#i set up that perch for them knowing theyd love it and i was so confused they werent laying there

[cascadianights]

There's a perch right above the heater with a weighted blanket lying on it, and a view of the entire bed, waiting for my cats.

Its been open for weeks but they never used it. Then my senior cat went to sleep there, looking out over her entire family. She never woke up.

That day my other cat groomed my hair for 30 minutes straight, and has slept in that spot constantly since.

[coffeecakefanfics]

Mosaic | B.B x Fem!Reader

An: I can’t tell if I like this but have it anyway

Fluff? idfk

requests are open

words: 2,011

It started innocently enough.  When Bucky was brought to the compound Steve had taken the young girl under his wing, treated her as his kid.  Though in all fairness she was Stark's actual kid first, she never minded Steve stepping in as a second parent. She actually appreciated Steve and Bucky coming to visit her in her room or when theyd all sit in the living room and watch movies, catching the pair up on things they’d missed. 

Steve had to go on a mission, it left a few other Avengers, Wanda, Nat, Bruce, Bucky, and Peter (who popped in every now and then to ask for help from the older girl). 

“Hey Guys, can you do me a favor and look at this piece and tell me what you think?” She asked, carrying a large canvas into the Kitchen. Wanda stood at the stove, Pepper was sat at the counter typing on her laptop and Bucky was perched at the table, a cold look on his face. 

“Show,” Wanda grinned and turned from the stove.

“It’s for my senior portfolio, my theme is “Lost in Time”,” Y/N spun the canvas, setting it on the table.  It was a painting, a painting of Steve and Bucky from the forties, a painting of a picture that to Bucky’s knowledge had been lost. The breath left his lungs and tears sat at the edge of his eyes. 

“I Figured I’d paint my two favorite guys, you know, since you literally were lost in time and all,” she gulped the lump in her throat at everyones silence. 

“Do, do you have more?” Bucky asked barely above a whisper, his fingers willed him to reach out. Y/n slowly nodded and peeked down at the painting. It was the first thing he’d ever said to her, and her alone.  It made her heart skip and her stomach flutter. 

“It’s beautiful Y/n. I’m sure this is the one that’ll get you the scholarship,” Pepper smiled and stood, kissing the top of the girls head. 

“Thanks Pepper, Hey Wanda how long till dinner?”

“About 30 minutes dear,” Wanda smiled at the girl. 

“Okay, Bucky I can. . .Show you the others, if you’d like that,” Y/n spoke slowly, testing the waters.  Receiving a nod in response the girl hugged Wanda and kissed Pepper on the cheek before leading the man up to her room.  The walls were a soft white and were littered with paintings and posters and vinyl records.  Bucky watched as she set the painting on an easel.  

“This one is one of Steve, When he was doing the propaganda tour,” she smirked and pointed to the painting. 

“That one is of a little boy i’d found in an old photograph, he’s polish.  Oh this one, is actually inspired by Gone with the Wind umm, it’s one of my favorite books and movies that’s a period piece,” she motioned to a painting of a woman on a swing in one of the big puffy dresses. 

“It was mine too,” Bucky almost, almost smiled.

“I have a copy of both if you’d like to ever read or watch it,” she beamed at him.  It set something in him ablaze.

Here she was 25, sitting in her apartment on facetime with her little sister, working on her portfolio 

“Morgan I promise to come see you and mom this weekend, I just have work,” Y/n laughed at her sister.

“But I miss you now,” The little girl frowned. 

“I miss you too goofball,” her eyes welled up.

“Mommy says you’re going to be famous,” Morgan spoke pointedly into the camera. Y/n let out a chuckle at her sister. 

“Don’t jump baby, I still have a lot of work to do,” she smiled.  

“Mommy also said daddy would be proud of us,” her heart panged at that.  

“He would Morgs, you know, Daddy loved you very much,” Y/n felt tears slip from her eyes. 

“Come on Morgan, dinner, “ Pepper spoke, “Say bye to Sissy,” 

“Bye, Hurry home”

“I will” Morgan passed the phone to Pepper. 

“How are you doing Sweetie?” Pepper had a solemn smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . “ Y/n stopped. “I miss him, everyday,” the tears spilled over.

“I know baby, I miss him too. Our door is always open if you want to stay,” Pepper tried not to cry, for Morgan. 

“Thanks mom, Give Morgan a huge hug for me okay, I’ll see you this weekend,” Y/n choked. Pepper said her goodbyes and hung up the phone.  (E/c) eyes drifted to the larger than most canvas across the room,  the canvas covered her dining table and was adorned with a half painted portrait of her dad, Steve and Nat.  The memorial piece would be hung publicly at the new Stark Memorial building.  She tried to finish it, the unveiling was in two weeks, but nothing felt right.  It had been 6 months, 6 long months without her dad, without Nat, without Steve.  

A gentle knock drug her attention to the door.  She drug her feet as she crossed the room, opening the door as much as the chain would let her standing before her was Bucky and the New Captain America, Sam Wilson himself. She gasped and slammed the door shut, flinging it open and wrapping her arms tightly around Bucky.  The tears fell again. 

“Holy shit, how, how did you find me?” she asked as she pulled back and threw her arms around Sam. 

“Had to ask your stepmother,” Sam smirked when Y/n stepped back. 

“In, come in, sorry,” she stepped aside and let the men in.  The two smirked at the decor in the apartment. 

“You always did know how to make a place feel like home,” Sam joked and let his eyes drift over pictures of her with the Avengers. 

She turned her attention to Bucky who shifted in his shoes. “I missed you Buck,” she smiled at him. 

“Missed you too doll,” he bit his cheek. “Sorry I didn’t call I-” 

“Don’t” Bucky gave her a look. “Don’t blame yourself, you had a lot going on, so did I, but it’s okay you’re here now, so chill,” she smiled and nudged him, earning a light chuckle. 

“So what brings you handsome men to my little home?” she joked and pulled down two wine glasses 

“Well, we wanted to check on you, it’s been 6 months. Hear you’ve been busy?” Sam questioned, and thanked her when she handed him the wine. 

“Yeah um, I managed to get into an art exhibit, and I’m working on a piece for the Stark Memorial building,” she handed a bottle of beer to Bucky.  She’d never admit it, but she kept a six pack in the fridge for if he ever stopped by. 

“Stark Memorial?” Bucky asked. 

“Uh Yeah the memorial building, one of my artist friends is carving the statues out front of Steve, Nat and, Dad, I am in charge of the Painting for the entryway, the one that’ll hang above the door.  The memorial is going to display the suits and tech and stuff like that I don’t know the specifics,” She stammered on.  The three sat and talked for hours before Sam had to go, it was getting late and he didn’t want to miss his flight in the morning. 

“Bucky?” her voice was soft.

“Yeah Y/n?” he looked at her. Regret filled his belly as he took in her frame. 

“Do you mind staying a little longer, it’s been a while and I missed you,” her voice was shaking, nervous, scared of rejection.

“Of course,” he nodded and sat back down. 

“So therapy?” she spoke, her tone lighter.  Bucky let out a groan. 

“Do NOT get me started,” he rolled his eyes.  Y/n let out a laugh, a laugh that he missed.  

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, in fact he would sit and watch her name light up his shitty phone.  He was afraid, afraid that he would get attached, that she would leave him too. That his heart would betray him yet again.  He was Afraid of losing her, of loosing the only other person he felt at home with until now. 

“I’m proud of you Buck,” she swirled her wine, he hadn’t noticed she’d brought the bottle to the table. 

“For?”

“Trusting Sam,” she peeked up at him. A soft pink dusted his cheeks. He took a sip of his beer, missing the feeling of being tipsy or drunk. 

“I wanted to call,” he blurted out.  His words took the girl aback. 

“I just, I couldn’t bring myself to, not after what happened,” he cleared his throat.

“Oh Buck,” she set her glass down and stood up. “Come here,” she held her hand to him.  He traced his eyes over her hand, up the expanse of her arm, over the curve of her shoulder, before allowing himself to submit to her.  Her hand was soft, warm, clammy.  She led him through her apartment and opened a door.  She pulled him through.   With a flick of the switch the room buzzed to life, her studio.  His eyes danced around the murals and paintings that littered the desks and shelves and walls.  His eyes were directed to a desk in the corner, a sheet was draped over a canvas.  Her fingers lifted the dust colored fabric to reveal a painting that knock the air out of Bucky’s lungs and made his eyes well up.  The same effect her first painting had on him now knocked him breathless once again.  It was the two of them, sat side by side in the quinjet, his first mission.  The two wore huge smiles across their faces.  Her hair was set back neatly and Bucky had his pinned back, courtesy of the girl next to him.  God only knows what had them all smiled, but that was the moment they realized they needed each other.  

