#probably helps that i requested service at like 8 am on a monday

[warlordfelwinter]

owning a house and having to hire your own professional for every discrete issue is both better and worse than just being able to call maintenance like i hate having to find and talk to various trades people just bc i hate talking to people but on the other hand i don't have to wait for a useless landlord to deign to send someone

[ladyblogger-margie]

Permit Pending - Part 1

Pairing: Will Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader

Summary: All Will Miller wanted was a park permit for a VA fundraiser, what he got instead was an unscheduled afternoon exploring different parks with F!Reader.

Word Count:  3890

Rating: G (smut to come in chapter 2!)

Warnings: Course language. Eventual smut in future chapters. 

a/n: My first time writing reader insert and for Will Miller AND for Triple Frontier, so any feedback at all is appreciated. No Y/N. 

Series Master List

3-2-1, Will Miller counted down to the ring of his morning alarm clock. Just like every single day his phone blared a monotonous alarm sound at exactly 05:42 and Will shut it off. He spent the next three minutes practicing mindful breathing and preparing for the day ahead. At 05:45 he rose and changed into his gym clothes. 

He shook together a protein shake as he rode the elevator down to the surprisingly decent gym in his building where he did exactly 30 minutes of cardio followed by an hour of weight training. Today was back and chest day – his favorite – so of course he decided to listen to a podcast instead of a playlist of high tempo motivational music. It was easier to be motivated for something you already wanted to do after all. The podcast today was about finding a balance between order and relaxation, something his therapist had recommended he do before his insurance ran out on therapy sessions and he opted out of continuing the process.

After the gym he returned to his apartment and started the coffee maker. After a quick shower and some facial hair maintenance, he dressed in one of his branded polo shirts and drank his coffee with his breakfast. He had two talks scheduled for the day before lunch, then an errand to run after lunch. Later that evening he would meet up with Benny for fight training. Today could not be any more normal for him - exactly the same as the day before, and the day before that. 

Or so he thought. 

You woke up groaning when your alarm went off at 7:15am. You snoozed it. You also snoozed your 7:22am, 7:31am, and 7:40am alarms. You finally rolled yourself out of bed at 7:50am in time for your quick 30 minute yoga routine before you got ready for work. 

You breezed into the parks and recreation office at City Hall at exactly 8:57am. You grabbed a cup of coffee from the office machine knowing that if you got up at 7:15am as planned you would’ve had time to stop at Starbucks on your way into the office. 

You spent your morning as you usually did - catching up on your passion projects which were the youth sport organizations. You ensured all the public teams had access to the necessary fields and confirmed with the greens team that they were all in working order. You loved your mornings at work even though you weren’t necessarily a morning person. 

After lunch was another story. After a series of poorly timed budget cuts, your department was forced to cancel the internship program. That meant you were drafted into working the permit desks in the afternoons. You knew that it wasn’t actually the worst thing in the world, it was just so boring. The applications were longer than they had any right to be and filled with confusing language. This meant nearly every single application required a specific follow up that never fit one of the many form responses you’d been accumulating in the hopes of streamlining the process. 

Of course you wanted your community to take advantage of the awesome parks in your town, but apparently the legal department didn’t. It put you in a difficult spot where sometimes you were forced to give the park permits to corporations instead of individuals and it drove you crazy to do so. It also locked you to a desk unless a specific permit issue arose that required an in-person follow up which never happened. Which is why after lunch you went off campus to get yourself your favourite Starbucks order because the permit desk on a Monday required the heavy artillery to survive. 

Or so you thought. 

After a few hours of pouring over pages and pages of documents, the most handsome man you had ever seen walked into the office. He had blonde hair and soft eyes which you noticed right away but immediately after you were drawn to his strong chest tightly wrapped in a blue polo with some logo you didn’t recognize over one of his firm pecs. 

“My name is William Miller, and I’m hoping you can help me with a park permit,” the man said, holding out his hand to you. 

You composed yourself as quickly as you could and introduced yourself in return, shaking his hand. “I’d be happy to help you with that,” you said as you let go. His hands were firm and from the callouses you could tell he worked out, though his general physique already gave that away. 

He smiled at you and you felt something stir inside you that was not exactly professional, “Did you have a specific location in mind?”

“No, actually I was hoping to get your opinion. I’m helping to put together a community fundraiser, a BBQ actually, to help support the local VA, but I’m not exactly sure where would be the best place to set something like that up,” he replied. 

You knew exactly where to send him. There was a perfect location you often recommended for huge family reunions, outdoor wedding receptions, and concerts. But as you looked down at the desk for the correct application form you saw the huge pile of pages still left unread taunting you and you got an idea, “Why don’t I give you a tour of a few different locations to help you make your decision?” 

“That’s a service you offer here?”

“We aim to please” you said, desperate for an excuse to get out of the office. 

Will hesitated as he fiddled with his keys for a moment. 

“I could drive if you like,” he offered.

You smiled as professionally as you could, trying to contain your glee. 

“Thank you, let me just check out with my boss and I’ll be right back” you darted away before you could blow your composure. 

You stuck your head into your boss’ office. “Hey, I’m stepping away from the desk. Some guy is insisting I help him pick a park location for his permit request. I’m on my cell if there’s an emergency” you said, not stopping to hear their response before darting off. 

You grabbed your coffee off the desk and landed in front of Will. “Ready,” you said as he smiled warmly at you. He held the door open for you as you left the office, and your boring afternoon, behind.

He led you to his truck in the parking lot and held open the passenger door for you which made your heart flutter though you tried to control it and you reminded yourself that this was a professional outing, not a date. 

He climbed into the cab beside you and started the truck before he turned to you and asked, “Where to?”

You gave him directions to a park you know wouldn’t work, but it did have a couple of soccer fields, and you wanted to check the nets there for holes and figured you could push your luck a bit more today. 

He pulled into the park parking lot and looked around with a slight purse of his lips and a furrow in his brow. He cleared his throat before asking, “I did explain it was a BBQ, right? I don’t really see a place for that,”. 

You suddenly felt guilty, thinking he probably had somewhere else to be today and you derailed him for your own selfish reasons. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you. I just had to get out of the office, and I took advantage of you. If you’ve got somewhere to be, leave me here with your information and I’ll get everything arranged for you at the perfect place,” you said, avoiding eye contact.

To your surprise he smiled at you, “You should’ve said, I’ve got nothing going on this afternoon, I can help you play hooky.” 

You smiled back at him, relieved that he was on board with your scheme. 

Will watched as you inspected the soccer nets for tears and he felt a warmth in his chest he hadn’t since his fiancee, who had left him after the incident at the Publix. You were really nice and he could tell you were passionate about your job, at least parts of it, especially hearing you explain exactly what your job was while he drove you both to this destination. Plus there was no denying that he found you incredibly attractive. 

You returned to his side at the edge of the field after completing your inspection. “Thanks for waiting, there’s a middle-school tournament here starting tomorrow and I wanted to make sure everything was set,” you said to him and he knew he was in trouble. 

“Ready for park number two?” you asked. 

He nodded and led you back to the truck. 

When you arrived at park number two, Will realized this had to be the place you intended for the permit and he was a bit disappointed. He had been hoping to stretch out his afternoon with you a little longer. Before he could ask if you needed a ride back to City Hall he heard you let go a soft, sad sigh. He looked at you but you were gazing out the front window at the park. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked. 

“I’m going to kill the guys in City Planning,” you muttered upset. 

Will tried to figure out what it was you were looking at, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with the park. It looked like the perfect place for a fundraising BBQ. 

You turned to Will hopeful, “Do you have tools in this truck, or is it just for show?”

He smiled at your joke, “I’ve got a box in the back. What’s the problem?”

You gestured to a park bench, “City Planning keeps installing anti-homeless architecture in my parks and I’m not going to let them get away with it,” you said with a sly smile. 

Will knows for sure now that he definitely has a crush on you. He gets out of the truck and grabs his modest tool box from the bed and follows you over to the bench. He sees a metal arm rest in the middle of the bench, obviously installed to ensure no one lays across it. He checks the back to see how it’s attached and scoffs at the simple way it’s been bolted in and opens his tool kit. 

“Am I going to get arrested for this?” He jokes as he gets to work. 

You laugh, “You’re with me, I’ll protect you”. 

You smile at this; you could get used to the idea of having his back. He gets the bar free and you take it from him. He gestures to another bench a few steps away and he gets to work on liberating that bench too. You happily follow him as you ask, “So, you work for the VA?”

“Yeah, I mostly just run my mouth though,” he grunted as he loosened the much tighter bolt on the second bench. 

“Were you military?”

“Yeah,” He rolls up his sleeve and shows you a tattoo on his forearm, “Delta Force”. 

“But you’re retired now?”

“Something like that,”.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be retired?”

He paused and handed you the second detached metal arm. 

You felt self conscious, maybe you were being rude? “Sorry, it’s none of my business,” You said nervously. 

He shook his head, “You’re fine. It’s just not something I’m necessarily proud of though”. 

“You don’t have to explain, it’s none of my business,” You said, as you led the way to the third bench. 

“I had some trouble, and I was told my services were no longer needed in the field,” he explained getting to work on the third arm, “But I found a way to be useful, stay involved”. 

You nodded, “That couldn’t have been easy,”.

He shook his head, “There are good days, and bad days,” and he handed you the third arm. 

He looked around and didn’t see any more pieces of hostile architecture so he turned to you, “Do you need a ride back to City Hall?”

You looked at him and felt bold. “This is obviously the best park for your event, but if you’ve got nowhere to be, did you want to make one more stop and see my favorite park?”

He smiled at you and nodded his head. You led the way back to his truck where he put his tools away and took the arms from you and dumped them in the bed. 

“I can’t wait to drop those off at the City Planning office tomorrow,” you giggled triumphantly. 

You and Will loaded up into the truck and you directed him out of the parking lot. 

Park number 3 was your favorite place in the entire world, though to be fair you hadn’t actually travelled much so you couldn’t really compare it to anywhere else, but still. To you the lakeside beach next to the tree covered green grass was a slice of heaven. You’d go there on the weekends with a podcast lined up or an old book and spend the whole afternoon on a bench with a coffee and some fresh air. 

When Will pulled into the parking lot, you suddenly got nervous. You had lost some of your earlier boldness that suggested you open yourself up like this to a man you just met. But there was something about him, a warmth and a vulnerability that made you want him to know you, and you to know him. 

You both got out of the truck and the sun was starting to get low in the sky as you walked him to a bench that bordered the beach and the grass. You took a seat and he sat next to you, your thighs gently brushing. The contact sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze that brushed through the leaves above your head. 

Will looked out across the lake and around the park. He felt the warmth of your leg against his and the urge to lean over and brush your cheek with his thumb nearly overwhelmed him. You were so close, it would be so easily for him to just kiss you. But he wasn’t sure you’d want that. You wanted to play hooky from work, and share your love of the parks. He couldn’t let himself think that your enthusiasm for the day had anything to do with him. Instead of holding you under his arm and against his chest, he folded in on himself and looked at you.

He was about to ask what you were thinking about when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and noticed Benny’s name on the caller ID and cursed under his breath. “I’m so sorry,” he said to you as he answered, “I’ve got to take this.”

He stands and walks a few paces away and you watch him leave, disappointed. You thought maybe he was about to ask you on a date, and tried not to let yourself be too upset that he didn’t. You watch as he rubbed his forehead and shook his head as he talked on the phone to someone you couldn’t hear and didn’t know. 

He hung up the phone and turned to look at you, and you turned away, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring at him. He walks back to you on the bench but doesn’t sit down again. 

“Thank you for showing me this place, it’s beautiful,” he said softly and his sweet voice drew your gaze to his lips as he spoke. You felt the electricity surge between you all the way through to the tips of your fingers and your toes. “I hadn’t realized how late it’s gotten, I’m supposed to be at the gym, training my brother,” he explained. 

You nodded and stood up next to him, so close you had to look up to meet his eyes. “That’s fine, I can call an Uber or something back to City Hall” and you pulled out your phone. 

He put his hand on your arm, “Don’t be silly, I’ll take you back. Plus gotta make sure those city planning guys get their gift.”

Your breath hitched when he touched you and you couldn’t contain your smile as you nodded. “Are you sure? I’ve already taken so much of your time” you said, unable to tear your eyes from his. 

“I want to”.

He walks you back to the truck and opens your door for you again and you hop in both flustered and excited. 

The drive back to City Hall is more quiet than you’ve been all day. Your previous trips were full of chit chat about sports and books and random small talk. Now all that existed in the truck was the electricity and tension between you. You wondered if he felt it too, or if the surprising infatuation was a one-sided affair. 

Will gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. He had spent most the afternoon with you and he failed to buck up the courage to ask you out. You took him to your favorite place and basically hand wrapped a romantic moment, and he blew it. He didn’t know if you noticed the potential romance of the location, or if you intended to entice him so completely, but you had. And he blew his shot. 

Back at City Hall he handed you the metal arms from your adventure and you stayed by the truck. You were hoping he’d ask you out before he left. 

“Thanks for the ride, and the impromptu bench liberation, and the excuse to get out of the office,” you said with a smile, lingering longer than you needed to. 

He smiled back, maybe he could ask you now and he could still pull off the romantic gesture. “I had a great day, which I hadn’t actually expected when I went in earlier looking to fill out boring paperwork,” he said leaning unconsciously closer to you. 

He took a deep breath, ready to ask - when his cell phone rang again. He silenced it and tried again, “Hey-“ and the phone rang again and he answered it. “I’m on my way, asshole. Start with cardio,” he said, frustrated, “you don’t need me for that”.

He hung up and looked at you embarrassed by his outburst, absolutely believing that he had blown it for sure now. But you just looked at him amused, not annoyed. 

“Friend of yours?” you asked, stifling a laugh. 

“My baby brother. He’s a fighter and I’m his trainer, which I do for free by the way, but he loves to act like he’s my boss”, he explained. 

“Sounds like a character.”

“He is something that’s for sure. He’s also really special, really talented. He deserves a better lot than what he’s got”, Will's voice trailed off as he thought bitterly about how Benny left service when he did and the guilt he carried, unspoken, about that ever since. 

Will leaned back, “Do you need a walk to your car?”

“I’m alright, thank you. I better head back up to the office first anyway. Thanks again for today. Maybe I’ll see you around”, you forced a smile, abandoning all hope of a date and retreating into the building. 

Will kicked himself mentally all the way to the gym. When he got there he was in a bad mood. 

“Finally!” Benny shouted at him when he walked in.

“I have a life outside of you, you know that right?” Will spit towards Benny.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Benny asked.

