiting – Chicago Daily Herald

Is It Time To Lift Flossmoor’s Notorious Parking Ban On Pickup Trucks? Voters Weigh In Next Month – Chicago Tribune

For Some Wisconsin Voters, Road Quality Is A Major Concern – Wisconsin Public Radio

Teen At Wheel Of SUV Before Mag Mile Crash: Officials – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago

School District Hires Alleged Shooter In Road-Rage Incident – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago

Driver Runs Into Knife-Wielding Man, Killing Him: Police – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago

Tried To Lure Boy With Candy Near Logan Square School During Recess, Police Say – Block Club Chicago

Man Gets 12 Years For Robbing Rideshare Driver At Gunpoint In Glen Ellyn – Chicago Sun-Times

Algonquin Police Search For 2 Suspects In Store Robbery, Carjacking – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago

Mom Who Crashed Into Aurora Pond, Left Child In Car Considers Plea Deal – Chicago Daily Herald

CHIRAQ REPORT — 2 Killed, 1 Hurt In Shooting, Crash On I-57 – WBBM AM 780 News Radio Chicago; River North: Two Vehicle Related Shootings In 30 Minutes Overnight – CWB Chicago

Vehicle Crashes Into Hyde Park Produce, Injures Customer – Chicago Sun-Times

Truck Catches On Fire On Dan Ryan; Expressway Briefly Shut Down – Chicago Sun-Times

NATIONAL AND WORLD HEADLINES

Opinion — How Drunk Is Too Drunk to Drive – Governing

No Front License Plate? Fix It Or Face A Hefty Fine – Orange County Register

Why The Vision Zero War On Cars Ignores The History Of Failure With Efforts To Control Transportation Choice – National Motorists Association Blog

Red Light Camera Financial Information Goes Public – The Newspaper

Texas School Bus Chief Busted In Photo Enforcement Scandal – The Newspaper

Gas Price National Average Down Two Weeks In A Row – Gas Buddy Blog

Will Californians Strike A Blow For Lower Taxes And Gasoline Prices – The Hill

New York AG Sues Exxon Mobil, Says Company Downplayed Climate Change Risks – The Hill

Trump Admin Approves Arctic Offshore Oil Drilling Project Off Alaska’s Coast – The Hill

The Saudi Oil Weapon And The Energy Market: What Investors Need To Know – Nightly Business Report; Saudi Energy Minister: No Intention Of 1973-Style Oil Embargo – The Hill; Saudi Arabia Shows Need To End Addiction To Middle Eastern Oil – The Hill; Dem Senator Calls For Ban On Saudi Arabian Oil Imports – The Hill

Why Not To Bet On A $1 Trillion Infrastructure Deal – Politico

Report: One-Third Of Major U.S. Urban Roads Deteriorated, Work Backlog Growing As Traffic Increases – Equipment World

With Colorado Fracking Measure, Battle Over Oil And Gas Comes To A Head – Governing

In Governors’ Races, Potholes and Pipes Become Major Issues – Governing

NADA Study: No Sign of the Personal Vehicle Ownership Apocalypse – NADA

Dealers Hopeful New Mobility Options Mean New Revenue Streams, Study Shows – Forbes

How Car Subscription App Fair Wants To Disrupt The Market For Car Loans Using Subscriptions – CNBC

Car Owners Want Full Access To Their Data – Auto Connected Car

What Your Car Knows About You — And Who It’s Telling – WTOP 103.5 FM Washington DC

Bring Out Your Dead: Sedans, Ford Dominate Discontinued Vehicles Of 2019 – Chicago Tribune — Photo Gallery

Is Auto Safety All About Profit – National Motorists Association Blog

How Technology Has Shifted The Way We Buy Cars – National Motorists Association Blog

Ford Starts Us Production Of The Ranger Pickup For The First Time In Years – Nightly Business Report

Ford Hires New China Chief To Tackle Daunting Turnaround Task – Reuters

Ford Seeks A Different Kind Of Green In Reusing Michigan Plant – Auto Blog

Ford To Use New Miracle Material To Make Cars Quieter – Motor Authority

Ford Expects Us To Trust Its V-to-V Communication With Life And Death Decisions – Top Speed

Prices For Used Harley Bikes Are Near Historic Lows, But Not For Long – Nightly Business Report; Harley-Davidson Sales Plunge After Trump Said He Would Back Boycott – The Hill

University: Truck Pollution Research Cited By EPA Was Not Accurate – The Hill

California: Tougher Rules To Curb Vehicle Pollution – Capitol Weekly

GM Recalls Raft Of Cadillac, Chevy, And GMC Vehicles Over Noncompliant Seatbelts – The Car Connection

BMW To Recall 1.6 Million Vehicles Worldwide Over Fire Risk – CNBC

156,000 Mazda Cars And Crossover Suvs Added To Takata Airbag Recall – The Car Connection