The mosaics of paintings around the room started to make his spin, most were snippets of them. Have you ever taken that first sip of coffee? The way it slides down your throat and hits your belly so well it speaks to the soul.  The feeling Bucky felt when he looked back at Y/n again.  Her hair was messy from work, her lips stained from the wine, the way her clothes fell on her body had Bucky’s head spinning.  He felt almost dizzy? Is dizzy the word he felt.  He let himself go, entirely, giving in to the craving of her skin on his.  He enveloped her in a hug that was nothing short than the blanket of security she had longed for since her dad passed, since Steve left, Since Bucky hadn’t returned her calls.  The barrier between the two crumbled as he cradled the back of her neck gently in his hand, the cool metal pressing her back to be closer, willing himself to conjoin with her, to never leave her again.  Tears fell from his eyes this time. 

“I was scared,” he said. “Steve left me, he chose her, and I didn’t want to lose you too,”? He choked. 

“Buck?” He couldn’t respond, only nod. 

“Your painting was the one to get my scholarship,” she spoke, her voice was shaky, small. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he pulled back, letting his fingers brush over her cheek. “So proud” he pursed his lips. 

“I buy plums and beer just in case you come by, I reread Gone With the Wind and the Hobbit when I'm sad because it was your favorite. I sleep with my window cracked because hearing outside made you sleep better. I never wash my clothes on Wednesday because that was your day.  I am a mosaic of you and all of your pieces,” the way she looked at him shattered every doubt he had.  The way her lips felt against his shattered hers.  The two wrapped themselves in each other, relishing in the feeling of releasing pent up emotions.

[em0avacado]

The New Neighbour- Angel Reyes

A/N: So this is the very first fic im posting here on tumblr and i’m lowkey nervous but aye who cares? I hope y’all enjoy this? maybe some feedback? thatd be appreciated but anyways here we go.

there’s no trigger warnings aside from some swearing? i think??

word count is : 1318 words

The very first time she ever saw Angel Reyes was late on a sunny, overwhelmingly hot afternoon and she was in the middle of hauling boxes from the rusting grey truck that sat in the dead center of her driveway. Fifteen steps from the door to the truck, and fifteen vice versa. Counting each time she went back for yet another dull brown box, it’s contents scribbled lazily on the lid as she stacked them in the first room of the house she’d purchased to get away from a life she’d rather forget.

She caught a quick glimpse of her neighbour just before stepping past the threshold of her front door. A tall man, a very handsome, tall man, defined features, his brows pulled together, and she couldn’t pin if it was curiosity or frustration but the few lines that creased deep between his furrowed eyebrows were very apparent. Setting the second last box on the ground next to the towers built with previous, identical, brown boxes, she headed out with a little more pep in her step to grab the last box and lock up the truck. A slight hope to catch another glimpse at the beautiful stranger dissipated when he wasn’t standing in his own driveway, a shrug fell from her shoulders as she went back, grabbing the last box and locking up the truck. Heading back in, she began her journey of unboxing and creating a fresh start for herself.

The second time she saw Angel Reyes, she was, once again, on her way back into her home, except this time all she had on her was a black bag that hung off her left shoulder, her arm cradled against the zipper and her hand wrapped around the strap. Strands of her hair stuck out every which way, the bun that sat snug to the top of her head just hours ago was slouched to the side, a very obvious depiction of how her day had went. It had been very late in the evening, the sun was just setting and she was surrounded with orange and yellow hues, a set of colours that seemed to perfectly compliment the skin tone of the man who lived next door. His kutte with the word ‘Mayans’ plastered on the back, she could tell that he wore the leather with a sense of pride. His hair smoothly slicked back, the sleeves flannel he wore hugged his defined biceps perfectly. A small smile curled the corners of her lips upwards, she gave him a slight nod, to which he returned, as she shoved her key in the lock of her front door. Dropping her bag to the ground once inside, she was about ready to collapse just like that, on her bed.

That’s how it had gone for weeks, she was on her way into her home, when he was just leaving, some days she didn’t even catch him in the corner of her eye as she made her way home. But, one a Saturday, her first time off in months after working her hands to the bone and hardly getting enough sleep, she nearly slept the day away, but late afternoon, she dragged her sluggish self out of bed and decided it was the perfect day to start one of the books that had been collecting dust on her shelves.

The porch that surrounded the front of her home was minimal, but there was enough space for a few chairs and a little table that sat beside the chair she was glued to. A thick set of glasses perched on the bridge the nose that was buried deep within the spine of the book in her hands. She had her hair up again, a massive, sloppy mess of thick curls thrown together at the top of her head, a few stray curls springing loose here and there. Her eyes ran along the sentences that lined the page, picking up pace as the story got more and more intense. She barely noticed the footsteps coming up the two wooden steps to her little porch, stuck with her eyes on the turning pages.

“Uh, hello?” a velvety smooth voice spoke up after a few moments, she would’ve jumped, had she heard him fully. Mouthing the words on the page softly to herself as her eyes continued to flit down the next part of the story.

“You know, ignoring people is rude, your ma never teach you that?” the same voice spoke up again, and had it not been in that moment, she might’ve been attracted to the voice had she not show obvious signs of irritation when he interrupted her. “heelllooooo? Are you dead?” it popped up again.

“Shut the fuck up. no way.” she muttered, still largely engrossed in the book at hand and only half realizing there was someone just a few short feet away from her. She turned to the next page so fast she could’ve probably given herself a paper cut. Her eyes quickly glazed over with tears, suddenly riddled with emotion as the story took a dark turn, which is when the man on her porch took it upon himself to snap his fingers in front of her face. Of course, for some odd reason, she took it upon herself to grab onto his hand and sink her teeth into his arm, immediately alarming him as his eyes blew wide.

Yanking his arm from her grasp, which is when her mind came fully too, and realization hit her. Her hands flew to her face, covering her mouth quickly and her book hitting the ground as she stood up. “oh my god! holy shit! i’m so, SO sorry!”

A fit of laughter rolled passed his lips, shaking his head at her. He looked at her like she was entirely insane, and she was. But in hilarious ways.

“is that how you greet all your new neighbours?” he inquired, raising one of his perfectly shaped brows at the woman. “because if it is, do you mind me asking where you’re from?” that smirk on his face was one that appeared quickly, but one that she wouldn’t ever forget. “I’m Angel, by the way. Angel Reyes.” he said, his other hand rubbing over the very obvious teeth marks in his wrist.

Some nights, Angel would add a few details here and there, depending on just how tired their kids were, but tonight, by the time he got to the part where they’d usual start giggling by the time they got to the part where their mom bit their dad before they even really met, they were out cold. It was a routine, every night your husband made it home in time for bed, your boys would usher into his lap and theyd ask him to tell stories about how mommy and daddy fell in love. Your oldest was barely nine, your youngest just turned six and your home was filled with so much love.

With gentle ease, Angel set each boy down in their beds and he snuck out of the room, shutting off the lights and closing the door, he made his way into the bedroom where she’d just gotten out of the shower. Applying lotion to her legs, she stood in the clouds of fog that poured out the bathroom door, highlighting every inch of her. A smile made its way to his lips, seeing the love of his life standing there in all her glory, projecting nothing but beauty and confidence. “You know, mi vida, every time I tell them that story, I fall harder for you.” he cooed at her, stepping closer, his hands found their way around her waist. “and every time i see you like this, I get harder for you.” he whispered, leaning closer to her ear. A soft fit of giggles escaped her lips, rolling her eyes at his teasing.

[angrylizardjacket]

like flying [1] {Brian May}

A/N: Stardust AU!!! Mainly a set-up chapter. they/them, fallen star!reader, please please please let me know what you think!!

When one spends their life with their eyes trained on the sky, they tend to miss what’s right in front of them. 

Freddie says that a lot, usually when he’s up by the helm of the ship, and has just witnessed Brian, who is running across the deck trying to get the best vantage point of the sky through the clouds, run straight into John, who in fairness, is equally distracted by the impending storm.