“I told you I was on my way, what was so important that you had to call me again and nag me?” Will asked.

“You’re never late, I was worried,” Benny admitted. 

Will paused. He hasn’t thought of it like that. He was never late, it was so unlike him. It was actually kinda nice Benny worried, even if he was an ass about it.

“Well I’m here now, let’s get to it”, Will shrugged and he climbed into the ring opposite Benny. 

After training they grabbed some food together. After scarfing down most of his meal without breathing, Benny asked Will, “Why were you late? You didn’t say.”

Will cleared his throat, “I was trying to get a park permit for the VA BBQ”.

“I thought you did that right after lunch?”

“It took longer than expected,” Will said vaguely. 

Benny squinted his eyes at his older brother until the metaphorical lightbulb went off. “Oh shit!” he said, “You were with a girl! Fuck, I never would’ve called you away if I knew, you’ve been alone for so long!” 

Will threw his used napkin at his taunting brother, “Fuck off.”

“Seriously,” Benny said, not laughing anymore, “I hope I didn’t blow it for you, I want you to be happy.”

Will sighed, “I didn’t get her number, and I didn’t ask her out.”

Benny gave him a sympathetic smile, “At least you got the permit for the event.”

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fuck, I completely forgot to actually get the permit.”

Benny smirked at him. “You know what that means, right?”

“No,” Will groaned. 

“You gotta go back and see her tomorrow.”

Will leaned back in his chair, his mood dramatically improved. 

The next morning you dragged yourself out of bed after your third alarm and skipped yoga, just not in the mood. You hoped stopping at Starbucks would get you out of your funk, but even your favorite coffee didn’t have its usual effect. You felt so stupid for feeling like this today. You literally knew Will Miller for all of one afternoon, it shouldn’t ruin your whole week that he didn’t ask you out. 

You walked into the office ready to be grumpy for the rest of the day when you noticed Will stand up from the chair in which he was sitting. 

Will had been waiting for you since the office opened. He was there long enough to wonder if what he was doing was creepy or sweet. The longer he waited, the worse he felt about his plan. Though once he saw you, his resolve formed and he stood to greet you. Any insecurity he had melted away when he saw how you smiled at him when you noticed him there. 

“Hey,” he started, finding his voice. 

“Hey,” you replied, breathless. 

“I never did fill out a permit yesterday, I got distracted by someone way more interesting than paperwork,” he said, unable to contain a grin. 

You felt something deep in your center as you too failed to contain a beaming smile. 

“I can help you with that,” you walked behind the permit desk and he met you on the other side. 

You handed him the paperwork and helped him fill everything out. The entire time neither of you could contain your ear splitting smiles. When he finished you stamped his form and returned his copy. 

“You’re all set, Mr. Miller,” you said, “Will there be anything else?”

He looked you the eye, “Are you free Friday night? I’d love to take you out.”

You nodded eagerly, “I’d like that.”

PART 2 

[conradscrime]

Lyle Stevik John Doe (Identified in 2018)

January 08, 2021

Ugh. I love a good John/Jane Doe case. 

However, I do want to just remind everyone that as interesting as these cases are, they are very sad. We need to remember that yes a person who is unidentified is very interesting because there are a lack of answers. The main one being who are they but also what happened to them? 

I think when it comes to John/Jane Doe cases we need to mindful and remain extremely respectful and not so judgemental. These people at one point were someone’s children, sibling, perhaps someone’s parent, someone’s spouse. They were most likely someone’s everything at one point. And now there could be a family or friend or loved one who has no idea what happened to them, has no idea why they haven’t heard from them or seen them. 

John/Jane Doe cases are probably some of my favourite to research because they are just that, interesting. But I especially think in these cases we need to be respectful because these people are no longer here to tell their story or defend themselves. And everyone no matter, deserves to have their name back. 

I’ve known about the Lyle Stevik John Doe case long before he was ever identified. I want to say around 2016 is when I first heard of the case and when he was identified in May of 2018 I was so happy, though his story is sad. Since being identified his family has chosen to keep his identity from the public which I do not blame them one bit especially because I believe the family assumed he was out living a life without them and had no idea he had been deceased for so long. My heart goes out to the family of Lyle Stevik John Doe. 

TRIGGER WARNING: This case involves the topic of suicide and someone taking their own life. If this is triggering for some I suggest not reading this case and to stay tuned for upcoming cases I cover! I have a lot planned and there will be new posts from me every Friday (and on days where I am not so busy with work and school I will have 2 cases uploaded!) 

On Friday, September 14, 2001 a man checked into a motel in Amanda Park Washington called the Quinault Inn under the name Lyle Stevik after arriving there via bus. The clerk told police that he may have been Canadian, as he spoke with what seemed to the clerk as an accent similar to a Canadian one. 

When registering for his room he entered the alias Lyle Stevik, and for an address he wrote down the address of a Best Western facility in Meridian Idaho. The police ended up locating the hotel and questioning the staff, but none of them recognized photos of him. 

The man was reportedly seen walking back and forth at the side of the highway near the motel, but it is uncertain whether these sightings were seen before or after he registered for his room at the motel. The man actually requested a different room after complaining about the noise outside the room was he given. 

The man was found deceased in his motel room on Monday September 17, 2001. An initial report said he had stayed at the motel for two nights, but he had checked in on September 14, which meant he had stayed there for three nights. He originally only paid for one night, but then planned to stay for a few more days. He had hung himself by his belt from a bar inside the closet. 

He had left a note that said “for the room” on the bedside table and left $160 in $20 bills to cover the remaining two nights of the weekend, which I think just shows what kind of person he was in life, a good person. The bills used to pay for the room looked fresh, it appeared that they had been recently taken out of an ATM machine. He had no wallet on him or credit card, so it seemed kind of strange that the bills looked so fresh, because how did he use a ATM machine if he didn’t have a card or wallet on him? There was also a note left that just said the words “suicide.” He is thought to have died on September 16. It is suspected that he may have died by suicide due to depression or because of a fatal disease, though the autopsy showed no signs of that. 

The man was described to have light-skin, and by his features some report that he could of been from Native American or Hispanic ancestry. He also had black hair which was trimmed and neatly combed and green/hazel eyes. He weighed between 130-140 pounds, and was about 6 feet tall. 

An investigator also claimed that there had been a piece of paper located in the trash bin that had “suicide” written on it as if the man were practicing how to spell it. Some believe he could not speak English well. I find this strange though because the clerk that gave him his room never mentioned that he could not speak english well from the research i’ve done, the clerk only said he had some sort of accent and like previously mentioned it was thought to be a Canadian accent, and I feel as though that would of been a very important detail that wouldn’t of been left out. 

Police also said he had closed the blinds of the room and lined the closet with pillows. The man had no luggage with him, he only brought a toothbrush and toothpaste which were found in the room. He was wearing a gray tshirt and  blue levi jeans and black timberland boots. There was also a blue long sleeve plaid button up shirt found laying on a chair in the room. 

So you may be wondering where the name Lyle Stevik comes from. Some believe that he came up with this name from a character in a book written by Joyce Carol Oates. The novel was called “You Must Remember” and it was released in 1987. In the story, the main character’s father, Lyle Stevik, contemplates suicide, and attempts suicide, however doesn’t suceed. The John Doe spelled the name Stevik, but in the book the character’s name is spelled Stevick, with a C.

The local coroner’s office also said the man could of been from African-American ancestry in addition to having Hispanic and native american ancestry. 

DNA analysis concluded he was at least one-quarter native american and one quarter hispanic or spanish. His teeth showed evidence of earlier treatment with braces. He had an old appendectomy scar which is when you get your appendix removed, and also a small mole on the left side of his chin. He also had attached earlobes which is a genetic characteristic. His nails were clean and trimmed as well. 

The man also was not wearing a ring on his left finger, and there was no tan line there or any indication that he had ever worn a ring on that finger. They also did isotope testing on the man and found that he had travelled to various states before his death. Isotope testing in criminal investigations is basically used to find out things such as locating the country of origin for a given explosive, or to identify drug trafficking routes. 

The examination also showed that he had recently lost a large amount of weight up to 40 pounds. The medical examiner estimated this weight difference after noticing that the size of his jeans were fairly large in comparison to his body. His belt also had extra holes that had been punched into it. His age was estimated to be between 20 and 30 years old, giving his estimated year of birth to be between 1971 and 1981. 

Some also found it strange that this man had committed suicide only a few days after 9/11 happened. Investigator’s tried to connect the two, some people thinking maybe he had lost someone in 9/11 and could not go on without them so he decided to end his own life. 

The man known as Lyle Stevik was a John Doe. They had no idea where he came from or where his family could be. He was buried in an unmarked grave at the Fern Hill Cemetery in Aberdeen, Washington, and went unidentified for almost 17 years. 

Because this man had only been deceased for a short period of time before being found, examiners were able to obtain fingerprints, dental characteristics and DNA. These identifying markers were placed in international databases, including CODIS, but no matches were made. It was believed that he came from Port Angeles or Aberdeen, locations from which buses daily traveled to Amanda Park. 

The man was not recognized by any of the bus drivers from those areas. There were also two men who had gone missing named Alexander Craig and Steven Needham, but both had been ruled out as possible identities of the Lyle Stevik John Doe. 

In April of 2007, Lyle Stevik was listed as the profile of the month for Missing From the circle, which was a public service initiative launched by Lamar Associates, a law enforcement advisory organization based in Washington, D.C. to help solve cases of missing and unidentified Native Americans. 

The case went cold. But in 2018, two genetic genealogists from the DNA Doe Project named Colleen M. Fitzpatrick and Margaret Press uploaded DNA profiles to GEDmatch to attempt to link the unidentified man to individuals living in New Mexico and Idaho. The DNA Doe Project is a non-profit organization dedicated to identifying unknown deceased persons. 

And then on May 8, 2018 it was announced by the Grays Harbor Sheriff’s office that Lyle Stevik had been identified through DNA analysis and comparison with genetic relatives, performed by the DNA doe project in collaboration with Aerodyne and Full Genomes Corporation. They found a cluster of matches of relatives, perhaps even two or three generations removed, in New Mexico. Through this they were able to find members of the John Doe’s birth family. 

The man was from Alameda County, California and was 25 years old at the time of this death. The Grays harbour county sheriff’s office notified the man’s family, who had believed him to be alive and had just thought he did not want to associate with them. His family had a set of his fingerprints that were taken in grade school, as part of a children’s identification program. 

The sheriff’s department compared those to the fingerprints of the deceased man taken in 2001 and made a positive identification. However, we do not know the man’s actual name because his family has asked to keep it private, they do not want him to be publicly identified. 

This case is oddly similar to a case that happened in 1996. A woman who went by the name Mary A. Anderson committed suicide in a hotel room in Seattle, Washington in October of 1996. However, this is known to be a fake name the woman used and they have never been able to identify her. 

She reserved a room via telephone on October 9 about 90 minutes before she checked in. She arrived with two bags and paid cash for two nights. She also entered a New York address and telephone number, which investigator later determined to be false. 

On Friday, October 11 her body was discovered by a hotel staff member after she failed to check out. She was found reclining in the bed, clasping a Bible to her chest with the pages opened to Psalm 23. There was a suicide note on the bedside table. She left no identification. 

The Medical examiner determined she had consumed a lethal mixture of metamucil and cyanide and ruled her death a suicide. The woman was white, said to be between ages 30-50, with well groomed manicured nails and neatly combed hair. She had an IUD inserted, and appeared to have had breast surgery at some point in her life. 

Police tried to identify her through fingerprint records on file with the FBI, as well as through missing persons reports filed in the US, Canada and through Interpol which is the International criminal police organization. They were unable to trace the origins of cyanide used and the medical examiner’s office said that the woman had purposely left out any way that she could be identified. I included a photo of her facial reconstruction down below along with Lyle Stevik’s.

Though I don’t really believe there’s any connection to these two cases they are eerily similar and as I mentioned earlier I think John/Jane Doe cases are especially important to cover, and especially important to be respectful of any friends or family if they ever come across this post. 

It makes me extremely happy that Lyle Stevik John Doe was identified in May of 2018. His family has asked to keep his identity from the public, however after doing further research I did find some websleuths who have supposedly found a picture of Lyle Stevik in a yearbook and have released his real name. Personally, the photo to me looks extremely real and does look like him, almost exactly. 

However, because his family wants to grieve in peace I will not be posting that photo or his supposed real name. I do not think that is fair to the family and I think we need to let this case rest. Lyle Stevik got his name back, his family has the closure they needed after all these years and that’s all that matters.

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this post! I have included a photo of Lyle Stevik John Doe’s sketch but I will not be including photos of his  body or the supposed yearbook photo of him as I just find that extremely disrespectful to not only him, but also his family. 

Hope you enjoyed this case!

[redeyedryu]

Rant and rambles incoming about the bull crap going on at work because this is eating me up.

So I wound up calling in sick to work for Tuesday and my boss told me to maybe just take the week off, as “your head’s not here.” And honestly... no, it’s not. I spent the entirety of Monday livid as all hell because the flight chief (or our squadron commander, I’m not sure whose idea it was exactly) decided to ask the facility managers 1) who owns a sewing machine and 2) who knows how to sew. My boss responded that we have two and that she knows how to sew.

When I get in in the morning, she poses the question to us about if we know how to sew, or are willing to learn. I know a little but said I would not be willing to learn if it was for the flight chief. My co-worker refused and said she would only do it under duress.

A little back story on what’s been going on and why I am (and my co-workers are) so upset:

I work at an Arts and Crafts store on an American military base. We’re considered non-essential and if you look at the base’s page on facility closures, ours is listed as closed with “minimal manning” and curb-side pick up options available (please tell me what is considered “minimal manning” when all of us are still reporting to work).  

The week of March 16th we were told we were going to be shut down for at least 2 weeks starting on that Thursday, the 19th, until further notice and people that can work from home are encouraged to do so. Great, the base and leadership are taking this seriously, I had thought. It’s worth noting that all of my coworkers are in the high risk group.