Tesla Slips Several Spots In Consumer Reports Reliability Ranking – CNBC

Twitter Locks Tesla CEO Elon Musk’s Account After Bizarre Posts – Telegraph

Are We Really Ready For RoboCars – National Motorists Association Blog

Autonomous Vehicles Have Some Regulatory Roadblocks To Navigate – Gov Tech

Self-Driving Car Industry Needs Better Metrics, USDOT’s Kan Says – Bloomberg

Safety Is No Argument for Robocars – Institute Of Electrical And Electronics Engineers

Cities Have Taken The Lead In Regulating Driverless Vehicles – City Lab

Latest Intel Study Finds People Expect Self-Driving Cars To Be Common In 50 Years – Business Wire

Mobileye Opens Up Driverless Tech As Tie-Up With Intel Deepens – Yahoo Finance

Nvidia Delivers Its Self-Driving Car Safety Report To The Feds – The Verge

Federal Regulator Halts Florida Tests Of Self-Driving School Shuttle – The Hill

Ford’s Self-Driving Cars Are First To Hit D.C. Roads – Mashable

GM’s Self-Driving Car Reportedly Has Trouble Recognizing Pedestrians – Engadget

Uber And Toyota Team Up In Race For Driverless Cars – Hermann Herald

Lyft Acquires Blue Vision Labs To Elevate Its Moves In Self-Driving – Crunchbase

Nissan Digging Deep Into Human Behavior For Autonomy – Ward’s Auto

Mapping Every Driverless Car Crash In California So Far – Tech

New Jersey Lawmakers Consider Rules, Urge Task Force For Driverless Cars – Law

Ohio Leaders Want To Be At The Forefront Of Driverless Tech. Here’s What They’re Doing – Dayton Daily News; Autonomous Shuttle Tech Gets Test Run In Ohio – Curbed

If You’re In Arlington, Texas, Then You’ll Want To Catch A Ride From One Of Drive.Ai’s Self-Driving Vans – The Sitch

University Of Minnesota Research Shows How Roads Can Be Greener With Driverless Vehicles – Minneapolis Star-Tribune

Mazda To Accelerate Electrification – The Japan News

VW’s Electrify America To Install EV Chargers Along The Ohio Turnpike – Engadget

Truck Makers Rev Up For Rollout Of Electric Big Rigs – Reuters

Are Hydrogen Fuel Cell Vehicles Safe – Hybrid Cars

Uber Planning Fleet Of Food Delivery Drones – The Hill

Uber Plans To Go All-Electric By 2025 In London – The Hill

Uber Eats To Reach 70 Percent Of U.S. Population By Year’s End – Chicago Tribune

Uber’s Revolutionary Software May Be A Double-Edged Sword – The Hill

Uber Sees Itself As The Next Potential Amazon But Others See It As The Next Yahoo – Vanity Fair

Is Uber The Enemy Or Ally Of Public Transit – City Lab

Uber To Offer $10 Off Ride To The Polls On Election Day – The Hill

Lyft Partnering With Latino Activist Group To Take Voters To Polls After Only Polling Station Moved – The Hill

Meet Lyft’s First Head Of Social Impact And Its First Sustainability Director – Green Biz

Lyft Has a New $300 Monthly Subscription Plan — Here’s How It Works – Travel And Leisure

Skip Over Traffic? Soon This Personal Helicopter Could Come To Crowded Cities – USA TODAY

In Swipe At Amazon, Target To Offer Free Two-Day Shipping For Holiday Season – The Hill; Walmart, Battling Amazon, Extends Free Two-Day Shipping Offer To Third-Party Items – Chicago Tribune

Christmas Wish For UPS: A Better Holiday Shipping Season – Chicago Tribune

Vintage Plane Crashes Onto Cal. Freeway – CBS 2 Los Angeles

North Carolina Police Officer Fatally Shoots Black Motorist – TIME

Kitten Found Glued To Oregon Road, Rescued By Man Driving To Work – Fox News

What Are Replacement Engines and When to Buy One – National Motorists Association Blog

Wife Uses Parking Brake, Husband Gets Mad, Motormouth Suggests Second Opinion – Chicago Tribune

Skip Scooters Get A Latch So They Don’t Junk Up The Sidewalks – WIRED

Electric Scooters Are Fun, But Nobody Knows What To Do With Them Yet – Vice

Is The NYC Subway Headed For Doom – Commune

China Opens World’s Longest Sea Bridge And Tunnel To Connect Hong And Macau To Mainland China – ABC News

France OKs Congestion Pricing To Reduce Traffic Jams – Automotive News

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Source: http://theexpiredmeter.com/2018/10/the-drivers-side-news-from-the-motorists-perspective-808/

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gardenpeony71-blog · 5 years