“Could you at least warn us next time?” Brian calls over a crack of thunder.

“Being your guide dog isn’t my job.” Freddie’s glaring into the storm, a white-knuckled grip on the wheel as he prepared to whether it. John doesn’t seem too bothered by it, just picks up his scattered tools, straightens his googles, and heads towards the bow of the ship.

“What about you, ya jackal?” Brian levels a glare at where their resident Warlock had taken up residence on the banister of the quarterdeck, laughing as he watches the events unfold from his vantage point by the Captain. Roger sits with his ankles crossed, balancing with an unnatural ease, and for good reason; his favourite thing was using his magic to make it look like himself appear just that little bit better than the humans around him, irritating git. 

“You should watch where you’re going.” Is all he offers, eyes shining as he watches a crack of lightning streak across the sky.

“I’m trying to watch where we’re all going.” Brian huffs, rolling up his map and putting it in it’s holder for safekeeping. “Anyways, the storms dead ahead, you don’t need me to guide you. I’ll be down by the barrels until this is all over.” And with that he descends further into the ship to keep an eye on, and switch out the lightning barrels as they’re being filled.

From his vantage point on the gun deck, which had initially been for show, and had now been converted into the main collection point that all the lightning funnelled into, Brian could catch glimpses of the storm raging outside, and feel as it knocked the ship about. He had absolute faith in Deaky’s designs, they’d been through far worse and come out singing before, and for now he just contented himself with making sure that none of the lightning barrels overflowed, and occasionally catching a glimpse of stars through the clouds. 

There was no denying he was rather enamoured with them, at least as a concept; spending thousands of years bringing light to the world in it’s darkest hours, holding their constellations for hundred, even thousands of years, watching silently as the universe passes them by, all without complaint. There was something beautiful, artistic about the way they arranged themselves, something that made Brian feel so unbelievably small, and occasionally futile, in comparison. But their constant nature was often the only things that kept him sane aboard this ship, and so he wouldn’t begrudge the stars their shining constance, he’d just be thankful they shone at all, and kept him in a job, and ironically, kept him grounded. 

Roger joins him almost immediately after the storm passes. Brian’s carefully distilling a little of the freshest lightning into a little sample size if the buyer’s unconvinced of it’s quality, which is a tricky process involving heat-proof mittens and a weird metal hose, and Roger pulls off the lid of the barrel without a second thought. By now, Brian doesn’t even flinch; Roger’s adept at keeping the lightning contained with his magic and a flick of his wrist, and looks into the crackling metal barrel without any hesitation.

“Seems like we’ve got a good batch on our hands.” Roger tries to sound like he knows what he’s talking about, like he doesn’t say that every time because he’s a little in awe at the sight of what’s essentially bottled lightning. Brian doesn’t comment. “Well I appreciate your candor, I did do an excellent job.” Roger fills in the blanks with exactly what he wants to hear, and he steps back, stretching out his hand, and there’s a panic that rises in Brian’s chest as what appears to be an electrified serpent rises from the barrel.

“Do you have to show off like that?” Brian asks, deadpan, trying his hardest to hide the fear that the loud, electric snaps bring out in him. After a moment, he caps the sample and shuts off the little vent that he distills the lightning from before taking away the piping, while Roger rolls his eyes but obligingly shoves the lightning back into the barrel. 

As he’s capping it, his hold on the lightning slips for just a moment, and there’s a sudden burst as the not yet secured cap is torn through from his grip, rocketing faster than the eye can see up through the roof of the deck, and into the sky. Electricity bursts forth, fire blooming where the lighting hits the walls and floor in an instant, the very power of it sending both Roger and Brian to opposite ends of the room; it’s deafening, overwhelming, and it takes all of Roger’s focus to wrangle the electricity back under control.

“Spare lid!” He shouts, which Brian parrots back mockingly, looking around.

“We’ve never needed a spare lid why would we have one?!” He cries, and can hear, in the now still night air outside, Freddie cursing up a blue streak as he and Deaky come over to the newly formed hole in the floor of the deck to investigate. 

“Because it’s better to be safe than sorry!” Roger retorts, and suddenly there’s a pair of goggles looking down at them, Deaky, alongside their incredibly annoyed Captain.

“What the blood hell has happened?”

“Roger-” Brian tried to explain as he was putting out fires across the room, but he was cut off.

“We need a spare lid for this batch, okay? I’ll explain after.” Roger insisted, much to both Freddie and Brian’s chagrin.

“We don’t have a spare lid.” Deaky responded, and his face disappeared from the hole where they had been looking in. Freddie’s gaze turns skyward, as if trying to see if the lid was falling back to Earth, though he seemed transfixed.

“Ha! I told you!” Brian cried, and Roger rolled his eyes, as Deaky showed up at the door a few moments later, pulling various items from his tool belt as he set about making a make-shift lid.

“It won’t hold forever.” Deaky explained, “and we can’t sell this batch, I’ve basically just welded a metal plate to the top, and added some insulator. We need to get a new lid.” Roger relaxed, the sudden exertion and overuse of his powers hitting him all at once, though they all jumped when he let go of his hold of the electricity and it crashed threateningly at the new lid.

“How long do we have?” Roger asks, arms crossed as he puts out an on-fire chair with a wave of his hand before collapsing into it. Brian wants to make a snarky remark, but he’s too busy putting out fires of his own, and even at a glance Roger looks like he’s death standing, or sitting as the case may be; either way he’s at his limit. 

“A few days, maybe? I did the best I could given,” and he waves his hand around the ashy room and scattered supplies, “but those lids are specially designed.” And after stamping out a fire by the door, he takes off his goggles. “Worst comes to worst, I can crack the lid and we can chuck it overboard; it’ll come loose in the air and won’t be our problem.” 

“And waste a perfectly good barrel? I don’t think so, dear; we’re going to get our lid.” Freddie sounds so confident that it’s a little unnerving, and he’s still looking at the sky. Brian peers up through the hole and tries to follow his gaze.

“How do you even know where it is?” He asked, and Freddie turned with a bright smile, pointing at light in the sky growing steadily brighter at an alarming rate.

“Because it hit a star, and we can watch where it falls.”

The thing about you is that you adored humanity, you just never understood them. You’d always been so caught up in their day-to-day intricacies that you’d never been bored watching empires come and go, or see history repeat itself over and over again. Each little era brought something new, something to shake up the routine, and everyone’s personal lives, and sometimes you were even able to catch a glimpse of love. That was your favourite thing to watch, the way people would fall in love time and time again, and there’s little patterns, people drawn to one another, sometimes you feel as if you’re watching the same souls come back to each other over and over again. If you liked to fantasize about being one of those souls, you would never say anything to the others who shine beside you, bored with the ebb and flow with time that seemed to change little with each passing eon. 

You knew, objectively, that there were people who looked up at you, who even perhaps loved you, but it wasn’t the same, you couldn’t tell them you loved them in the same way, and after all, you liked it where you were, free from the fear of having your heart eaten like you’d seen happen to your brothers and sisters before, free from the fear of rejection; humans tend to like humans, and you knew if given half a chance you’d want to act out your little fantasy. But it wouldn’t come true; even people who looked up at the stars learned to love something on the ground, you’d seen it happen too many times. 

You were secure where you were, one of the brightest shining stars in the sky, glowing as you delighted in the antics of the people below you, and you never thought that would have to change. 