However. Come Monday, the 23rd, I get a call from my boss that we’re to come back in. The flight chief wants us to clean and reorganize the facility (something that had been discussed prior to everything going down, that involved closing the facility but hey, we’re closed now, so why not use this opportunity to do so?). Yeah, okay, that’s fine. I’m not happy but whatever. So we all go in and we’re working and it’s not easy stuff--I’m moving cabinets and shelving units, doing the majority of the heavy lifting because I’m pretty much the only one able to do so. It’s tiring work and I’m dead sore by Wednesday morning but it’s fine, nothing I’m not used to. What throws a wrench into this is that the flight chief suddenly comes up with this thought Oh, why don’t you guys put together crafting kits to give away to families? He wants them to last for about an hour each day and to cover two weeks. He wants 50 by Friday (and we were told this on... Tuesday or Wednesday. Not a lot of time to prepare). Alright, cool. We can do that... So we go through our crafts and come up with this stuff and start putting packets together. But guess what? He comes back with, can you make an additional 50? And then another 50? and another 50? That was 4 sets of 50 (but wound up being 48 each), and he even tried to get us to do an additional 50 on top of that but my boss had to tell him we don’t have anything to put more together because they all had to be the SAME. So it boiled down to a total of 384 bags we put together.

And all throughout this week he and the marketing manager kept coming to the facility and “checking in”. They try to talk to us, all while ignoring the whole keeping your distance from people, while we’re in the middle of tasks and trying to get all this shit done when it’s pretty much just two people (our engraver was stuck at her laser making one craft and my boss would have to deal with them). We’d have some volunteers come over but they’d only be around for a couple hours, if they even showed up, and they weren’t very inclined to listen to direction from anyone other than my boss.

I’m not one to sit around and chit chat, especially not when I have work to do. So I would greet them and then leave. Same with my other coworkers. But the flight chief? Guess what. :) After one visit, he texted my boss telling her to call him from her office, where he then proceeded to say my coworkers and I have horrible customer service and that he was embarrassed by how he and the marketing manager were treated: that we ignored them and kept running away and that we need to be showing only the highest level of service to everyone. He then proceeded to tell her that she needs to give us all customer service training. You know, because we’re so fucking terrible. I’m sorry? You are over here working us to the bone and piling more and more stuff on us and you expect us to have the time and energy to expend on idle chatter? Especially considering the state of affairs in the world? No.

Never mind the fact that they wound up roping our crafting kit thing into a marketing event without telling us about it at all. We had to find out by reading the e-mail that was sent out to everyone. And oh, the flight chief and the marketing director had agreed with my boss not to do reservations for these kits but guess what? In the e-mail it said to call and reserve yours. That wound up tying my boss on the line for at least a solid hour and a half. And the trouble with reservations is that people will inevitably reserve something and not show up. Which is exactly what happened. 

So that was a week from hell. But I was off the following week, Monday-Wednesday, as I had requested time off months prior. I was sent home on Thursday, into Friday, due to not feeling well, so I didn’t work that week. That brings us back to Monday. 

Turns out whoever decided that we will be making masks for the Wing. My boss put one together following the CDC’s guidelines, which the flight chief wound up taking (and giving away). Upon the return of the flight chief and the marketing manager about an hour later, they start discussing it and asked how many could be made in an hour. Going by my boss’s speed, she said probably 6, maybe 8 in an hour. So of course they latched on to the 8 (the flight chief tried to push for 10 in an hour). The flight chief stepped aside at some point to talk to the commander and she said she wanted the masks made with pleats, “so there were more layers to catch stuff.” Except... those pleats are meant for the mask to expand for coverage, not to “catch stuff”. Whatever. Americans don’t really understand the whole face mask thing.

So they start spit-balling numbers and asking about production of a pleated version versus a non-pleated version and somehow 100 masks turns into 1,000 in 10 days and from the way they were talking it sounded as if they were assuming all of us would be sewing these masks at a rate of 8 per hour... on top of them wanting us to make an additional 4 weeks of crafting kits and still cleaning/reorganizing the facility.

So. Cue me having a mental break because first of all, we shouldn’t even be reporting to work. Only mission essential/critical people are supposed to be working; we aren’t either category. We were called back after being told we’d be off, only for us to be tossed into a hellish workload that just seems to be ever increasing and I just cannot get behind this. And sewing masks? Putting together kits and uploading the tutorials for them? That can easily be done from home. But from the way they were talking on Monday it seems as if the flight chief and the marketing manager (I don’t know why she’s always there, I really don’t) do not support the idea of working from home.

I came to the realization Monday night that all these ailments I’ve been dealing with lately are physical manifestations of stress and I just can’t handle the situation at work. When my boss texted me about staying home this week, I asked if they’d be alright at work and she replied with “who knows” and on the one hand great, I’m not dealing with the stress at work but on the other, I’m leaving my coworkers to pickup my slack, thus making me feel like shit regardless. But I honestly... I can’t handle this situation; it doesn’t seem right and it feels like leadership doesn’t care about the well-being of us “little people”. Sure they come over and tout praises and flowery words but do any of them offer to help with all the hard work? Of course not. But “We’re all tired,” they had said.

Spare me.

So. Yeah. That’s where I’m at and I’m honestly... not sure what to do. My sister’s been giving me advice and telling me to seek guidance from HR but... no one else seems to want to speak out for fear of retaliation. And I just. I can’t keep doing this.

[fictionalnormalcy]

Face Amidst the Smoke Ch. 8

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1435 Characters: Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Haddock Summary: Astrid is paired for a project with someone who she is definitely not eager to work with. Haddock has a reputation of being a bad student, just a bad role model in general. But in being forced to work with one of the worst seniors in the school, she comes to see what is under this bad boy’s exterior… and she may be getting in over her head.

Unlikely

He wore that very same cap on his head. Lopsided, but it must’ve been part of the uniform. He sat at a high desk, though not tall enough to tower over anyone. He gave no flicker of recognition as I waved, and instead he crossed his arms. He wore a collared dark brown shirt with the same hammer stitched into the fabric at the right side. There was a plastic nametag right above the symbol with Hiccup written in dark type.

Credit to: lyallwolfart

“How can I help you?” He asked again.

I had to admit, it was strange seeing him without the leather jacket. It let me see his pale arms. A bruise apparent on his forearm as he continued to glare.

“You don’t know me?”

He snorted. “So what? What are you fucking here for?” 

“Well,” I gestured to his shirt, “I found your place of work.” 

“You had to pull some detective work to find out that shit.”

“I’m glad I found you.”

“Well I’m not, if you don’t have a car that needs to get repaired or schedule an appointment, you may leave the premises.”

“Now that I’m here, we should at least try to-”

“You found my work. Now get out.” 

“I was thinking, that maybe until we get this project finished we could develop a schedule and go over to each other’s-”

“This couldn’t have waited until tonight?”

“There’s no one in here right now.” I reasoned. 

He scowled. “But I’m still on the clock. I don’t get paid to listen to schoolwork crap.” 

“You’re acting as if this is going to take the rest of the day,”

“With your rambling it probably will. Get out and you can try calling when I’m not supposed to stuck behind this stupid desk.” 

“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me so easily Haddock, there’s a reason why-”

He slammed a sign down right in front of me, on the verge of teetering off the desk to the floor. He pointed to each word with an angry finger.

“I know you can read Hofferson. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. You don’t have a car, so you can just-”

“Hiccup!” A man with a grease-stained cap limbered into the room through a side door. “The Larson’s car i’ tae be picked up first thing Monday and it’s still nae finished!”

“Yeah so what?” His eyes drifted lazily to the side.

The man scratched at his blonde mustache as he pulled a clipboard off a wall behind Haddock. Finger running down to find something scribbled on the sheet. 

He sighed. “Lad he wants you to do the work. Specifically requested yae.”

“Well we can’t all get what we want can we?” He spun the desk chair to look at him. 

“Get tae work on it, now.” He pointed to the side door.

He looked at me as he climbed out of the chair. “Last chance to get the fuck out.” 

His boss didn’t seem to notice me. He continued to flick through the sheets on the clipboard, tsking to himself twice before placing it back on its hook. Then he did a once-over once he noticed me still glued to the desk. 

“He didnae help yae did he?”

“I came to-”

“Customer service is nae one a’ his strongest suits, bu’ better him than me. He can tolerate te ingrates without snapping at them. Do yae have an appointment lass?”

I shook my head. 

“I’m Astrid Hofferson.”I held out my hand for him to shake. “I’m a classmate of Hiccup’s. We got paired for a project.” 

“Yae planning on working on it today?” 

“In all honesty sir he didn’t even know I was coming.”

He chuckled. “He didn’t give you this address, did he? Well that’s Hiccup fer yae. Stubborn lad, just like his father. I’m Gordon Beicher, but yae can call me Gobber. I’m Hiccup’s godfather.”

“Nice to meet you.” I smiled. “I needed to meet with him over the weekend so we could get some progress done, and I remembered seeing that cap in his car, so I figured he worked here. Luckily he was actually in today.” 

“He’s in here more often than I’d like him tae be. One a’ my hardest workers, ‘nd it’s hard tae keep him tae a schedule because he shows up at any time he likes, but if yae’d like I can dismiss him early so he can work on this with yae.”

“He seemed very intent on kicking me out just now.”

“Just needs a little persuadin’ lass.”

“Sir as far as I’ve noticed, you’re the only one he actually listens to.” 

“Haven’t had much luck with him have yae.”

I took a deep breath. “It’s been a stressful week, Mr. Gobber. However, I am very determined to make Haddock do his part until we get this done.”

“I can give yae his address, if yae like. That way yae’ll be able to work together on this project in a more private setting.”

“His address?” I asked for clarification.

“He doesnae live with me. Hasn’t fer some time now.”

“But he’s a minor, he’s supposed to-”

“Do yae know the lad smokes?”

“Isn’t a mystery in the slightest.” I shook my head. “Everyone on campus knows he smokes. Hiccup doesn’t bother to hide it.”

“I told him that as long as he smokes he cannae live under me roof.”

“And that prompted him to move out? How could his parents not have-”

“Neither his father or mother are around tae tell him what he shouldn’t be doing.” His face grew grim as he held out a slip of paper toward me.

I took it, reading the address and noting that it was a familiar street. A few blocks over from my own place of work. In the, more dangerous part of Berk. Gods. He really should be under Gobber’s roof. 

“So he isn’t living with his parents either.”

“Hiccup has claimed his independence.”

“Pardon me Mr. Gobber, but how can he afford this? Is he a full-time worker here at the shop?”

Recalling that he also owned a car, and from what I knew an expensive one at that. 

“As said, he comes in whene’er he wants. I pay him his hours, though there is someone helping him out.” His blue eyes seemed to darken. 

“Thank you anyway for the address, Mr. Gobber. I-”

“Gobber, lass. No need for mister.” 

“Could I have your phone number as well? I feel, that you’d tell me more than Hiccup ever would.”

Gobber grinned, exposing a silver tooth on his lower jaw.  “No problem with that either lass. Yer goin’ tae need someone tae keep me godson in line.”

“You know, it is funny that Hiccup listens to you more than his own parents.” 

Apparently, any mention of the parents seemed to dampen his mood. His smile disappeared, but he took out his cell phone and showed me his contact number. 

“Hopefully he can find a friend in yae Astrid. Come ‘round back. Time yae got some progress done on that project.”

I followed him through the side door to the expansive work space. There were about five cars spread out, two elevated, and there were clangs coming from a gleaming white Jeep. Some tables planted at different walls, and two red rollable large toolboxes. 

“Gobber, you tell that fucking Larson that the mechanics of the car is not where you store food!”

“What?” Gobber chuckled in amusement as we approached the Jeep. 

“Him or a troll stuffed a croissant near the air filter. Stale and dirty, and it’s,” He grunted, “not fucking coming out, DAMMIT!”

He pried it free, stretching his arm back to throw it into a trashcan at the garage door. 

“If there’s crumbs in there I am not vacuuming.”

“Is that all the maintenance needed?”

“Got it done. And why is she still here? She didn’t have an appointment.”

“Told me about yer group project.” He raised an eyebrow at him. 

He turned back to the hood. “Fucking great.” 

“I’ll give it a final check over. Yae can clock out and get to work on it. Give her a ride to the apartment.”

“Umm, why?”

“This isnae up for debate. Do it.” Glaring at him to intensify the command.

After a 60 second stare-off, Haddock sighed and ran a hand through his already messy hair. He made a show of removing his apron and shoving me aside to go hang it on a hook.

“Go wait for me at my car.” Forest green eyes locked contact with me. “Be there soon.” 

[prorevenge]

My job is super-easy? Okay. YOU do it.

This is pretty long. Smartass TL;DR at the bottom.

I was telling a Buddy about this sub, and he related this story, I tell it to you with his permission.

Buddy is a very charismatic guy, great friend, and probably a great co-worker. He’s the type of guy that everyone is fond of. Easygoing, and seems to have a knack for personal relationships. Always remembers birthdays, if he hears that a band you like is coming to town he’ll text you the news, that sort of guy.

Buddy works for a company that services industrial machinery. It was a small operation, there was Buddy, GoodBoss, Owner, The Kid in the warehouse, a couple of Technicians, and some Office Ladies who handled administration. Buddy was the pivot man in the operation, he was the point of contact for the Technicians and had great relationships with the Clients and the Vendors who supplied the parts. He knew his job inside out, and everyone likes dealing with him. He gets things done.

Now the way this place worked was that the Technicians would send in their reports for the day after 4:00pm. Buddy would look them over, looking for “Rockets”, these were high-priority jobs that needed to be done ASAP, as opposed to routine maintenance issues. He would then email The Kid a list of parts to be picked. Buddy worked 9am to 5:30pm, and was on-call for emergencies. If a “rocket” came in after-hours, Buddy would email The Kid to add it to the morning order.

The Kid arrived for work at 7:00am, and would pick parts orders for the technicians. These would be picked up by a local courier at 9:00am, and taken to a depot. There were 2 major industrial areas in town, and the “depot” wasn’t more than a large mailbox in a post office in each area. The technicians could avoid city traffic by going directly to the depots, which were very close to the clients. The couriers would get these boxes to the depots about 9:30. Buddy would schedule a call for the technicians, and when they finished the first call, they would head around the corner to the depot to pick up their parts.

Things ran smoothly for years, and then GoodBoss decided he wanted to move on. He was grooming Buddy for the move up, and Buddy learned most of the managerial duties GoodBoss covered, in addition to his own duties, things like QuickBooks and scheduling, etc.

GoodBoss leaves, and Buddy takes over these responsibilities, again things run smoothly.

Until Owner tells Buddy that he’s getting a new supervisor. BadBoss. This guy came from a Sales background, had no experience in operations, and was basically there to help Owner bid on big jobs, but his title was Operations Director, and he was Buddy’s new boss.

Buddy was angry that he had been denied the chance to move up, which in a small operation, doesn’t happen often. Add to that the fact that BadBoss was a jerk, but not a dumb jerk, and quickly figured out that Buddy was a threat. And so the lines were drawn. BadBoss had it in for Buddy, and Buddy wasn’t taking any of his shit.

One day BadBoss comes in about 8:45 and sees Buddy shooting the shit in the coffee room with one of the Office Ladies, and lays into him. “Why aren’t you at your desk? I don’t pay you to stand around talking. Get to work.”

Buddy starts to protest that he’s actually at the office 15 minutes before his shift, but BadBoss cuts him off, “I don’t listen to bullshit excuses. I want you at your desk at 8am sharp, and I want you to send me an email every morning to prove it. Now get going.”

Buddy sends him an email, BCC to Owner, asking BadBoss to confirm that he wants Buddy working 8-4:30. There was also a previous email saying “no overtime”. BadBoss sends a tersely worded confirmation.

Now Buddy comes in just before 8am, sends an email right at 8, confirming he’s on duty, and BCC to Owner. But here’s the problem.

The Technicians send their reports in after 4pm. Buddy lets it be known on the down-low that closer to 4:30, the better. So the parts requests come in at 4:25, and Buddy leaves at 4:30. He doesn’t get a chance to review them until 8 the next morning. He sends the order pick to The Kid, who doesn’t have enough time to assemble the order before the courier comes at 9am.

So what used to be next-day service ends up taking an extra day. If a Technician requests a part on his Monday report, he gets it Wednesday, not Tuesday, the way things worked before.

The customers start to revolt, loudly and energetically. These are industrial production machines, and when a “rocket” is delayed, it means a machine is down for an entire extra day. The customers are losing production and they are NOT happy.

Buddy gets called into a meeting on a Thursday with Owner and BadBoss demanding to know what the hell is happening. BadBoss is in full form, and says that Buddy’s job is super easy, and these delays are unacceptable.

Buddy explains exactly why the delays are occurring, it’s all because BadBoss changed his hours. Owner gives BadBoss the stink-eye after confirming that he ordered the schedule change.

“Okay, fine.” BadBoss concedes. “You go back to your old hours, starting Monday”

“I won’t be here Monday,” replies Buddy.

“What are you talking about?”

“I am on holiday for 2 weeks. Didn’t you check the vacation schedule?”

BadBoss goes red in the face. “I never approved any holiday request from you. You are NOT on holiday.”

“Yes, I am. The request was approved by GoodBoss before you were hired. Do you want to see the emails?”

“I don’t give a shit. Your holidays are cancelled.”

“Sorry, but my brother is getting married, and I am in the wedding party. I fly out to The Dominican on Saturday. I will be back in 2 weeks.”

“Who have you trained to take over your duties?” asks Owner.

“Well, back in the day GoodBoss would cover. I guess it’s up to BadBoss to cover while I am gone.”

BadBoss is stuck. He can’t very well claim that Buddy’s job is super easy, and then claim later in the same meeting that he can’t do it.

Oh, my Lord. What a shitshow.

The Technicians requested, say, a front sensor for a BoomStomper Model 31. BadBoss would ask them for a part number, and the Technician would reply, “I don’t know, Buddy knows all the part numbers.” Then he would go to The Kid, and say he needs to send a sensor to the Technician, and The Kid would point to the racks, where all the parts were labelled by part numbers. “I need a part number if you want to add it to an order”.

Buddy had an exhaustive Excel folder with all kinds of parts lists in it on his desktop. He also had a massive collection of manufacturers binders on shelves behind his desk. The Excel folder was already named something obscure, BadBoss couldn’t find it, so BadBoss was forced to look parts up in the binders. No CTRL-F in Excel to find a part number for BadBoss.

Buddy had bookmarks on his Chrome browser for manufacturer’s and vendor’s websites. He removed all the bookmarks so BadBoss, if he wanted in to log into any of these sites, had to create his own login. Buddy’s were on LastPass, but BadBoss didn’t have the LastPass password.

Buddy was also the adept with computers, so he had been given the access to the phone system portal. He set it up so that any calls to his desk phone or work cell would get “I am on vacation, in my absence, please contact BadBoss at Extension 123.” And then the call would forward to BadBoss’s desk phone, and if unanswered, to his work cell. After hours emergency calls went directly to BadBoss’s work cell, and if unanswered, to his HOME phone.

Buddy set up his Outlook with an autoreply that said to contact BadBoss, and copied Owner in.

Then Buddy shut off his work phone and took two weeks off.

BadBoss found out in a hurry that Buddy’s job wasn’t so super-easy after all. He was getting calls from irate clients, Technicians with the wrong parts, and calls in the evening that he had no way to handle. Remember that they repaired industrial machinery, and some facilities were 24-hours.

When Buddy got back BadBoss was waiting for him by the door and went ballistic. It was a screaming match that drew everyone, even Owner, who literally had to step between them.

Finally Buddy just screamed, “Fuck this shit. I can’t work with this guy.” He turned to Owner and said, “You saw how this place ran when I was doing HIS job, and now you see what it’s like when he’s doing mine. I am going back home, right now, before I do something I regret. So you have a choice to make.

“I’ll come in tomorrow and clean out my desk if this asshole hasn’t cleaned out his first.”

When he arrived on Tuesday, all the staff were grinning and BadBoss’s office was empty. Owner called him into his office and told him that BadBoss was gone and Buddy could get back to work.

“Nope,” said Buddy. “His office is empty, and I want it. I want his job, I want his pay, I want his perks. I have been here for years and you know what I can do. Put me in charge.”

And that’s how Buddy got his promotion. Since then the company has grown, and Buddy has grown right with it. There are now branches in 3 cities, a huge staff, and Buddy is in charge of it all.

And he still reminds me when my favorite band is coming to town.

TL;DR Grow an attention span.

(source) (story by PJMurphy)

[a-secondhand-sorrow]

supermarket flowers

I love Zoe and I’m Sad

trigger warnings: suicide mention, implied abuse, swearing

title from supermarket flowers by ed sheeran bc I’m basic

read on ao3

***

Even through the haze of grief right after Connor died, there were moments that stuck through. Moments of clarity, of happiness, of extreme sorrow. Moments when she could see everything through her old viewpoint, even when she could barely stand without feeling like she was falling.

Even years later, Zoe remembered the endless arrival of cut flowers.

After news got around, it seemed like the doorbell was ringing at all hours with another flower delivery, or lasagna, or flower delivery, or unannounced company, or flower delivery, or sympathy card, or flower delivery—

It came to the point where the doorbell ringing echoed around her brain just as much as Connor’s voice did, although with the former it really was ringing half of the time. It was certainly more than she heard either of her parents speak in that time, and more than she felt like speaking herself. The pleasantries between delivery people where the only words she spoke with another human, really, in those days.

(It wasn’t like she could muster much more energy to engage her parents or see her friends, not when her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and there was a voice-no, a ringing-no, a voice-or was it a ringing?-constantly at work.)

Pretty soon, she was choking under the sheer number; vases of flowers lined every flat surface in the house common areas, peppered with cards and notes. Some actually brightened her spirits whereas others just sunk her right back down. Cynthia adored them, often wandering into the kitchen to view them while she took a break from staring into space on the couch and crying. Larry couldn’t get far away enough from them, retreating even further into his proverbial shell, and Zoe was starting to understand why as she found herself face-to-face with another flower at every turn.

She didn’t need tons of flowers to remind her of what had happened. She appreciated the gesture, sure, but her family didn’t need another flower arrangement delivered to their door when they barely began to puncture the broken bubble taking all of the air in their home. The flowers made it real yet detached, like something out of a movie. She knew no one sending the flowers really understand what that grief felt like. And she didn’t hold it against them. They couldn’t possibly know that, for her, it was as though her life had just been completely demolished in the space of one final breath.

The flowers wouldn’t fill Connor’s seat at the table. The flowers couldn’t erase all of the times he’d screamed at Zoe ‘til he’d gone hoarse. The flowers wouldn’t fill some brother-sized hole in their family. The flowers couldn’t erase Connor’s dead body from their minds.

The flowers couldn’t hurt her like Connor did.

(And there were so many it was possible they were going to start taking over Connor’s seat, but in the poetic flow of the moment Zoe chose to overlook that fact.)

She also just didn’t have the heart to remind her parents she was allergic to pollen.

She was at the kitchen table—with all of the flowers, and a slab of lasagna even though she hasn’t been hungry in a week—when she googled something she knew she’d regret.

As she pulled her phone out of her back pocket, she could’ve sworn she saw Connor looking at her from across the table, but when she looked up all she saw was a judgemental poppy staring at her.

She stared back for a moment before swiping Google up and keying in the letters of her search.

showing results for Connor Murphy obituary

She never actually read it before then. Either Larry or Cynthia had written it some point between the hospital and the wake, but Zoe hadn’t brought herself to be able to care enough to read it. She was too caught up in how screwed up it was, that at sixteen she had to worry about shit like what the obituary for her brother would be or what to wear to the funeral.

But there was nothing else to do, since some foreign part of her felt guilty when she hid away in her room instead of suffering it out with her parents. All of the contact made something just under her skin itch, and the pollen was starting to make her feel a little loopy, as well as the fact that the shock was starting to wear off and the reality of Connor being gone had sunk in. She’d pushed it away, still expecting Connor to come flying into her room in the dead of night and threaten to kill her just as their new normal had become. The frozen reality of it still thawed slowly and steadily, trickling its way through cracks into her memory.

Pushing away her fears, she clicked on the first link, screen smooth against her calloused thumb.

Connor Murphy, 17, passed away surrounded by family early Tuesday morning at St. Peter’s hospital. Connor was a high school student at Woodcreek High and had just begun his senior year. Connor is survived by his younger sister Zoe, 16, and his parents Larry, 49, and Cynthia, 48.

A beloved son, brother, and friend, Connor was an avid reader and could frequently be found at the Woodcreek Public Library at nights and on weekends ever since he began his trips with his parents as a young boy. On several occasions, he discussed his love of the book The Little Prince, being able to read it fluently both in English and in its native French.

Wake services will take place at the Morris Funeral Home from 5 to 8 PM on Thursday the 8th of September. A private funeral service for family will take place the following day. At his parent’s request, donations can be made to the National Suicide Prevention Center at the following link.

That was it, save for directions to the funeral home.

Zoe read the blurbs again, searching more and more as though it could provide some insight as to who her brother actually is-was. But there was nothing there. It was quick, polished, forgiving of her ‘beloved’ brother. She felt anger coil in her, tight around her heart. Where was the real part of his life, the parts where he spent all his free time getting high and terrorizing Zoe? Where was the part about how he loved weed more than his family? Where was the part about how he spent the past few years trying and failing to kill himself? Where was the part about how he tried to take Zoe down with him? Where was the part where he decided destroying anything near him was preferable to getting help?

(Going to the library every night. Please. She and her parents knew plenty well he wasn’t haunting the library when he wasn’t home ‘till 2 AM.)

His favorite book was the Little Prince. She didn’t even know that.

Maybe Cynthia was right. Was she was too caught up in every bad part to even try to find a positive?

(Did he go to the library? It’s not like she ever asked.)

(But that he would have told her. Or been civil.)

Her throat constricted and her already pollen-itchy eyes began to water as she wondered why she was even crying. He didn’t deserve her knowing his favorite book. He was broken beyond what Zoe could help. She’d tried to help him, she’d tried to give him her love, but all he’d done was throw her trust away time after time.

She’d tried to help.

Because there’s Zoe, she remembered, and all my hope is pinned on Zoe.

She didn’t really believe herself.

She didn’t even know his favorite book. She’d learned it from his obituary, where every past tense verb hit her like a punch in the gut.

(Where she’d been mentioned as a throwaway, a survivor, nothing more than an add-on to her brother’s life, just as she had been while he still lived and breathed. Where it treated surviving as some kind of privilege rather than a duty, a duty she now had to carry since he hadn’t been willing or able to do so. Where she almost felt bad for not being the name the obituary shared, in some kind of fucked up survivors’ guilt, even though it felt more like survivors’ envy.)

She’d learned something as juvenile as his favorite book from his obituary, sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by cut flowers, at age 16.

Zoe shook her head quickly, hair swishing around her face. The tiny sting against her cheeks focused her just a tiny bit, the din of tuning and his voice pausing.

She just wanted to feel normal. But there was nothing normal about her life, at that moment. Her father was home from work, hiding in the basement or his room or maybe even plain sight, just blending into the walls of the living room. Her mother had barely moved from the couch in several days, too distraught to walk past her brother’s room. She was home on a Monday afternoon in September, all school work forgiven. She’d just learned her brother’s favorite book from an obituary she’d looked up online. She was sitting in a kitchen that practically doubled as a plant nursery, eyes so itchy they were ready to fall out.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

A day or two after Connor died, Cynthia had announced the family was going to grief counseling, the first session being that Monday afternoon. Zoe already had an appointment scheduled with the school counselor for when she finally returned to school. She didn’t know why. She was coping just fine. Connor was an abusive jerk and her life was easier without him there to kick down her door.

She knew what would come next. The counselor would ask her to say out loud what he put her through, and it would all sound stupid once she said it, but she’d still get pushed too far and probably have a panic attack or something and all the while the counselor would be saying she’d been misinterpreting his behavior and she’d never given him a chance and she clearly should have given him a supportive network rather than been self-absorbed and taking it personally. She’d have to excuse herself to go to the bathroom and to work herself down from sinking to the floor and breathing until her lungs gave out, all because she didn’t know how to explain just why she took what he said so personally, how much every word he spoke hurt, how much she grieved him while he still stood in front of her. She’d engineer some lie to tell Cynthia so she’d never have to go back, but only once her pulse had calmed down and the tears had dried on her cheeks.

She was just fine without the counseling.

At least if she could stop sneezing from all the damn pollen.

And then she was crying, even though she didn’t really know why she was crying. Pressing a hand over her mouth, she tried to cover the sobs for a moment before she finally gave in and lay her head on the table in her arms.

Only when she pushed her arms out, they collided with a vase of carnations.

Before she even really knew what she was doing, that anger coiled up in her again and she batted out a hand, sending the flowers in their vase toppling to the floor with a shatter that evoked one too many nights in the Murphy household.

She stayed like that for a moment, letting her heart rate slow down even as her hand stayed raised. She could swear she heard a cruel, taunting laugh filling up the room, and her hand flickered with a ghost of chipped black nail polish.

Seems more like something I would do then you. Don’t worry, though, I’m impressed. Guess you do take after me, after all?

Zoe was up in a flash, hand gripping her fork so hard her knuckles paled to white, a bit of lasagna flying off of it when she spun around.

The kitchen was empty, besides her.

She threw the fork back to the table, savoring the clink it made as she remembered that he was gone and nothing more than a voice in her head and a phantom memory.