Until what seems to be a metal plate smacks you in the chest, winding you and knocking you from your perch in the sky. You weren’t even able to cry for help as you crash through the atmosphere. Fear has a stranglehold on your whole body, all you can do is clutch the metal to your chest as the ground approaches, and part of you, in hindsight, will be glad that you passed out before you hit the ground.

deadly viper assassination squad: @strangeandwonderfulconcepts @thatgeekspeak @some-back-ground-noise @ma-ntequilla @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @legendsaresooftenwarnings​ @phantom-fangirl-stuff @obsessedwithrogertaylor​ @cosmicsskies​ @sam-writes​ @queen-mischief-fanfiction​

(i just tagged everyone who expressed interest; tag list is always open, feel free to message me or comment on the fic and i’ll add you xx)

[marsupial-tapir]

☾ voltron crew

sleep headcanons for the space kids LETS GO

pidge: Sleep Is For the WEAK. pidge asserts they’ve optimised their sleep schedule into a complex system of power naps, which produce maximum mental output for minimal sleep time and thus skillfully eliminate the need for “”beds””. the fact that they fall asleep in the middle of the day on inconvenient semi-perilous surfaces is an unfortunate side-effect, and one that will be WORKED OUT if u just give them time to TEST THEIR HYPOTHESIS,, shiro,, listen,, its an unperfected theory,,, theyre still mapping out their circadian rhythm but theyve nearlly got it now….  they donnt need to go to bed rig htnow they DONT they can stay up a litlle… longer… nno theyre not falling asleep on their keyboard theyre just… powernapppign… shiro lissten,,., 

oh um also when they were kids pidge and matt shared a room (byproduct of their parents putting them together for convenience when they were tiny, and as they grew up they liked it too much and protested whenever their parents tried to give them their own rooms) and theyd stay up late into the night talking abt science or trying to outdo each other with dumb made-up stories about aliens or making intricate structures out of bedroom items (piece of cake during the day; much more fun in the dark). pidge stopped sleeping properly the day matt disappeared. one day theyre gonna get him back and theyre gonna stay up late again and probably set up prank traps on the ship at 2 in the morning and give shiro grey hairs together and its gonna be great

shiro: u know nobody’s gonna sleep well after 3 years as a prisoner on a galra ship. im sorry space dad. i wish u could rest too. luckily after a few weeks of sleepless nights coran or allura probably notices and then altean tech steps in to help. (theyve got stasis pods or brain-calming alien fruits or something). also helpful are his Pidge Retrieval Missions. some nights when sleep is bad he does a top-bottom search of the ship and the pidge-sized nooks therein. carrying a weakly-protesting 14-year old back to bed is aq surprisingly calming activity. he is lulled to sleep by the fulfilling sense of Dadness

keith: hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since he came out of the galra womb. poor kid. i would like to say that it’s because peaceful sleep messes with his Constantly-Vigilant Cryptid-Spotting Tortured Fashion Icon aesthetic and that he stays up all night watchign illuminati confirmed videos and trying to replicate shiro’s eyeliner technique while listening to mcr albums on repeat,, and not because he lived alone in a freezing shack in a hostile desert,, probably angsting abt whether shiro was alive,, and where his family was,, and how old and isolated he was gonna get before he found out whether bigfoot would ever love him back,,, but regardless of the cause he’s a fitful sleeper and has lived his whole life pretty much getting short snatches of rest here and there throughout the day. he’s never really felt safe enough to know what deep sleep feels like. UNTIL, of course, he boards the castle of the lions, and then suddenly.. its like…. he has a bed?? a?? roof?? the comforting ambience of noises from people who arent gonna try to eat him in the night?? shiro right next door and not in need of rescue?? i mean he still keeps his knife under his pillow but as time goes on he starts getting this weird like. unconsciousness. its kind of like napping but it involves almost no nightmares and goes on for HOURS. he can feel this happening and he is UNCOMFORTABLE like nnO i cant rest i gotta stay VIGILANT i gotta.. i gotta… until he is lulled soundly to sleep by the sound of hunk snoring and coran singing space opera on some far corner of the ship and pidge tapping on their laptop as they perch on the end of keith’s bed (handy hiding place from meddling shiros). he feels safe. its weird. 

lance: i mean the first thing that comes to mind is that scene with lance swanning out of his bedroom draped in a silk bathrobe, nourishing facemask and custom blue lion slippers, glittering with the otherworldly radiance of the ultra-rare Well-Rested Youth, and based on this evidence youd think lance would be the World’s Number One Beauty Sleep Expert. HOWEVER. u remember that post that zoomed right in on lance’s sleep earmuffs and they had green on them?? and looked suspiciously like pidge’s nerdy headphones from episode 1?? ya pidge gave him their headphones because lance has trouble sleeping. hashtag confirmed my dudes. certainly back home lance could sleep 11 hours through the apocalypse in the middle of a storm with a dance party happening next door (when u have to juggle 6 siblings, hunk as a roomie and an obligatory 12 hours beauty sleep u learn to Adapt) but now, lightyears away from home, sleep doesnt come so easily. the ship is quiet in unfamiliar ways, and when ur supposed to be sleeping u cant fill those weird silences with ur own comforting noise. he doesnt talk abt it to anyone, of course. that would be Lame. (but pidge notices him sleeplessly fidgeting one night and quietly lends him their headphones. just to shut him up, of course. sleep well, you fucker.) also important: lance keeps up with a strict nightly skincare routine and adorns himself with luxurious sleepwear each night, partly because u have to look fab to have good dreams,, obviously,, but also bc this doubles as a comforting bedtime ritual. facemask, nourishing space spa-bath, tai-chi before bed, smooch each lion slipper on its little nose. just little bedtime things. he’s not great at going to sleep at first but every night he drops off a little faster. its getting easier.

hunk: sleeps like a log. takes 30 seconds for him to fall asleep and then he’s out like a light for 9 hours. even when he’s anxious. he’ll fall asleep like “oohhh man im so far from home what if we dont MAKE IT BACK what’s zarkon gonna do oh ma - [snoring, 10 hour version]. oh ya he snores. i think this is canon probably?? if it’s not it should be. the depth of his sleep is too profound to be contained within his body. also, hunk is at the nucleus of every communal sleep pile. this works because 6 people can pile onto his huge soft belly and he doesn’t feel a thing. first sleep pile happens because hunk falls asleep in the middle of the training deck; lance drapes himself over him in a show of theatrics and just forgets to get up, probably; shiro tries to extract them but is ambushed by hunk’s remarkable Sleep Hugging reflexes; keith meets a similar fate, not entirely unvoluntarily, and makes a very unconvincing show of protest; pidge pretends to use them all as a comfortable backrest while tapping away at a tablet and promptly falls into the deepest calmest sleep theyve had since they were 6. even when he is asleep hunk spreads wholesomeness and love. god bless my sweet son

coran and allura: i put them together because?? do alteans even need sleep??? have they evolved beyond simple biological constraints?? was 10 000 years of stasis enough and now they’ve stored up enough rest to stay awake for years?? somehow i cant imagine either of them sleeping regularly. HOWEVER coran enthusiastically jumps on the new paladin trend, which “reminds me of viskralian bio-stasis!!” (this he demonstrates by flopping into a gracile position with one eye squeezed shut, humming violently in the key of F). allura remains baffled and slightly disapproving of all the wasted time, despite the flood of positive reviews (HMMMMMMMMMMMMMM JOIN IN PRINCESS HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ITS VERY RELAXING) but one time she walks in on the paladins collapsed in a pile together and shes like… u know what. im gonna let this one slide. this is also the day she learns of the remarkable comfiness of hunks. 

[jimdsmith34]

Someone Is Targeting American Students Abroad

Our reporting shows the murder of 19-year-old Beau Solomon in Rome this week fits a disturbing pattern.”>

ROME If the shocking death of 19-year-old American study-abroad student Beau Solomon after a night of partying in Rome sounds all-too-familiar, thats because it is.

Solomon is the fifth American-born student to die in the last five years on the streets of Romes historical city center. Three, like Solomon, were robbed first. The others, including Andrew Keith Carr, 21, and Han Kwang Lee, 19, were not, but they perished after falling from bridges or high walls after a night out on the town.

Countless others are regularly robbed, raped or attacked every year.

And whos to blame? Apparently no one.

Roman police say it is the fault of the foreign universities for not adequately warning students in study abroad programs about the perils of alcohol consumption or about those who prey on novice drinkers and foreigners abroad.

The drunk American abroad is a well-known entity in Rome and in Florence, another popular destination for study abroad students where behaving badly is often part of the curriculum.

Most locals dont even know what the legal drinking age is in Italy because it doesnt pose much of a problem, since the drink yourself to oblivion culture is not an Italian vice. For the record, the legal age to purchase wine and beer is 16; the legal age to purchase distilled drinks is 18, though ID checks are rare and it is certainly common to see even younger teens with their own glass of wine at a family meal in a restaurant.