As she eased herself back down, she tried to forget about the flowers around her and the old memories of what had happened at the table. There were some things that she didn’t want to drudge up, especially while tears were still drying on her face.

Neither of her parents had even made a sound when she’d broken the vase. She thought about cleaning it up, and wondered if she was a bad person for wanting to leave it for Larry or Cynthia to take care of.

Because she really wanted to. They’d always left Zoe to clean up her own messes while they ran after Connor putting out all the fires he set. Now that Connor was gone, it was much of the same. They’d barely stopped to ask Zoe if she was okay, much less tried to help her get through it.

Which she didn’t need. Obviously. It just would’ve been nice to know they remembered that they had a daughter, one who had real feeling and problems, not just a son who was (a sharp inhale drawn from nose, eyelids fluttering) six feet under ground.

Before she could fully decide what to do with the vase, a knock sounded from the front door. A frown creased her face, unused to a knock rather than the doorbell (the damn doorbell) running. She paused for a minute, a waiting game to see if either of her parents would make a move towards the door and not leave their only (another sharp inhale, paired with a bitter half-laugh and quirk of the lip she knew exactly the cause of yet really didn’t want to think about) child to do all the work.

Neither made a sound, as usual. She would think she was the only one left if she didn’t know better.

Silently cursing whoever invented flower deliveries for the umpteenth time that week, Zoe padded her way through the kitchen and down the hall towards the door. She couldn’t see anyone through the window, but she opened the door anyway. There was no one in sight, and she nearly eased the door back shut and slunk back down the hallway. At the last second, she looked down at the mat to see-

More flowers-colorful, mockingly cheery, aggressive.

At first she was angry, but as the sight of the flowers got processed in her sluggish, tired brain, she could tell that they were different from the ones inside of her house. They weren’t cut. Instead they were potted in a plastic pot, looking a little sad even though they were so abundant. They looked like something you’d pass at the supermarket. Zoe didn’t know much about flowers, but she did know these were bright. A folded-up note was stuck on top of the pot, Zoe scrawled on the front in unfamiliar handwriting.

These were hand delivered, and they were for her, specifically. Not her family. Not for “their loss.”

For her.

With a twinge, Zoe realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something all for herself.

After a moment’s pause, Zoe bent to pick the pot up, sticking out one hand to pluck the paper from the flowers. Without thinking she sniffed them before immediately turning to sneeze into her elbow.

If she never saw another flower after that, it would be too soon.

Damn pollen. Damn allergies. Damn doorbell.

Once she got to the kitchen table after sidestepping the broken vase, she unfolded the note.

Dear Zoe,

I know that everything can be a little overwhelming, and I saw that you had a lot of flowers, so I thought that having some of your own that will (hopefully) survive a little longer than the cut ones couldn’t hurt. (Too many flowers over all? This may have been a poor plan, in hindsight.) But I know I feel a lot better when taking care of a plant or two. It’s calming for me at least, so maybe it can be a little calming for you, too.

Things might be a little chaotic, now, but I know you’ll pull through, and hopefully this little plant will with you.

-Evan

Zoe smiled almost imperceptibly, a tiny little quirk of the lips, but it was more than she had smiled in what felt like a long time. She glanced over at the other side of the table where Evan Hansen had sat for dinner a few nights previously before looking back at the flowers he’d given her.

They were a little sad, but she figured she could get them to perk up again with work and a little time, and probably some google searches. Maybe she’d even forget about Connor and the upcoming therapy session for a minute while she tried.

The flowers were kind of cute, really. And it was nice of Evan to drop them off, given he didn’t know her at all. Hopefully she wouldn’t kill them too, just like it seemed she killed everything else.

She sneezed again, her allergies taunting her and asking her if that was what she really wanted.

Stepping over the shards of glass and heading to the kitchen for some water, she decided that, well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to give those supermarket flowers a second chance at life.

[fisherfurbearer]

fuck sam walmarts

and fuck management

I’ve had it. Left the store in tears tonight.

as some peoople probably/hopefully know. walmart closes at 6 pm on christmas eve. no one actually gets to leave at 6 becuase of shitty last minute customers. but it is what it is.

this. is really personal but im honestly SO close to just. killing myself? so who cares

basically. had a really really bad last few days. spent a lovely time with family (jessies family, his oma and opa and sister and parents and it was just a great time. theyre more family to me than most of my blood family) but it did make me Sad in Deep ways as we dont know if this is going to be our last christmas with his oma who isnt doing so good. and it just twisted me up a little but was othewrsiwse a great day. but then sunday i just...had a huge breakdown in the morning and decided to use my accomodation (i get 2 excused absenses a month) to cool down and gte myself together. slept a lot. woke up adn got a lot done, felt great, then i CRASHED really really bad, got really angry, lashed otu, took like...8-10 sleeping pills...theyre horrific things and im never doing that again...had to sleep for two days after that...felt horrifically sick, in pain, just awful. had repeating nightmares over and over. which has also been wearing me down recently. wasnt able to work monday either because i still couldnt stand and between the pills and the depression/anxiety and really just. felt like the world was ending.

decided sometime last night id just...try my best to make it in today, work my shift (really long 9-6, knowing i wouldnt leave on time nad htisis my first time working in 5 days now...which is rough...) and if i can get through this, i have another couple days off in a row after that (schedules fault, not mine...do feel awful i missed 3 days before that though...) and we can just. get back on track

today i DID go to work, jessie drove me in

i worked. a long time. im supposed to get a break every 2 hours and a 1 hour lunch

i gott my first break on timeish.

then i got my lunch 6 hours after i got in. at which time i got “locked out” for not taking my lunch and coudlnt do anything on the registers. i was supposed to get it 4 hours in. its christmas eve and excruciating and im still in pain and tired from my previous days breakdowns, but otherwise?? i did really good. i didnt mind at all that my lunch was so late. i was a little miffed, but its ok. i dont care, so long as i get it eventually. anyway they FINALLY noticed i was locked out and got me coverage and i ended my lunch at 4. things continued ok. worked on self checkout, met a lot of regulars i really like, prevented $200 of theft (HAHA WOW that was really really funny i love preventing petty theft. i prevent so much theft every week its my pride and joy) just did okay. then they had us close self checkout that took a little while. then at 5:00-5:10 or so i went to my Manager/Supervisor/”““People LEad” as walmart is now trying to call them, lets call her manager Y, and i told her i still need my break and will i get it before i leave. she said go to register 4. i asked again hey will i get my break though and she said yeah and i thought to mysel HAHA thats not going to happen but ok

really stupid that after bieng locked out the first time she couldnt give me my break before i openned a register with a line i cant get rid of

anywayy i did ok otherwise for a while

but at 5:25 or so i reminded a CSM “hey i need my break still can i get that?” and she just ssaid yeah well try to get someone and then more time passed so much time. i put through an ask on the register “assistance needed”. waited another 10 minutes. “assistance needed” again. starting to get anxious. its past 5:40. the line is so long. theres so MUCH NOISE. Its SO LOUD. the intercom keeps going off, no one is responding to me, i dont have a mat to stand on so my knees HURT,, im not doing okk

i switch my light to flashing/need assistance and start looking for someone to ask for help. its 5:45, i need my break NOW, i DESERVE IT for workng this long ass shift and they already missed several of my last breaks a week ago AND got me locked out today and im STARTING TO GET ANXIOUS PELASE I JUST WANT MY BREAK SO BAD

nnthgen a csm is passing by im about to lose it, so i tell her CSM J, please i really need my break now PLEASE and im starting to ccry and i try to tell her whats going on but she shushes me and goes and gets sometone

im full on tears at this point, im so strreesed out,,

manager Y and some other snooty manager come over andd. ffkcing. ask me whats wrong. im crying and i try to explain im really really stressed out, i havent had my last break, ive been trying to get someone for so long now, i just really need to leave im so sorry

and theyy just. fckkng

ffcking manager Y jjst ssays ok “ill give you your break” and “this is your last break” and i ssaid?? yeah i knoww?? andd she saidd “next time youre like this, just dont come in”

i quote that completeltyyy....i really lost it then...i cried som muchh

this isnt the first itme she said something like this to meee...

she asked me “why are you CRYING” When i had an anxiety attacki n the store once, when ic cloked in and couldnt get myself together,, she didnt give me time to calm down, she didnt listen as to why, she just said “why are you crying. this is a BUSINESS. you cant be CRYING Here.” and i just said ok ill go home bye and leftt

andd when i tried to get my availability changed from 7-9 to 7-6/7-7 because the random late shifts with 7 am shifts was messing me up really really bad and my doctor thinks i need to hcange it too, she just said “i cant do that. thisi sa BUSINESS.” and she wouldnt listen when i said i might have to quit because of this, this is for my health, im literally scheduled 7-2 every sunday in december, busiest day of the busiest month and you cant even chop TWO HOURS off my weekend availability????

andd i jjst

ive HAD IT with her

ive had ittt

im so ashamed and angry and anxious and i still havent stopped cryingg. she called me over to her again as i was leaving and she blamed me for it. she ssaid a customer was upset that i “Screamed” (ues i raised my voice a little but i wasnt screaming??? also the two customers i was attending to when this was going on and i cried were VERY KIND nad jjst said i was doing a good job and thanked me for being there) and called a manager over (but...csm J got them?? not a customer...??) and i cant be acitng like this, i cant do customer service when im stressed,, and d i should just STAY HOME If im going to be like that

then shee fufkcing toold me i DID IT WRONG, that i “shouldve called someone over” I TOLD HER I DID!!!!! I DID!!!!!!!!!! YOU NAIL INTO MY HEAD IM NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE THE REGISTER SO I DIDNT, I DID EVERYTHING ELSE I COULD THOUGH!!! I REQUESTED HELP TWICE!! I TURNED MY LIGHT TO FLASHING!!! I TRIED TO CATCH A MANAGER WALKING BY TO HELP ME!!! N OONE LISTENED UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE, I DID EVERYHTING I COULD!! yet she seriously told me to my face that “you didnt call anyone”, “you couldve turned your light to flashing” WHICH I DID and sshee jjst said that i made customers uncomfortable and i cant work like thatt and just stay hhome

ii stayed home sunday because i was having a mjor mental emergencyy.

i came in today because i was feeling better and i took it eaasy and ended up doing a wonderful job and mad eso many people smilea nd fixed so many problems that wouldve otherwise upset a lot of folks and i met my regulars and made old folks smile andd i prevented a lot of theft that no one else wouldve caughtt and i jjstt broke down after 9 hours and not getting a last break and all the chaos of register (WHICH BY THE WAY THEY KNOW I DONT LIKE REGISTER!!! I THRIVE ON SLE FCHECOUT!!! THATS MY JOB TITLE!! THATS WHAT I DO!!!! THEY KNOW THISS!!!!) and HER AVOIDING GIVING ME MY FUCKING BREAK and NOT RESPECTING MY FFUCKING METNAL DISABILITIES LJNASDKAJHDBASJSDNAJSNDKANSD

I JJST DONT KNOW WHAT TO DOO

i really want to die and i really want to never go back but i really loved my job i loved helpting people ii jjst hate her so muchhh and i feel GENUINE DREAD/SEVERE ANXIETY jjst SEEING her nnow

she doesnt CARE about anyone but herself shes a horrible peson i cant tell the store manager though cause she wont care either and manager Y has more clout than me so shell just twist my words and make me out as the bad guy as hte “CRAZY ONE” who cries and gets stressed (FOR COMPLETELY VALID REASONS AFTER BEING PUSHED OVER THE EDGE) even tthough i work SO FFRIKCING HARD and do SUCH A GOOD JOB and asdjanjsdhajshdas

i d ont know what to doo

i cant work another job because no where else pays as much or will let me do self checkout only, because being a cashier stresses me so muchh

ii...really wanntted to grow stuff and make preserves and sell bee products and work with folks raising heritage sheep and make more fiber art andd open a little stall at a local market and sell all that,, and offer more online and do customs andd stuff

i know i could mkae money that wa ybut i ccantt start it so sudenly and im too Broken to do it seriouslyy and i dont even want to HAVE to quit because of ONE PERSON But shes done this so many times now and this is the nfinfal streaww

i jjst dont know what to doo...

i cantt stop cryingg

i cant even enjoy christmas nnow. wanted to see my stepdad and give him his presernt and maybe be ok.

last christmas we had to move because our house was condemned after a fire. now im going to have to lose my job because of a horrible manager who doenst respect my metnal health or anything about me reallyy. and unfortunately im such a failure that i cant. do anything else and if i lose this job ill lse my animla sand i wotnt be able to do anyhtingg andd im jjust fucking trash

goddammit i dont know what to do. i really dont. hhahaaa. i just really want to end it. ive come so far and none of it fucking matters because of thiss fucking horrible manager.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

An Opera on Separation - Chapter 11

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | CH. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15 | Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 |

Summary: We take a step back to Emily’s junior year. After a near-miss on what could be a serious car accident, the young reporter meets Nathan Sterling on a human-interest story. But is he as nice as he appears?

Rating: M -  Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Mention of rape. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 1587

Notes: Ahoy-hoy, readership. So, flashback chapters. I’m addicted to them, sue me. However, I do feel that I needed to write one (and my one, I mean some) to properly clarify what’s changed on this AU.

First things first, the accident never happens. Therefore, Nathan’s never ellected as president, since Sebastian said only tried and true inner-circle members are ever ellected.

Second, on the same line as first, Beau’s president of Alpha Theta Mu. As he is one sick little shit, he decides to deviate a little from the pranking tradition of the group. No poor-taste pranks in this one. Not sure which one’s worse.

Third, no life-ruining award. Since pranking is no longer ATM’s focus, there is no longer a point of having that contest for ruining Emily’s life, and as consequence, no pranks on the suitemates. That do not mean they’ll have a sunshine-and-rainbows year.

But you’ll see that in time. For now, enjoy.

How Do You Do?

Emily and her friends were overjoyed. They had, just that afternoon, convinced Hartfeld’s City Council to declare their house an historical landmark, defeating Dorian Delacroix’s big talk and big money.

They hosted a party to celebrate their success at the old house. The last, since they would have to move out come Summer. A few minutes after midnight, they had decided to go over to a nice pizza place the next town over.

“Hey, Tyler!” Chris shouts from the living room, as they were putting on coats to take on the off-season cold weather outside. “Can I ride with you guys? I wanted to talk to you about some stuff for the student council.”

“Sorry, Chris!” Emily responds from the doorway. “I’m already riding with them. Your business talk will have to wait.”

He smirked and said: “No prob. Tomorrow’s probably better anyways.”

“C’mon, there’s a spot on my car.” Zack said, pulling the jock over to his vehicle.

The redhead, the Asian boy and his girlfriend walked over to the car and jumped in.

“Sorry if it’s a little cramped.” He apologizes to the redhead. “I’ve been meaning to clean up the car but never seem to get around to do it.”

“No sweat.” She dismissed and talked amenities with Abbie.

A few minutes into their journey, Tyler stops at a traffic light. It was red for him, and so they waited patiently. When it turned green, he slowly lifted his foot from the gearing pedal and placed it on the gas pedal.

The young man was still a novice driver, so he was very cautious not to let the engine choke. Unlucky him having a manual shifting gear.

As they take off, a brilliant, white light hit them on the face. Emily screams desperately, while Tyler hit the breaks hard. All Abbie could do was instinctively trying to protect herself by placing her hands over her eyes.

The car spun around and around its own axis for what seems a lifetime, before hitting its trunk on a pole on the other side of the street.

For a second, everything is still and silent. Emily wonders if she died or lost her conscience. She was afraid to speak, or to move. If she stood exactly at that spot, she could pretend nothing happen.

But the soft peace was soon broken by the wailing cries of Abbie. Soon, her world was flooded with her friends and passersby shouting and calling names and telling them to be calm.

Hours later, at the hospital, the doctors told them they had sustained only but a few light injuries and that they were very lucky, indeed.

Emily couldn’t help but feel she had saved herself from a terrible, terrible fate, indeed.

A few weeks into the new school year, Reyna, the campus newspaper editor, had requested of Emily a story on the charitable work of Alpha Theta Mu, a traditional Greek life organization at Hartfeld. The redhead, herself, had never heard of them, but the other girl had made clear they were big on campus.

Emily had the distinct impression they were big enough to buy a space on their next issue, but she wasn’t about to expose her friend like that. Besides, the piece seemed easy enough, belonging on the variety section and all.

Not expecting much of it, she walked over to the ATM clubhouse and gingerly knocked on the door. A few seconds later and a tall, muscular, blond man answers with a welcoming smile.

“Hello, welcome to Alpha Theta Mu!” He said, cheerful. “I’m Nathan Sterling, the vice-president of this fratority, and you’re Emily Harper, right?”

The guy had done some research. “Yes, that’s right. So nice to meet you.” She smiled and shook his hand.

“Please, come in.” He let her inside and shut the door. “I am sorry for the mess. We hosted a party last night and things got a little out of hand. Would you like to talk over lunch? I’m having lobster.”

“Oh, no, I don’t eat lobster.” The girl responds, a little unnerved with the thought. “I couldn’t do that to Gerald.”

“Gerald?” He narrows his eyes in confusion.

“My pet lobster.” She provides. “And, anyways, I already ate, thank you very much.”

“I’ve never heard of someone who kept a lobster for a pet.” Laughing, he insists: “How about dessert, then? You can’t say no to tiramisu.”

“Something sweet does sound appetizing, thank you.” The redhead says and follows the guy into the dining room. Between bites of the heavenly dessert, she continues: “Pardon my bluntness, but where’s Beau Han? I’ve been told I’d interview him.”

“Oh, the president will not be available for today’s interview. We were hoping you could interview me, instead.” He shot a charming smile, and the girl found herself smiling back.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I don’t, either.” She responds and picks up her small notebook. “May we start with the questions?”

“By all means.” He motioned for her to go on.

She clicked her pen. “First, I need your full name and position.”

“I have much too many middle names, you may credit to Nathan Sterling, Vice-President of Alpha Theta Mu.” He shot her a winning smile.

“You’re the boss.” She nods. “How long have you been a part of ATM?”

“Most of our pledges are sophomore. I was no exception.” The boy recapitulated his career at the fratority in his mind. “It’s been a year last September.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been long!” She responded, surprised. “All other fraternities’ presidents I know have two or three years of enrollment.”

“Here at ATM we prefer juniors at the leading positions.” The blond explains. “College experience and available time. It greatly increases the odds of finding the perfect candidate, don’t you think?”

They glossed over the commonplace questions on such a story, like overall history, motivation for community service, enrollment and their plans for the year.

After the meal, Nathan offered a tour through the clubhouse, which Emily heartily agreed. The place was awfully empty, the other Alphas were at classes or other commitments, according to the blond man.

Regardless, she was amazed with the lavishness of the clubhouse. Every room was carefully designed and decorated, not to mention spacious and luxurious. Not at all what one could expect out of a dorm for college students.

“Do you all live here?” She questions, rather suddenly.

The fair-haired shook his head. “No, most of us, myself included, live at the dorms or off-campus. There’s not enough rooms for us all, and between you and me, it’s relieving knowing that, by the end of the day, I’m going back to my place and be alone for a while.”

“I know what you mean.” Emily responds, with the obligatory smile and nod. “I mean, not exactly, I always had a ton of roommates, but I can imagine how comforting ‘me time’ can be.”

“You got roommates? Anyone I might know personally?” He inquires, his eyes glinting in curiosity.

“Probably. I live with two people, Zack and Becca.” She provides. “Becca’s the former president of Kappa Phi Sigma, and Zack is working with Connecticut Historical Society on the restauration of a number of old buildings in the city.”

“Becca? As in Rebecca Davenport?” Nathan asks, and upon confirmation he laughs. “We’re acquainted. Her father and mine were Alphas together back in the day. I assume she’s still… opinionated?”

“Becca’s a tough cookie to crack, I give you that.” The redhead agrees, nodding and giggling. “But she’s a great friend to have, after you get over all the brashness.”

“I’ll take your word for it. After she pushed me off a toy horse on our elementary school’s playground back on first grade, I just accepted I’d remain on her bad side forever.” He shrugs off the memory.

They continue the tour through the house, talking amicably.

The Sun shone through the window on a Spring Monday morning at Emily’s bedroom.

It was her final month as a junior, and waking every morning felt like a blessing to the young redhead. Her English major classes have been a treat all year, her newspaper gig was going great too. She had two best friends she cherished very much and who lived with her on a nice apartment on the right side of town.

And, last but certainly not least, she had a handsome, charismatic and nice boyfriend whom she loved and was loved in return. Nathan was certainly everything anyone could ask out of a boyfriend, being comprehensive, attentive and so good in bed.

There was no reason why Emily wouldn’t wake up every day smiling.

While she was brushing her teeth to get ready for yet another day, a screech alarmed her. “Emily! Zack! Come to the living room right now!” Becca shouted.

Having the blonde screaming was nothing new, but that morning, the call was less bossy and more distressed, what motivated them to immediate response.

Over there, Becca stood impassively in the middle of the room, eyes fixated on the television and hand over her mouth.

“Becca!” Zack asks, concerned. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Speechlessly, she points over to the television, where the reporter spoke live from the Alpha Theta Mu clubhouse. The newscast was already finishing the piece, but the lead message on the bottom of the screen was ominous enough.

“Sex scandal hits Greek Life organization.”

“They raped Claire.” Becca manages to let out. “They raped her and then they bashed her head against the floor.”

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An Opera on Separation - Masterlist

[readfelice-blog]

moominland chronicles Sechszehn: bloody tale of woe continued

Sunday, Monday, Happy Days,

Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days,

Thursday, Friday, Happy Days,

The weekend comes, my cycle hums

Ready to race to you

These days are ours

Happy and free. (Oh Happy Days)

These days are ours

Share them with me.(Oh baby)

Goodbye grey sky, hello blue,

there's nothing can hold me when I hold you.

feels so right you can't be wrong,

rockin' and rollin' all week long.

Saturday, what a day

Groovin' all week with you

It’s Wednesday // now its Sunday (I couldn’t finish this on Wednesday, it was still to close).

First off I’m asking for money, I will go into more depth next week because I’m facing the crisis of what the value of my work really is, for now this is my Crowdfunding campaign:

https://igg.me/at/bocemachtocho/x/19564227

Please support if you can.

Music….

Just listen to these, they’re both little slices of genius that deserve your time:

LYDIA LUNCH Queen of Siam

https://www.discogs.com/Lydia-Lunch-Queen-Of-Siam/release/392276

NICOLAS JAAR Hardcore Ambient Mix

https://soundcloud.com/otherpeoplerecords/nicolas-jaar-harcore-ambient …

Here’s the recap and then what happened next on my fine romp through the German Health service…

MONDAY 1/10/18

bleeding

First clot plops out, come into contact with rude receptionists, no one will give me an appointment

TUESDAY 2/10/18

bleeding

Horrible morning cleaning, go to TK and sort my insurance, go to emergency doctor who tells me to go to a gynaecologist

WEDNESDAY 3/10/18

bleeding

Home all day making work, have a little singsong at night. (national holiday - no doctors open)

THURSDAY 4/10/18

Bleeding

Go to job, go to gynaecologist who's not there / will be going on holiday, ring more rude receptionists, fall into the office of a gynaecologists pleading for help, take my pants off, get ultrasound spy dildo inserted up me, bleed all over the doctor. Am told I am pregnant, am told I am not pregnant, am told to go to hospital and go to my insurance. Go to my insurance, get my letter, wander round seemingly abandoned hospital, go home broken.

Oh, ask for help- email my boss / mentor and tell her what’s going on. Email all my clients and cancel all my jobs for the next week.

FRIDAY 5/10/18

Bleeding

Wake up and get a taxi to hospital.

Beg to be seen by someone.

Female gynaecologist sees me this time - take my pants off, get ultrasound spy dildo inserted up me and am roughly routed around in with alarming metal objects and no warning that it will hurt or being asked whether I am in pain. Am told it’s not a baby its a polyp, am scheduled for surgery, spend 2 hours filling in forms, waiting, am given appointment for 9.30am Monday morning and turfed out. Leave, realise I can’t get the note from my doctor (they’re all closed) I need before the weekend, go back, cry at admin assistant, have minor breakdown, am settled and sent away.

Sit shakily on bench in small square by U Bahn on the grounds of the hospital, talk to Moon, go home, tuck myself in and bleed.

My mentor says she’ll come to see me at the hospital, what do I like to eat (I have to stay overnight).

SATURDAY 6/10/18

Bleeding

Move very little, bleed very much, buy some food.

SUNDAY 7/10/18

Bleeding

Much like Saturday but I write and publish my blog.

My mentor asks me what time to come see me.

First wave of friends that read blog get in contact,

“Felice ….. now im sneakily reading your bloody ( literally bloody this time) blog to find out whats actually happening with you. I hope you´re okay!, and if you ever do ask for help I will do my best to help you.”

MONDAY 8/10/18

Bleeding

Get up 6AM, have shower very slowly, am in a lot of pain (its worst in the morning), sit outside my house and wait for Taxi, get taxi, tell the driver I miss free healthcare, he tells me he misses his family in Istanbul. Am deposited outside doctors (to ask for note), wait for 20 mins to get slip of paper and give the receptionist a hug.

Get another uber to Hospital, he leaves me at the gates and I walk to the Frauen Klinik, not sure of where to go I wait at registration then am directed up to my ward and power off with 45 minutes till my surgery, the admin assistant tells me “alles gut”.

Up at station 35, the nurses are friendly, I go to another registration office, back to wait in overcrowded little patient room, fill in a tome of forms in German using the camera on Google Translate to try make sense of them, hand back the forms and slyly observe the small Russian family to my right, the son talks expansively, the mother is softly spread from middle age and fairly tethered to the father, she beckons him to join her but he’s brittle and stands by the window instead, I don’t know what's wrong with her.

30 minutes after my scheduled surgery, 10am, then 45, I am called in to a nurses office where she tell’s me, as if I should know, I’ve been rescheduled for 12:50, she's nice and she tries to speak English, she asks what becomes some kind of pass code,

“Have you eaten on drunk anything today? Do you have any allergies?”

The nurse will take you to your room now, but go back and wait first.

I encounter a gorgeous young elfin nurse and ask if I can go a cigarette on my way to the patient room, where more people are piled in now, she says yes 5 minutes, I promise thats what I’ll do.

Inhale cigarette run back upstairs.

She’s there again, she didn’t know I was scheduled for surgery! Tell them when they take you to your room, just in case.

I stand in the corridor for 20 mins, there is nowhere to sit in the patient room.

A nurse comes and deposits me in my room, it's like places I’ve stayed in generic expansive hotels, a Holiday Inn perhaps, charge my phone, hug my pig because of course I brought him. A nurse enters roughly 30 mins later and tells me to change, its the young elfin nurse, I bundle my things in the cupboard and lock the door, give her the key. Then I change and wait.

In comes another nurse, high cheekbones and a wide smile, I climb into bed but manage to get her to listen to me when I say I’ve had a cigarette, a gasp, she calls down to surgery, a moment where I’m not sure if they’ll operate, but its ok and off we go. I am wheeled to the lift, she touches my shoulder often, she's forgotten all her notes and runs back to the room leaving me lying by the lift, she comes back, still no notes, they’re under my pillow. We continue.

It's like a hospital drama from first person perspective, I’m scared, I’ve never been wheeled around in a bed before, the viewpoint is totally new and robs you of all your independence, I am just a body, unable to move, looking up at the people that flash in and out on my journey down to surgery.

“Have you eaten anything today? Do you have any allergies?” Repeated over and over again, I tell my surgeon I’m not sure sure how much I love Berlin after the last week, I tell the man that doesn’t introduce himself to me and has a strange smile on his face that makes me feel uncomfortable, that I’ve lived here for 6 months, I repeat “No I’ve not eaten anything, No I don’t have any allergies, I’m wheeled next to the operating table, my clothes are removed, a drip is stuck inside me and I’m given a mask, I precariously climb onto the table and then nothing….

I wake up blearily, to be told there was no polyp, its low estrogen, blinking, moments of consciousness, they explain what’s wrong me, or not in this case because they don’t know, there was a lot of blood, I feel like it’s my fault. I ask for the blood clots they’re removed, because I want to see them, but they’re never brought to me.

My nurse takes me back to my room, there’s another woman there now, I’m so frustrated that after an hour or so of sleep I stubbornly dress and go for a smoke, despite the head nurse on the ward saying “if you pass out, I’m not coming down to collect you.”

Then back up, more sleep, my rose quartz angel (mentor, but this is her true form) comes to visit, she brings lilies and salted chocolate, I tell her they didn’t find anything, I am still bleeding, now in my hospital pants rather than my own knickers. She leaves when the nurses bring in dinner, 2 slices of stale bread, 2 slices of plastic cheese, 4 patties of butter, cheese, to be honest I’m not sure. I eat them but am glad I have the chocolate to.