The problem is that American college kids who land in Rome often follow a lure that is dangled from day one of their arrival. Cocktail bars and social clubs use the enticement of a non-enforced drinking age and pretty people passing out flyers for cheap parties and pub crawls near campuses. They know that young Americans are especially good customers, and they suck them in with advertisements for nights like thirsty Thursday and Jagerbomb Wednesday. The Colosseum Pub Crawl is one of the citys most popular (and most notorious), and even features drunk Americans holding Old Glory in a Roman piazza on its Facebook page.

Indeed, pub crawls are the most popular way to get smashed, consisting of someone with a bus driving kids who generally arent old enough to drink at home from bar to bar (to bar to bar) where they down shottinis (1 shots) and cocktails until they vomit or pass out.

Last year, a young American woman woke up in a Roman hospital with a fractured spine from being sexually assaulted. The last thing she remembered was getting off the pub-crawl bus somewhere in Rome. And when Kwang Lees body was found on the banks of the Tiber in 2012, he still had his pub-crawl bracelet on his wrist from the night before.

Ask almost any American expat in Rome, and they will tell at least one story about pouring a young, drunk American into a taxi or driving them home late at night in an attempt not only to save the students, but to save the reputation of the country. These Americans come here and get their first taste of freedom and go wild, a spokesperson with Romes police station told The Daily Beast. But the bars that continue to serve inebriated people as well as those who run the pub crawls all share the blame.

The universities say its not up to them to teach college-aged students how to behave. Many of the programs in Rome are very strict and keep close tabs on their foreign students. Others say they do enough to keep the kids safe on campus, and it is instead up to the local authorities and the parents to keep them safe on the streets.

The risk of warning students or their families about potential dangers could be that students wont come, despite the fact that there is no question whatsoever about the benefits of a study abroad program, especially in a place so culturally rich as Rome. But many calls to university programs in Rome for this article were met with apprehension about commenting and warning against focusing too much attention on just one death.

Franco Pavoncello, president of John Cabot University, easily the most popular study abroad program in Rome, where quite unfortunately three of the latest American victims were enrolled, says its not the job of the university to babysit. Its not up to the president of John Cabot University to do an evaluation of the dangers of Romes nightlife, Pavoncello told the Associated Press. Its up to judicial authorities.

Benjamin and Theresa Mogni might not agree. Their 20-year-old son Andrew came to John Cabot from the University of Iowa in 2015. On the day he arrived, he attended a dinner party until around 1 a.m. and then mysteriously fell off a high retaining wall down around 30 or 40 feet onto the Tiber riverbank. Like Solomon, he had also been robbed before he fell. He survived the fall and was airlifted to the United States and tragically died in Chicago three months later.

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Being an American there, you do stand out and you do become a target, Theresa Mogni told a local CBS affiliate in Chicago upon the news of Solomons death. And youve got to understand that and really protect yourself.

Over-indulging aside, there is little doubt to anyone who lives in this city about the presence of predators lurking along the sidelines of almost any occasion to take advantage of all types of foreigners. Religious pilgrims get robbed on buses to the Vatican, young women are frequently drugged with date-rape pills, and young men, it would seem, get robbed and rolled on a regular basis.

Everyone knows these thugs are out there, a bartender at the G-Bar in the Trastevere district, where Solomon had his last drink, told The Daily Beast as she delivered a sloppy tray of shottini to another group of Americans who had recently arrived in Rome. They usually have a girl that lures the boys away, and then their friends mug him. It happens a lot.

When I asked the group of kids at the table she served if theyd heard about Solomon, most said that their parents had sent something about that but few knew any details, including the fact that they were sitting at the same bar where his fateful night began.

Bad things happen everywhere, one girl said as she downed her potent shot. She didnt want to be named because she was only 17 and she didnt want her parents to read that she was out at a bar in Rome. I dont want them to worry.

The dangers of liberal drinking and lawlessness are an open secret everyone seems to know about except, perhaps, the kids who become the victims.

Fortunately, only a tiny fraction of the victims actually get killed. The rest either go back home to deal with the aftermath, or just get stitched up, call their banks for new credit cards and are back out at the bars soon after.

The assailants are rarely caught, or, for that matter, even chased. In Mognis case, police didnt even launch an official investigation into the question of theft or murder for weeks after his accident. Instead they treated it as a mishap. His case is officially open in Rome, but no one is actively investigating and none of the possessions he had on him, including a gold cross, were ever recovered.

In Solomons case, the theft trail is already cold despite the fact that whoever nabbed his credit cards was able to spend around $1,700 before his parents back home even knew he was missing.

Worst of all, perhaps, is that it all happens in plain sight. Several witnesses have said that Solomon was robbed on the picturesque Ponte Sisto Bridge near the bar where he and his new classmates were enjoying the vibrant Roman nightlife. He then apparently chased the predator or predators down to what anyone in Rome would consider the wrong side of the Tiber River, where a lively drug trade thrives among the homeless tents and cardboard box shelters. In broad daylight, thugs are known to throw sticks into the spokes of passing bicycles to mug the riders when they fall; at night any number of crimes take place in the unlit overgrown shrubs where dozens of homeless people have set up encampments.

It was there where Solomon reportedly stumbled onto the tent occupied by Massimo Galioto, a 41-year-old homeless man who was conveniently arrested for homicide shortly after Solomons swollen body was found a mile down the river four days after he disappeared. As a matter of strange coincidence, or not, Galioto was also questioned a few years ago about someone else who had fallen into the river near his perch, though he was never arrested.

Because of a summer festival along the good side of the Tiber River across the water on the night Solomon died, there were ample surveillance cameras that caught at least part of the action, including the moment when Solomon fell into the water and his futile attempts to swim back to shore, though nothing has surfaced that shows the riverbank with the encampment or just how he fell in. Galiotos companion told local reporters that the two men tussled and that Solomon fell into the river and then she and Galioto went back to sleep. They began to argue, she said. They were pushing each other. Massimo pushed him, the boy pushed back, and then he fell in.

Across the river, hundreds of Romans and tourists were still out sipping wine and enjoying a lovely evening under the stars. It all happened in plain sight with no one looking.

The dark scene is reminiscent of what happened to John Durkin, another young American who was found dead in Rome after a night out in 2014. Durkins lifeless body was discovered in a train tunnel right next to the Vatican. An autopsy showed that he was likely dead before an early morning train sliced his legs off. He, too, had been robbed. He was also missing his shirt for reasons no one may ever know. And no one may ever be held accountable for his horrific death, either.

Even though none of this debauchery and lawlessness is much of a secret for those of us who live in Rome, this dark side is clearly not something Americans are told about before they come to one of the most amazing cities on the planet. And even those of us who live here (many with our own teenagers who are potential targets) arent immune. The night my own nearly 17-year-old son went out to meet his friends in Trastevere after Solomons death, I made him read every single gory detail I could find about the case. Thats not going to happen to me, he said. Dont worry.

Easier said than done.

Instead, maybe its time to change something before another dead American or other foreign student ends up dead on the banks of the Tiber. Maybe its time to talk about whats really killing American students in Rome.

source http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/27/someone-is-targeting-american-students-abroad/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2017/11/someone-is-targeting-american-students.html

[adambstingus]

Someone Is Targeting American Students Abroad

Our reporting shows the murder of 19-year-old Beau Solomon in Rome this week fits a disturbing pattern.”>

ROME If the shocking death of 19-year-old American study-abroad student Beau Solomon after a night of partying in Rome sounds all-too-familiar, thats because it is.

Solomon is the fifth American-born student to die in the last five years on the streets of Romes historical city center. Three, like Solomon, were robbed first. The others, including Andrew Keith Carr, 21, and Han Kwang Lee, 19, were not, but they perished after falling from bridges or high walls after a night out on the town.

Countless others are regularly robbed, raped or attacked every year.

And whos to blame? Apparently no one.

Roman police say it is the fault of the foreign universities for not adequately warning students in study abroad programs about the perils of alcohol consumption or about those who prey on novice drinkers and foreigners abroad.

The drunk American abroad is a well-known entity in Rome and in Florence, another popular destination for study abroad students where behaving badly is often part of the curriculum.

Most locals dont even know what the legal drinking age is in Italy because it doesnt pose much of a problem, since the drink yourself to oblivion culture is not an Italian vice. For the record, the legal age to purchase wine and beer is 16; the legal age to purchase distilled drinks is 18, though ID checks are rare and it is certainly common to see even younger teens with their own glass of wine at a family meal in a restaurant.