I’m still high on the drugs they’ve given me, I buzz up and down for cigarettes and feel strangely lucid, I text and read the books the rose quartz angel brought me, I try and pretend to myself that it’s all ok now.

My roommate is Russian, she speaks in German or Russian on her phone constantly, but she does not understand English, so we don’t talk. At 21:30 the head nurse administers pain killers and offers to freshen my back “no thanks” then my roommate turns off her light, so I do the same.

But I can’t sleep, so I just toss and turn, 2 hours or so later I wake and patter off to the kitchen to look for food, I’m starving, I find a container of muesli and some milk, I sneakily pour it in a cup alongside a cup of soup, then I craftily return to my room feeling like I’ve subverted the system somehow. The water isn’t hot enough for the cup of soup to melt so there’s fatty globs of it still in the cup, I eat everything anyway, in the dark, then I try to sleep. Another few hours and I manage some shut eye, my body is craving touch from another though, it’s desperately shouting at me.

Good Omens is funny isn’t it?

Eartheater has played and is now probably at some hedonistic afterparty.

TUESDAY 8/10/18

Bleeding

My roommate wakes before me, but I’m half awake, people come in and out (nurses to attend to her requests), she talks on the phone, at 9:00 they wheel in breakfast, 2 slices of stale bread, a piece of plastic cheese and more patties of butter, plus some questionable conserves.

This bread is tough.

A doctor comes in whilst breakfast is still at my side table,

“So you can go whenever you want, we told you what's wrong with you right?”

“When I was high on the drugs you’d given me yes.”

“It’s a hormonal imbalance, you need to go see your gynaecologist so they can give you the IUD.”

“Ok.”

There was no polyp, or alien baby, but I wasn’t conscious so how do I know.

I pack up and exit like a rockstar, but maybe the kind of rockstar your dad becomes at a disco after a few beers rather than Iggy Pop. Before I exit the hospital completely I go see the admin team about my insurance one last time, to ask if I have to call my insurance, because apparently this little hospital holiday will likely cost up to 30k, the woman tells me its ok and I give her a big hug, lilies still in hand, then I dance down to the street, I must still be high on drugs.

i sidestep to the office of the woman I cried at on Friday, because it wasn't her fault so I drew her my lilies to say sorry, she doesn’t have her flowery crocs on today but she's still oddly special and her eyes are crystalline as I run off.

But I’m still bleeding.

I go home on the U Bahn, via the gynaecologists I’ve now crashed into 3 times this week, but my welcome isn’t so warm this time. I need to see the doctor, maybe not today but this week, I hand them my referral note and my operation notes, she goes to talk to him. I get the impression I’m becoming an annoyance now, as if this is all my fault.

“He can see you in 10 days”

“I haven’t stopped bleeding, I need it to be sooner than that.”

She is still kind faced as she ponders this, “ok Thursday morning 8:30?”

“Thats my birthday but yes.”

I finally get home after making some heady announcements via email and facebook that all is right with the world again (drugs still? Who knows).

My rose quartz angel brings me a ton of leafy greens, soups, nuts, tea, yoghurt, chocolate, the care package from heaven and she sits in my little yellow kitchen briefly not drinking her tea.

“So did they take hormonal tests if they think its hormones?

Are you not scared?

I don’t think you should go back to this doctor, I think you need a second opinion and I think he’s a tool, get some more contacts and I’ll do a call round for you tomorrow, see what I can find.”

She had botched surgery before she moved to Berlin, there’s a hole in her mouth now, she called and emailed surgeons all over the world to consult with. She sat opposite a friend of the surgeons, another surgeon, who told her that her investigation could ruin his friends reputation, he didn’t give his opinion.

Doctors are humans to.

After she leaves I’m thrown back in to a land of exasperated worry, I trawl the internet to find more English speaking gynaecologists, I phone the doctor that discharged me, who is not happy to hear from me and through gritted teeth tells me there are no hormone tests, any medical professional would just know that it was an imbalance.

I go to bed worried, the bleeding is getting heavier again.

WEDNESDAY 10/10/18

Bleeding

After a very goog nights rest I receive a call from my rose quartz angel, shes got me an appointment way out at templehof in 2 hours. I dress and get ready slowly, all the connections are seamless, I feel like my angel is with me, I get to the doctors in good time.

Walking through the leafy grounds of the hospital with crisp autumn sun shimmering through the leaves that are a spectrum of warm colours. Not in a panic because my rose quartz angel has sent me a map as well. I walk in exactly on time, have a little tussle with the receptionist about my insurance card, am seated, wait on a white wicker chair reading Alan Watts. The waiting room is airy and feminine, the staff wear pink t-shirts and German pop echoes out from the speaker just to my right above me, I pour myself water and have a little cup of tea.

When my doctor comes out I look at her for 5 minutes before registering she's asking for my name.

Then I repeat my bloody tale of woe to her.

She doesn’t want to just bung me up with an IUD, it will cost me 300euros to do so (or there around) and it won’t solve the problem. She wants to have a look in my uterus as well, so I climb on to her chair and have the spy dildo inserted up me for the 3rd time in the last 7 days, but shes gentle, she tells me it might hurt and to let her know if I’m in pain.

“Well they did a good job of cleaning you out at least because there’s nothing in there now.”

Clothes back on, my ovaries look fine, she’s going to check with her senior doctor to see what he thinks.

I’m back in the waiting room, then in her office.

“So, pills to clot the blood and stop you bleeding. You don’t have to go on the pill, what do you think?”

“I think I want to cover all my bases.”

“Great, me to. Once the bleeding has stopped call us, then we can do a smear test and try to find out whats going on.”

I walk out to a really beautiful autumn day, the kind that framed your first weeks back at school or college, when everything was so fresh and exciting. Whilst I wait for my pills I have coffee and cake at a small cafe that serves the passion cake my mum makes, its the only place I’ve ever found that does so and I’ll be back there again next week.

THURSDAY 11/10/18

Bleeding (getting less)

It’s my birthday.

The bear messages me that the doctor agree’s he's showing symptoms of chlamydia, he's been given antibiotics and I should go ASAP (but no test results as of yet).

“I’ll talk to my gyno next week, its my birthday today and I’m sick of clinics and hospitals this week.”

STI tests are not covered on my insurance.

Ok, no more days need to be charted now, the bleeding is nearly stopped I’ll be back to leafy Templehof at the earliest convenient time next week.

If it is an STI after all this let me just quickly cite what would of happened had I been in the UK with the NHS:

I would of gone to the sex health centre at Homerton Hospital, the same time I went to the emergency doctors on my first visit, around 3 months ago. But I would have had the whole spectrum of tests, rather than just doing 3, because I couldn’t afford the chlamydia test and it would cost 300euro if it came back positive anyway.

A week later I would of received an automated message telling me if I had chlamydia, I would of gone to collect my antibiotics and nothing more would of come of this.

It would of cost the NHS at least a 10th of what its costing my health insurance provider in Germany, because it would of been solved, no carousel of ultrasound spy dildos. No being wheeled down to surgery.

I’m not saying it is Chlamydia, it could be hormones, it could be cancer (but lets brush that one aside), but if it is Chlamydia then this glaring discrepancy of costs and stress is almost mind boggling, all because I would of had access to free testing and treatment.

Anyway I’m done for now, though will update again next week, hopefully in less detail as I’m hoping now I have a diligent and thoughtful doctor I’ll be able to start getting better, and as I say the bleeding has nearly stopped.

My birthday was fantastic, I got to lie on the floor of Saal 1 at Funkhaus and let sound wash over me, bless the folk at Monom, I’m off to Treptower now to see friends I haven’t seen in a while then to a dance studio I’m renting, to sing my heart out in peace. It’s another beautiful day and I’m really looking forward to seeing these friends, I’ve missed them.

But just before I round out this tale of madness for now, I want to say that during the course of the week so many people have been in touch from Berlin and from home to offer support and anything else they can do, it’s really a beautiful thing, there are so many fantastic people in this world and I’m so grateful, thank you. I put all my dirty laundry on display, I don’t really know why, but I get so much from doing it and I don’t think I’ll be stopping anytime soon.

Happy Sunday all.

[celiarollins]

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[iamknicole]

Case Study - Chapter One

Roman Reigns/OC

Authors Note: Umm there is some smut in here. Can’t have TCD Roman in a fic without it! Enjoy.

Tags: @lavitabella87 @fivefootxo @reigningxo @designrwriterchic @macfizzle @cool-snowball-22-blog

Monday – March 6, 2017

Virginia State University – Petersburg, VA

8:30 a.m.

 “Each of you will be assigned a case study as your final project. This will determine whether you graduate with you Masters in Forensic Psychology or are back in my class next semester.”

 My pen tapped against my bottom lip waiting for my professor, Dr. Hayes, to get to the good part of his lecture, Every chance I got I dropped hints to him about what pick I wanted for my case study. Being his top student, I hoped he would give me what I wanted.

 “When we are finished here this morning I want you all to go home and take a good look at your files,” Dr. Hayes requested as he began to pass out large manila folders, “Now I am aware that most of you had a preference which I took into consideration. I think you will find that your picks are in order.”

 The class of ten sat quietly, all of us waiting for him to continue.

 “Well, the suspense is killing me. Go on and open them.”

 The sound of paper and objects hitting the tables then audible gasps and groans filled the room. My file sat face down as I marveled my badge for a few seconds then sat it aside. Opening the folder containing my subject, I smiled knowing my pick would be staring back at me but I was wrong. My eyes widened at the name and photo staring back at me.

 Roman Reigns.

 Dr. Hayes tapped my table gathering my attention. “I know you wanted the Black Widow but I felt like that would be too easy for you, Anamaris. Reigns will give you the challenge, the Black Widow will not.

 Jennifer Reid, also known as the Black Widow, sodomized and tortured more than forty-five men. She was always interesting to me. Jennifer looked like a girl next door, sweet and innocent.

 “With all due respect, I don’t think that I can handle Roman Reigns.”

 Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I could handle three months of sitting alone with Reigns.

 “Don’t doubt yourself, Ana. I’ve got an abundance of faith in you.”

 Dr. Hayes walked away without giving me a chance to rebuttal, returning to the podium at the front of the room fielding questions from the others in the room. I had started to drown their voices out, glancing over the file that sat in front of me. This man was six foot three (a foot and six inches taller than I) and weighed 265 pounds (145 pounds heavier than I). Little me sitting in a room, alone with a man that’s been convicted of killing a dozen of women.

 “Alright class. This will be the last formal meeting unless something else comes up. The five of you who have males I will see you tomorrow morning at Marion Correctional Treatment Center at 9 a.m. And the five who have women, I will see you tomorrow morning at Fluvanna Correction Center at 10 a.m.”

 Tuesday – March 7, 2017

Marion Correctional Treatment Center – Petersburg, VA

9:10 a.m.

  After grocery shopping, I went home to my apartment to read over my files to prepare myself to meet Roman Reigns face to face. Dr. Hayes sent me links to a few of his court appearances and a section of the interrogation video. I thought watching the videos would help, they did nothing to ease my nerves and anxiousness.

 “Alright, kiddos,” Dr. Hayes voice carried through the waiting area, “You’ve been briefed, you have everything you need and were taught emergency precautions. I will check on you weekly via email. If you need anything beyond that you all know where to find me. Good luck and stay safe.”

 With those final words, we were directed to our designated areas. I was placed in one of the quiet rooms, there was no door just an open-door frame. I sat everything I felt I would need on the table while I waited on Roman to be brought in.

 The guard brought him into the room with no cuffs, gave a nod and turned to stand with his back to us.

 “Good morning, Mr. Reigns. Would you like to have a seat,” I asked softly.

 His lips turned up into a smirk as his eyes moved to meet mine. He wore gray sweats and a crisp, white v-neck t-shirt. Hair pulled up on the crown of his head into a bun.

 “Ladies first, Mrs. Shepard.”

 “How did you know my name?”

 Roman’s smirk grew into a big smile. “I know everything. Being in here stops nothing. Now,” he said pulling out my chair, “Your seat.”

 With much caution, I took my seat allowing him to push my chair up under the table. Besides him killing all those women, Roman was very much the gentleman everyone who knew him claimed that he was. He took his seat placing both hands on the table.

 “I’m not married,” I murmured flipping through my file.

 “What was that?”

 “I’m not married,” I repeated looking up at him. “You called me ‘Mrs.’. I’m not married.” He nodded with his gaze fixed on mine. “Call me Anamaris. Please.”

 “Whatever your little heart desires, Anamaris.”

 I cleared my throat trying to concentrate on my questions. “Mr. Reigns, you were committed for multiple counts of murder. Correct?”

 He rubbed through his growing bread still smiling. “How many do they have me down for, Anamaris?”

 “Six. You were convicted of six murders.” Hs brows rose as a whistle passed his lips as if he were impressed with the number. “Is there something amusing, Mr. Reigns?”

 “Call me Roman,” he said leaning onto his arms that were propped on the table. “The number just always amazes me.”

 “What are you saying? Are there more than six victims?”

 “If I told you that then I’d have to kill you,” he asserted roughly, “Hell, I might just do that anyway.”

 Before I could respond the guard called out Roman’s last name forcefully to which Roan laughed loudly and raised his hands in surrender.

 “Just joking with the beautiful lady. Just jokes.”

 Fidgeting in my seat, I watched Roman who was picking with his nails and tried to get back on track. I only had another hour with him today just to get acquainted.

 “Tell me about yourself, Roman. What was it like for you growing up?”

 “I know what you’re expecting and that’s not it, babygirl.” Roman looked me in the eyes, no trace of emotion behind them. “An older sister and brother. We grew up in a two-parent home, upper middle class family. All three of us played sports, got good grades and all that good stuff. I’m the baby of the bunch but I’m in the middle when it comes to my cousins.”

 “So you’ve got a big family? That must have been fun,” I suggested with a smile. This was the first time I had smiled at him the whole time we were in the room together.

 “You’ve got a beautiful smile, Ana. You should do it more often.”

 “Thank you, Roman. But about your family. Was it fun?”

 Leaning back in his seat, his hands dropped to his lap and he got this far away look in his eyes. His family from what I read meant a lot to him, the tattoo that started from his wrist ending on his pectoral proved that much.

 “It was more than fun. It was life, Anamaris. We didn’t need friends because we have each other. Nobody messed with us big bad Samoans either. Not even our girl cousins,” he explained with a smile.

 “Big bad what now?” I asked intrigued by his words.

 “Samoans,” he repeated slowly. “You like that, do you?”

 “Just asking for clarification, Roman. You’re also Italian, correct?”