The problem is that American college kids who land in Rome often follow a lure that is dangled from day one of their arrival. Cocktail bars and social clubs use the enticement of a non-enforced drinking age and pretty people passing out flyers for cheap parties and pub crawls near campuses. They know that young Americans are especially good customers, and they suck them in with advertisements for nights like thirsty Thursday and Jagerbomb Wednesday. The Colosseum Pub Crawl is one of the citys most popular (and most notorious), and even features drunk Americans holding Old Glory in a Roman piazza on its Facebook page.

Indeed, pub crawls are the most popular way to get smashed, consisting of someone with a bus driving kids who generally arent old enough to drink at home from bar to bar (to bar to bar) where they down shottinis (1 shots) and cocktails until they vomit or pass out.

Last year, a young American woman woke up in a Roman hospital with a fractured spine from being sexually assaulted. The last thing she remembered was getting off the pub-crawl bus somewhere in Rome. And when Kwang Lees body was found on the banks of the Tiber in 2012, he still had his pub-crawl bracelet on his wrist from the night before.

Ask almost any American expat in Rome, and they will tell at least one story about pouring a young, drunk American into a taxi or driving them home late at night in an attempt not only to save the students, but to save the reputation of the country. These Americans come here and get their first taste of freedom and go wild, a spokesperson with Romes police station told The Daily Beast. But the bars that continue to serve inebriated people as well as those who run the pub crawls all share the blame.

The universities say its not up to them to teach college-aged students how to behave. Many of the programs in Rome are very strict and keep close tabs on their foreign students. Others say they do enough to keep the kids safe on campus, and it is instead up to the local authorities and the parents to keep them safe on the streets.

The risk of warning students or their families about potential dangers could be that students wont come, despite the fact that there is no question whatsoever about the benefits of a study abroad program, especially in a place so culturally rich as Rome. But many calls to university programs in Rome for this article were met with apprehension about commenting and warning against focusing too much attention on just one death.

Franco Pavoncello, president of John Cabot University, easily the most popular study abroad program in Rome, where quite unfortunately three of the latest American victims were enrolled, says its not the job of the university to babysit. Its not up to the president of John Cabot University to do an evaluation of the dangers of Romes nightlife, Pavoncello told the Associated Press. Its up to judicial authorities.

Benjamin and Theresa Mogni might not agree. Their 20-year-old son Andrew came to John Cabot from the University of Iowa in 2015. On the day he arrived, he attended a dinner party until around 1 a.m. and then mysteriously fell off a high retaining wall down around 30 or 40 feet onto the Tiber riverbank. Like Solomon, he had also been robbed before he fell. He survived the fall and was airlifted to the United States and tragically died in Chicago three months later.

Get The Beast In Your Inbox!

Daily DigestStart and finish your day with the top stories from The Daily Beast.

Cheat SheetA speedy, smart summary of all the news you need to know (and nothing you don’t).

By clicking “Subscribe,” you agree to have read the TermsofUse and PrivacyPolicy

Subscribe

Thank You!

You are now subscribed to the Daily Digest and Cheat Sheet. We will not share your email with anyone for any reason

Being an American there, you do stand out and you do become a target, Theresa Mogni told a local CBS affiliate in Chicago upon the news of Solomons death. And youve got to understand that and really protect yourself.

Over-indulging aside, there is little doubt to anyone who lives in this city about the presence of predators lurking along the sidelines of almost any occasion to take advantage of all types of foreigners. Religious pilgrims get robbed on buses to the Vatican, young women are frequently drugged with date-rape pills, and young men, it would seem, get robbed and rolled on a regular basis.

Everyone knows these thugs are out there, a bartender at the G-Bar in the Trastevere district, where Solomon had his last drink, told The Daily Beast as she delivered a sloppy tray of shottini to another group of Americans who had recently arrived in Rome. They usually have a girl that lures the boys away, and then their friends mug him. It happens a lot.

When I asked the group of kids at the table she served if theyd heard about Solomon, most said that their parents had sent something about that but few knew any details, including the fact that they were sitting at the same bar where his fateful night began.

Bad things happen everywhere, one girl said as she downed her potent shot. She didnt want to be named because she was only 17 and she didnt want her parents to read that she was out at a bar in Rome. I dont want them to worry.

The dangers of liberal drinking and lawlessness are an open secret everyone seems to know about except, perhaps, the kids who become the victims.

Fortunately, only a tiny fraction of the victims actually get killed. The rest either go back home to deal with the aftermath, or just get stitched up, call their banks for new credit cards and are back out at the bars soon after.

The assailants are rarely caught, or, for that matter, even chased. In Mognis case, police didnt even launch an official investigation into the question of theft or murder for weeks after his accident. Instead they treated it as a mishap. His case is officially open in Rome, but no one is actively investigating and none of the possessions he had on him, including a gold cross, were ever recovered.

In Solomons case, the theft trail is already cold despite the fact that whoever nabbed his credit cards was able to spend around $1,700 before his parents back home even knew he was missing.

Worst of all, perhaps, is that it all happens in plain sight. Several witnesses have said that Solomon was robbed on the picturesque Ponte Sisto Bridge near the bar where he and his new classmates were enjoying the vibrant Roman nightlife. He then apparently chased the predator or predators down to what anyone in Rome would consider the wrong side of the Tiber River, where a lively drug trade thrives among the homeless tents and cardboard box shelters. In broad daylight, thugs are known to throw sticks into the spokes of passing bicycles to mug the riders when they fall; at night any number of crimes take place in the unlit overgrown shrubs where dozens of homeless people have set up encampments.

It was there where Solomon reportedly stumbled onto the tent occupied by Massimo Galioto, a 41-year-old homeless man who was conveniently arrested for homicide shortly after Solomons swollen body was found a mile down the river four days after he disappeared. As a matter of strange coincidence, or not, Galioto was also questioned a few years ago about someone else who had fallen into the river near his perch, though he was never arrested.

Because of a summer festival along the good side of the Tiber River across the water on the night Solomon died, there were ample surveillance cameras that caught at least part of the action, including the moment when Solomon fell into the water and his futile attempts to swim back to shore, though nothing has surfaced that shows the riverbank with the encampment or just how he fell in. Galiotos companion told local reporters that the two men tussled and that Solomon fell into the river and then she and Galioto went back to sleep. They began to argue, she said. They were pushing each other. Massimo pushed him, the boy pushed back, and then he fell in.

Across the river, hundreds of Romans and tourists were still out sipping wine and enjoying a lovely evening under the stars. It all happened in plain sight with no one looking.

The dark scene is reminiscent of what happened to John Durkin, another young American who was found dead in Rome after a night out in 2014. Durkins lifeless body was discovered in a train tunnel right next to the Vatican. An autopsy showed that he was likely dead before an early morning train sliced his legs off. He, too, had been robbed. He was also missing his shirt for reasons no one may ever know. And no one may ever be held accountable for his horrific death, either.

Even though none of this debauchery and lawlessness is much of a secret for those of us who live in Rome, this dark side is clearly not something Americans are told about before they come to one of the most amazing cities on the planet. And even those of us who live here (many with our own teenagers who are potential targets) arent immune. The night my own nearly 17-year-old son went out to meet his friends in Trastevere after Solomons death, I made him read every single gory detail I could find about the case. Thats not going to happen to me, he said. Dont worry.

Easier said than done.

Instead, maybe its time to change something before another dead American or other foreign student ends up dead on the banks of the Tiber. Maybe its time to talk about whats really killing American students in Rome.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/27/someone-is-targeting-american-students-abroad/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/167954596447

[samanthasroberts]

Someone Is Targeting American Students Abroad

Our reporting shows the murder of 19-year-old Beau Solomon in Rome this week fits a disturbing pattern.”>

ROME If the shocking death of 19-year-old American study-abroad student Beau Solomon after a night of partying in Rome sounds all-too-familiar, thats because it is.

Solomon is the fifth American-born student to die in the last five years on the streets of Romes historical city center. Three, like Solomon, were robbed first. The others, including Andrew Keith Carr, 21, and Han Kwang Lee, 19, were not, but they perished after falling from bridges or high walls after a night out on the town.

Countless others are regularly robbed, raped or attacked every year.

And whos to blame? Apparently no one.

Roman police say it is the fault of the foreign universities for not adequately warning students in study abroad programs about the perils of alcohol consumption or about those who prey on novice drinkers and foreigners abroad.

The drunk American abroad is a well-known entity in Rome and in Florence, another popular destination for study abroad students where behaving badly is often part of the curriculum.

Most locals dont even know what the legal drinking age is in Italy because it doesnt pose much of a problem, since the drink yourself to oblivion culture is not an Italian vice. For the record, the legal age to purchase wine and beer is 16; the legal age to purchase distilled drinks is 18, though ID checks are rare and it is certainly common to see even younger teens with their own glass of wine at a family meal in a restaurant.

The problem is that American college kids who land in Rome often follow a lure that is dangled from day one of their arrival. Cocktail bars and social clubs use the enticement of a non-enforced drinking age and pretty people passing out flyers for cheap parties and pub crawls near campuses. They know that young Americans are especially good customers, and they suck them in with advertisements for nights like thirsty Thursday and Jagerbomb Wednesday. The Colosseum Pub Crawl is one of the citys most popular (and most notorious), and even features drunk Americans holding Old Glory in a Roman piazza on its Facebook page.

Indeed, pub crawls are the most popular way to get smashed, consisting of someone with a bus driving kids who generally arent old enough to drink at home from bar to bar (to bar to bar) where they down shottinis (1 shots) and cocktails until they vomit or pass out.

Last year, a young American woman woke up in a Roman hospital with a fractured spine from being sexually assaulted. The last thing she remembered was getting off the pub-crawl bus somewhere in Rome. And when Kwang Lees body was found on the banks of the Tiber in 2012, he still had his pub-crawl bracelet on his wrist from the night before.

Ask almost any American expat in Rome, and they will tell at least one story about pouring a young, drunk American into a taxi or driving them home late at night in an attempt not only to save the students, but to save the reputation of the country. These Americans come here and get their first taste of freedom and go wild, a spokesperson with Romes police station told The Daily Beast. But the bars that continue to serve inebriated people as well as those who run the pub crawls all share the blame.

The universities say its not up to them to teach college-aged students how to behave. Many of the programs in Rome are very strict and keep close tabs on their foreign students. Others say they do enough to keep the kids safe on campus, and it is instead up to the local authorities and the parents to keep them safe on the streets.

The risk of warning students or their families about potential dangers could be that students wont come, despite the fact that there is no question whatsoever about the benefits of a study abroad program, especially in a place so culturally rich as Rome. But many calls to university programs in Rome for this article were met with apprehension about commenting and warning against focusing too much attention on just one death.

Franco Pavoncello, president of John Cabot University, easily the most popular study abroad program in Rome, where quite unfortunately three of the latest American victims were enrolled, says its not the job of the university to babysit. Its not up to the president of John Cabot University to do an evaluation of the dangers of Romes nightlife, Pavoncello told the Associated Press. Its up to judicial authorities.

Benjamin and Theresa Mogni might not agree. Their 20-year-old son Andrew came to John Cabot from the University of Iowa in 2015. On the day he arrived, he attended a dinner party until around 1 a.m. and then mysteriously fell off a high retaining wall down around 30 or 40 feet onto the Tiber riverbank. Like Solomon, he had also been robbed before he fell. He survived the fall and was airlifted to the United States and tragically died in Chicago three months later.

Get The Beast In Your Inbox!

Daily DigestStart and finish your day with the top stories from The Daily Beast.

Cheat SheetA speedy, smart summary of all the news you need to know (and nothing you don't).

By clicking "Subscribe," you agree to have read the TermsofUse and PrivacyPolicy

Subscribe

Thank You!

You are now subscribed to the Daily Digest and Cheat Sheet. We will not share your email with anyone for any reason

Being an American there, you do stand out and you do become a target, Theresa Mogni told a local CBS affiliate in Chicago upon the news of Solomons death. And youve got to understand that and really protect yourself.

Over-indulging aside, there is little doubt to anyone who lives in this city about the presence of predators lurking along the sidelines of almost any occasion to take advantage of all types of foreigners. Religious pilgrims get robbed on buses to the Vatican, young women are frequently drugged with date-rape pills, and young men, it would seem, get robbed and rolled on a regular basis.

Everyone knows these thugs are out there, a bartender at the G-Bar in the Trastevere district, where Solomon had his last drink, told The Daily Beast as she delivered a sloppy tray of shottini to another group of Americans who had recently arrived in Rome. They usually have a girl that lures the boys away, and then their friends mug him. It happens a lot.

When I asked the group of kids at the table she served if theyd heard about Solomon, most said that their parents had sent something about that but few knew any details, including the fact that they were sitting at the same bar where his fateful night began.

Bad things happen everywhere, one girl said as she downed her potent shot. She didnt want to be named because she was only 17 and she didnt want her parents to read that she was out at a bar in Rome. I dont want them to worry.

The dangers of liberal drinking and lawlessness are an open secret everyone seems to know about except, perhaps, the kids who become the victims.

Fortunately, only a tiny fraction of the victims actually get killed. The rest either go back home to deal with the aftermath, or just get stitched up, call their banks for new credit cards and are back out at the bars soon after.

The assailants are rarely caught, or, for that matter, even chased. In Mognis case, police didnt even launch an official investigation into the question of theft or murder for weeks after his accident. Instead they treated it as a mishap. His case is officially open in Rome, but no one is actively investigating and none of the possessions he had on him, including a gold cross, were ever recovered.

In Solomons case, the theft trail is already cold despite the fact that whoever nabbed his credit cards was able to spend around $1,700 before his parents back home even knew he was missing.

Worst of all, perhaps, is that it all happens in plain sight. Several witnesses have said that Solomon was robbed on the picturesque Ponte Sisto Bridge near the bar where he and his new classmates were enjoying the vibrant Roman nightlife. He then apparently chased the predator or predators down to what anyone in Rome would consider the wrong side of the Tiber River, where a lively drug trade thrives among the homeless tents and cardboard box shelters. In broad daylight, thugs are known to throw sticks into the spokes of passing bicycles to mug the riders when they fall; at night any number of crimes take place in the unlit overgrown shrubs where dozens of homeless people have set up encampments.

It was there where Solomon reportedly stumbled onto the tent occupied by Massimo Galioto, a 41-year-old homeless man who was conveniently arrested for homicide shortly after Solomons swollen body was found a mile down the river four days after he disappeared. As a matter of strange coincidence, or not, Galioto was also questioned a few years ago about someone else who had fallen into the river near his perch, though he was never arrested.

Because of a summer festival along the good side of the Tiber River across the water on the night Solomon died, there were ample surveillance cameras that caught at least part of the action, including the moment when Solomon fell into the water and his futile attempts to swim back to shore, though nothing has surfaced that shows the riverbank with the encampment or just how he fell in. Galiotos companion told local reporters that the two men tussled and that Solomon fell into the river and then she and Galioto went back to sleep. They began to argue, she said. They were pushing each other. Massimo pushed him, the boy pushed back, and then he fell in.

Across the river, hundreds of Romans and tourists were still out sipping wine and enjoying a lovely evening under the stars. It all happened in plain sight with no one looking.

The dark scene is reminiscent of what happened to John Durkin, another young American who was found dead in Rome after a night out in 2014. Durkins lifeless body was discovered in a train tunnel right next to the Vatican. An autopsy showed that he was likely dead before an early morning train sliced his legs off. He, too, had been robbed. He was also missing his shirt for reasons no one may ever know. And no one may ever be held accountable for his horrific death, either.

Even though none of this debauchery and lawlessness is much of a secret for those of us who live in Rome, this dark side is clearly not something Americans are told about before they come to one of the most amazing cities on the planet. And even those of us who live here (many with our own teenagers who are potential targets) arent immune. The night my own nearly 17-year-old son went out to meet his friends in Trastevere after Solomons death, I made him read every single gory detail I could find about the case. Thats not going to happen to me, he said. Dont worry.

Easier said than done.

Instead, maybe its time to change something before another dead American or other foreign student ends up dead on the banks of the Tiber. Maybe its time to talk about whats really killing American students in Rome.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/27/someone-is-targeting-american-students-abroad/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/11/27/someone-is-targeting-american-students-abroad/

[allofbeercom]

Someone Is Targeting American Students Abroad

Our reporting shows the murder of 19-year-old Beau Solomon in Rome this week fits a disturbing pattern.”>

ROME If the shocking death of 19-year-old American study-abroad student Beau Solomon after a night of partying in Rome sounds all-too-familiar, thats because it is.

Solomon is the fifth American-born student to die in the last five years on the streets of Romes historical city center. Three, like Solomon, were robbed first. The others, including Andrew Keith Carr, 21, and Han Kwang Lee, 19, were not, but they perished after falling from bridges or high walls after a night out on the town.

Countless others are regularly robbed, raped or attacked every year.

And whos to blame? Apparently no one.

Roman police say it is the fault of the foreign universities for not adequately warning students in study abroad programs about the perils of alcohol consumption or about those who prey on novice drinkers and foreigners abroad.

The drunk American abroad is a well-known entity in Rome and in Florence, another popular destination for study abroad students where behaving badly is often part of the curriculum.

Most locals dont even know what the legal drinking age is in Italy because it doesnt pose much of a problem, since the drink yourself to oblivion culture is not an Italian vice. For the record, the legal age to purchase wine and beer is 16; the legal age to purchase distilled drinks is 18, though ID checks are rare and it is certainly common to see even younger teens with their own glass of wine at a family meal in a restaurant.

The problem is that American college kids who land in Rome often follow a lure that is dangled from day one of their arrival. Cocktail bars and social clubs use the enticement of a non-enforced drinking age and pretty people passing out flyers for cheap parties and pub crawls near campuses. They know that young Americans are especially good customers, and they suck them in with advertisements for nights like thirsty Thursday and Jagerbomb Wednesday. The Colosseum Pub Crawl is one of the citys most popular (and most notorious), and even features drunk Americans holding Old Glory in a Roman piazza on its Facebook page.

Indeed, pub crawls are the most popular way to get smashed, consisting of someone with a bus driving kids who generally arent old enough to drink at home from bar to bar (to bar to bar) where they down shottinis (1 shots) and cocktails until they vomit or pass out.

Last year, a young American woman woke up in a Roman hospital with a fractured spine from being sexually assaulted. The last thing she remembered was getting off the pub-crawl bus somewhere in Rome. And when Kwang Lees body was found on the banks of the Tiber in 2012, he still had his pub-crawl bracelet on his wrist from the night before.

Ask almost any American expat in Rome, and they will tell at least one story about pouring a young, drunk American into a taxi or driving them home late at night in an attempt not only to save the students, but to save the reputation of the country. These Americans come here and get their first taste of freedom and go wild, a spokesperson with Romes police station told The Daily Beast. But the bars that continue to serve inebriated people as well as those who run the pub crawls all share the blame.

The universities say its not up to them to teach college-aged students how to behave. Many of the programs in Rome are very strict and keep close tabs on their foreign students. Others say they do enough to keep the kids safe on campus, and it is instead up to the local authorities and the parents to keep them safe on the streets.

The risk of warning students or their families about potential dangers could be that students wont come, despite the fact that there is no question whatsoever about the benefits of a study abroad program, especially in a place so culturally rich as Rome. But many calls to university programs in Rome for this article were met with apprehension about commenting and warning against focusing too much attention on just one death.

Franco Pavoncello, president of John Cabot University, easily the most popular study abroad program in Rome, where quite unfortunately three of the latest American victims were enrolled, says its not the job of the university to babysit. Its not up to the president of John Cabot University to do an evaluation of the dangers of Romes nightlife, Pavoncello told the Associated Press. Its up to judicial authorities.

Benjamin and Theresa Mogni might not agree. Their 20-year-old son Andrew came to John Cabot from the University of Iowa in 2015. On the day he arrived, he attended a dinner party until around 1 a.m. and then mysteriously fell off a high retaining wall down around 30 or 40 feet onto the Tiber riverbank. Like Solomon, he had also been robbed before he fell. He survived the fall and was airlifted to the United States and tragically died in Chicago three months later.

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Being an American there, you do stand out and you do become a target, Theresa Mogni told a local CBS affiliate in Chicago upon the news of Solomons death. And youve got to understand that and really protect yourself.

Over-indulging aside, there is little doubt to anyone who lives in this city about the presence of predators lurking along the sidelines of almost any occasion to take advantage of all types of foreigners. Religious pilgrims get robbed on buses to the Vatican, young women are frequently drugged with date-rape pills, and young men, it would seem, get robbed and rolled on a regular basis.

Everyone knows these thugs are out there, a bartender at the G-Bar in the Trastevere district, where Solomon had his last drink, told The Daily Beast as she delivered a sloppy tray of shottini to another group of Americans who had recently arrived in Rome. They usually have a girl that lures the boys away, and then their friends mug him. It happens a lot.

When I asked the group of kids at the table she served if theyd heard about Solomon, most said that their parents had sent something about that but few knew any details, including the fact that they were sitting at the same bar where his fateful night began.

Bad things happen everywhere, one girl said as she downed her potent shot. She didnt want to be named because she was only 17 and she didnt want her parents to read that she was out at a bar in Rome. I dont want them to worry.

The dangers of liberal drinking and lawlessness are an open secret everyone seems to know about except, perhaps, the kids who become the victims.

Fortunately, only a tiny fraction of the victims actually get killed. The rest either go back home to deal with the aftermath, or just get stitched up, call their banks for new credit cards and are back out at the bars soon after.

The assailants are rarely caught, or, for that matter, even chased. In Mognis case, police didnt even launch an official investigation into the question of theft or murder for weeks after his accident. Instead they treated it as a mishap. His case is officially open in Rome, but no one is actively investigating and none of the possessions he had on him, including a gold cross, were ever recovered.

In Solomons case, the theft trail is already cold despite the fact that whoever nabbed his credit cards was able to spend around $1,700 before his parents back home even knew he was missing.

Worst of all, perhaps, is that it all happens in plain sight. Several witnesses have said that Solomon was robbed on the picturesque Ponte Sisto Bridge near the bar where he and his new classmates were enjoying the vibrant Roman nightlife. He then apparently chased the predator or predators down to what anyone in Rome would consider the wrong side of the Tiber River, where a lively drug trade thrives among the homeless tents and cardboard box shelters. In broad daylight, thugs are known to throw sticks into the spokes of passing bicycles to mug the riders when they fall; at night any number of crimes take place in the unlit overgrown shrubs where dozens of homeless people have set up encampments.

It was there where Solomon reportedly stumbled onto the tent occupied by Massimo Galioto, a 41-year-old homeless man who was conveniently arrested for homicide shortly after Solomons swollen body was found a mile down the river four days after he disappeared. As a matter of strange coincidence, or not, Galioto was also questioned a few years ago about someone else who had fallen into the river near his perch, though he was never arrested.

Because of a summer festival along the good side of the Tiber River across the water on the night Solomon died, there were ample surveillance cameras that caught at least part of the action, including the moment when Solomon fell into the water and his futile attempts to swim back to shore, though nothing has surfaced that shows the riverbank with the encampment or just how he fell in. Galiotos companion told local reporters that the two men tussled and that Solomon fell into the river and then she and Galioto went back to sleep. They began to argue, she said. They were pushing each other. Massimo pushed him, the boy pushed back, and then he fell in.

Across the river, hundreds of Romans and tourists were still out sipping wine and enjoying a lovely evening under the stars. It all happened in plain sight with no one looking.

The dark scene is reminiscent of what happened to John Durkin, another young American who was found dead in Rome after a night out in 2014. Durkins lifeless body was discovered in a train tunnel right next to the Vatican. An autopsy showed that he was likely dead before an early morning train sliced his legs off. He, too, had been robbed. He was also missing his shirt for reasons no one may ever know. And no one may ever be held accountable for his horrific death, either.

Even though none of this debauchery and lawlessness is much of a secret for those of us who live in Rome, this dark side is clearly not something Americans are told about before they come to one of the most amazing cities on the planet. And even those of us who live here (many with our own teenagers who are potential targets) arent immune. The night my own nearly 17-year-old son went out to meet his friends in Trastevere after Solomons death, I made him read every single gory detail I could find about the case. Thats not going to happen to me, he said. Dont worry.

Easier said than done.

Instead, maybe its time to change something before another dead American or other foreign student ends up dead on the banks of the Tiber. Maybe its time to talk about whats really killing American students in Rome.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/27/someone-is-targeting-american-students-abroad/