 “Someone’s done their homework,” he laughed giving her a pointed look. “But I think it’s a little unfair that you know so much about you and I know so little about you.”

 I shrugged looking behind Roman to the guard, who was doing a terrible job at acting like he wasn’t listening.

 “I don’t really know what there is to say. I’m the youngest with three older siblings. I cheered and did gymnastics until I got my Bachelor’s degree. I’m going to be graduating with my Masters in June. That’s pretty much it.”

 “Is there a boyfriend?” He seemed interested in what I had to say. That or he is very good at hiding the truth.

 “No. and from what I’ve read you haven’t had a girlfriend since,” I trailed off remembering what happened.

 “Since when,” he pushed leaning forward once again.

 “Since she um since she found out that you killed her best friend, Destiny.’

 “And how did I kill her, Anamaris? In detail, I know you’ve got it. I wanna hear the words fall from those pretty lips of yours.”

 “You were waiting in her house after she had gotten home from work, you choked her with your bare hands until you broke her neck,” I said reciting what I had read in his file, “You left her on the floor of her bedroom. Her eyes were wide open.”

 Roman stretched his hands out in front of him, opening and closing them. The veins in his hands and arms were becoming more and more prominent. I had gotten lost watching the act, Dr. Hayes had done a terrible service giving this case study to me.

 “You better watch yourself, Ms. Shepard. Get too comfortable and you’ll end up like the rest of those women,” the guard yelled from the door.

 “With all due respect, this has nothing to do with you and if I had any worried about my safety I would have already left this room. I would appreciate it if you would let me do what I am here to do.” I spoke with authority in my voice I didn’t need that guard messing up the rapport I had with Roman. One wrong word and he would shut down just like he did when he was interrogated. If I wanted to get graduate, I needed to keep Roman open to me.

 The guard chuckled fixing his belt. “All I’m sayin’ is, this one here clearly doesn’t know how to control his emotions around pretty women like yourself. Probably embarrassed that his size don’t add up.”

 Fire in his eyes, Roman stood from the table ready to lash out on the guard. I jumped up from my seat to rush around the table, putting my hands on his chest to stop him from going any further. Knowing that he could have easily thrown me out of his way, I caught his eye so that he would look away from the offending guard. The fire had started to die down in his eyes, but there was still a blaze there.

 “Just focus, Roman. Focus on me.” I whispered ignoring the guard’s laughter.

 Gently removing my hands from his chest, Roman moved around me and towards the door. I bit my lip hoping he didn’t lash out at the guard. If he lashed out my case study would be down the drain and I would be stuck by default retaking Dr. Hayes class in the fall. Instead of retaliating Roman let the guard know that he was ready to go back to his room leaving me by myself.

 Wednesday – March 8, 2017

Marion Correctional Treatment Center

9:20 a.m.

  Before meeting with Roman, I went to my supervising psychologist, Dr. Evans, to talk about the event that had taken place the day before. I didn’t leave his office until he agreed to put us in a more private place and the guard switched with another. In no way was I going to allow some incompetent guard ruin my semester.

 After much deliberation, Roman and I were moved to a closed off quiet room. I went in with the understanding that there were no cameras and a door that I could close to give us more privacy. Dr. Evans understood how important this study was to me and accommodated me accordingly. However, his decision did not come without an understanding. I was given a hand-held alarm just in case Roman tried something to make me feel unsafe but he couldn’t give a reaction time.

  “You know if you wanted to be alone with me all you had to do was tell me,” Roman joked making his presence known.

 I asked him to close the door then took a seat on top of plain wooden desk

 “I suggested we have more privacy. We don’t need anyone antagonizing you and making my work harder.”

 “Is that right,” he asked causally.”

 Roman was dressed the same as yesterday, only he wore light gray instead of white with his gray sweatpants. He walked closer to me, taking slow strides his eyes never leaving mine. He sighed as he braced himself on the table, hands on the side of each of my thighs.

 “You’re very close, Roman. Too close.”

 “If I’m too close then press your button. I know you have one, Anamaris. Press it,” he whispered putting his forehead against mine, “Unless you’re not scared.”

 Turning my head away from him, I inhaled deeply gathering myself. Having him this close to me it was easy to see how he charmed the other victims. No one was able to tell him anything other than what he wanted to hear.

 “I know when you went home yesterday you thought about what that guard said. It probably kept you up all night.” Roman’s nosed trailed up her neck to her ear where he bit down gently. “You wanna know if what he said was true and I’m more than willing to show you that it’s not.”

 “Roman, we need to get back to work. I’m only here a little while longer.”

 He groaned, moving to look me in my eyes putting his forehead back against mine. “You’re here until 4pm. After I show you what you want to know, we can go back to talking.” Roman didn’t wait for my answer, he started to left the hem of my dress slowly. He growled lowly in appreciation of my purple lace thong once was dress was around my hips. “You wore this dress on purpose. You want me, don’t you? I could tell by the way you look at me.”

 “I thought my dress was cute is all.” My voice was above a whisper, going completely mute when I felt his fingers rub slowly over my clit. I gripped his biceps tightly, digging my nails into them.

 “Right, Ana. We don’t have a lot of time as you said so let’s make this quick. Shall we?” Roman smiled wickedly as he pulled my thong off and placed it in his pocket. Pulling me to the edge of the desk by the backs of my thighs, he opened my legs wide giving me a glance before letting go.

 Was I really about to let this serial killer fuck me, I thought to myself.

 “Don’t think about it. Just relax for a second.”

 Looking down, I saw that he had pulled his dick out of his sweats not bothering to push them down. It would be easy for him to slip it back in just in case someone came in, he was covered. Roman held my legs up as he slowly pushed inside of me. My pussy was having involuntary spasms as it was grabbing hold of his dick. From the look on Roman’s face, I thought he might lose it before he even got all the way inside of me.

 “Fuck,” I moan softly. “You’re too big.”

 “Mmm, just relax,” he whispered moving his right hand up to my throat. He squeezed gently. The action alerted me, my hands instinctively went to his wrists. Roman began to slide slowly in and out, while making a circling motion that really stimulated my clit ignoring me pulling on his wrist. “You wanna know how I killed the second girl? What was her name,” he grunted moving his left thumb to my clit rubbing harshly. “Oh, it was Dana.”

 My hands fell to my nipples pinching them as I watched him concentrate on pumping in and out of me. Roman then groaned and said, "Yeah, I like to see that. Where was I?”

 “Stop talking about,” I panted loudly, “Dana. Just do it, Roman.”

 He choked me harder, leaving me gasping for air as he thrusted harder into me. “You wanted to talk, we’re multi-tasking, babygirl. As I was saying,” he said pushing my back flat onto the desk. “I was fucking her and I realized that she had to die. She fit and it hit me right before I came.” His hand left my throat, trailing down my body to my clit my back arching from his touch. His other hand kept me still as I writhed up under him. “I was nice and let her come,” he whispered.

 My orgasm came rushing through me all at once, I tried to focus one on thing but his actions wouldn’t allow it. Roman continued to fuck me and choke me through my orgasm his eyes boring down into mine. If it weren’t for him choking, I would have screamed out forgetting about those outside the door, all I could do was groan through my gasps.

 “Just as she came down, I squeezed tighter and kept fucking her. I squeezed and squeezed,” he groaned as his strokes became faster and sloppier. Roman kept squeezing, choking me harder as he spoke in a breathy tone. Tears fell from eyes as my fear set in. “Just as I came, she stopped breathing.” He pulled me up by my throat so we were nose to nose as he came. He was breathing hard, trying to catch his breath but his grip on my throat never faltered. My hands went to his wrists again, digging my nails into his wrists and wiggling against him.

 “Shh. Shh,” he whispered in my ear. “I know you’re scared, don’t be. If I wanted to kill you, baby, you’d be dead already.”

 Slowly, he removed his hands from my throat then pulled out of me, sighing at the feeling. With my hand to my chest, I coughed and gasped for air. I hopped off of the desk trying to push him out of my way but he wouldn’t move.

 “Now, now, Anamaris. Don’t tell me you’re scared, I was only doing what you wanted—talking.”

 Roman moved to pull my dress down but I slapped his hands away, fixing it myself. He laughed and continued to help me get myself together. He put his hand under my chin and tilted my head up so I would look at him. We looked into each other’s eyes for few seconds until a look of clarity crossed his face.

 “You liked it but you’re scared, babygirl.” He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “I like that. I like that you know I could kill you or fuck you at any moment. Maybe both.”

 “Please, don’t,” I whispered staring back at him.

 “Not right now, Ana. We’ve got a lot to talk about, beautiful,” he said walking away and over to the sofa. “Come on and sit. We can do what you want now.”

 “I think I’m gonna leave early.”

 “Get over here now or I’ll change my mind and snap your neck.”

 His spoke in a different tone. A lot meaner and rougher than I had heard before. He didn’t even talk to any of the detectives that way. When I looked over at him, he was staring up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. Carefully, I walked to the sofa, sitting as far away from him as I could.

 “I have trouble controlling my anger, I’m sorry. I don’t get much company and I like yours,” he said in a much nicer tone. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

 “Threatening me isn’t how you get me to stay. And you can’t scare me like that then expect me to want to stay, Roman.”

 “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “It’s who I am.”

 “Tell me about the real you so that I can understand,” I told him putting my knee up on the sofa.

 “It’s a long story,” he sighed.

 “And we’ve got nothing but time. I’m listening.”

[lolimnotfunnydude]

I recently had the opportunity to video chat with a third grade class from the United States about my time in Botswana and my new home. The students read a book about a little girl in Botswana, and it just made sense that they have the opportunity to chat with someone who really lives there.

Here are the questions they asked me, and the answers to those questions:

Is school free?

Besides a school fee which is reduced for almost all students, 12 years of free education are guaranteed for each and every single student in Botswana. The school fee is supposed to cover things like the school uniform. Lodging for boarding students (most schools in Botswana are boarding schools, as they accommodate students who do not live in the village in which the school is placed) as well as food for both lodging and non-lodging students are both free. They are not an extra cost for families.

What days do you go to school?

Monday-Friday. The same as in the United States! I do spend some days at the clinic or social worker’s office, though. Additionally, the Junior Secondary Schools do not run on a 5 day schedule. The time table at my school is 6 days long. I teach on days 2 and 4, so different days of the week every week.

Classrooms at my Junior Secondary School.

How many hours a day do children go to school? What months of the year do they go to school?

This first question depends on what year of schooling a child is in. Reception, which is the equivalent of preschool and kindergarten, is incredibly short. Standards 1-3, which are the equivalent of Grades 1-3, end around 12:30pm and start at 7:30am. Standards 4 and 5 end around 3pm, and 6 and 7 end sometime around 4 depending on how close in the year we are to exams.

I work at a Junior Secondary School with Form 1-3 students, which are the equivalent of 8th-10th graders. They have class from 7:30am to 4:30pm, with an additional study hour in the morning and in the evening. After school clubs and athletics run from 4:30-5:30pm.

The school year in Botswana is split into three terms which span the entire year. They do not have a two month break during the summer like schools in the United States. First term began on January 9th, and runs until April 13th. Term two starts the first week of May and ends on July 13th. Term three starts on August 6th and ends on November 30th, with a quick break in September.

Are there tvs in Botswana?

Yes! Television is actually a very important tool for socialization in Botswana. When I was in Pre-Service Training, I sat down and watched television—specifically BTV, Botswana’s government television station—every single day during dinner. Families often gather in front of the tv for hours every night to watch soap operas from South Africa and India. You will find people talking about those shows the same way Americans talk about their favorite shows.

Does Botswana have technology, video games, and iphones?

The short answer is yes. These things do definitely exist in Botswana. Whether they are readily available and accessible to the average Motswana is a different story. Everyone I know in Botswana has a phone, but not everyone has a smart phone. Even fewer have iphones, simply because they cost exorbitant amounts and are easy to break. They cannot withstand some of the harsher climates in Botswana. Android accessories like chargers and phone cases are super easy to find anywhere, as they use the same chargers as brick phones (which are used very similarly to Trac Phones, if anyone remembers those).

Most families do not own their own computer. In fact, I have yet to meet someone who owns their own computer. But every institution—school, clinic, NGO, social worker’s office, police office, tribal office—has computers. Tools like emails are not used particularly frequently, and wifi is not widely available in smaller villages. Batswana are not totally disconnected, though. People can buy monthly plans for their phones which include social media sites and apps like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Whatsapp. The connection in my village is pretty poor, so usually I am only truly able to use Whatsapp, but it fits all of my needs.

Do you have video games in Botswana?

I have not seen anyone play video games, and I have not seen any video game consoles. I would assume that they exist, though, as I have seen almost every form of technology available in the U.S. here, but I would also assume that they are not purchased or used frequently.

What type of food do you eat?

I did not have a fridge for the past four months, so I was eating a lot of rice and canned beans. I also ate canned vegetables which soaked for probably too long in a brine I really did not appreciate. This was incredibly difficult, but I am proud and excited to say that I just recently received a fridge! I am excited to start using it and getting back to a semi-normal diet.

What are the traditional foods of Botswana?

The traditional foods of Botswana are delicious, let me tell you. Much of it consists of meat and a kind of starch with tiny amounts of vegetables tossed in when appropriate. One of my favorites is called paletshe; it is very similar to grits, but the granules are small enough that the texture ends up being somewhat reminiscent of mashed potatoes. There are other types of starches made from maize and sorghum as well, like sampete and bogobe. Two of the vegetable dishes include a mix of beans and spices called dinawa, and cut spinach (or bean leaves, or a vegetable called rape) sautéed with carrots and onion called morogo.

A fancy version of traditional Tswana food. Chakalakah is on the top left, morogo on the top right, paletshe on the middle left, and the rest of the food should be recognizable.

Do you guys have watermelon?

There are, in fact, watermelons in Botswana. Botswana has a large variety of fruit, including several types of melons, papaya, mango, amarula (which is used to make several types of alcohol, and is even a favorite of elephants despite its tendency to ferment in their stomachs and cause them to get drunk), among others. Avacado, pineapple, apples, oranges, lemons, etc, are also all available at stores.

Does Botswana have McDonald’s? Have any of them had cheeseburgers?

Sadly, no. I found this very surprising, as I had assumed that McDonald’s had reached nearly every country in the world. But alas, I was wrong. There is a McDonald’s close to the southern border of Botswana in South Africa, but I live nowhere near the southern border, so it is not accessible for me whatsoever. I do look forward to eating at one again, though; I think this is the longest period of time I have gone in my entire life without doing so.

And yes to the second question. While there is not a single McDonald’s, Botswana is a country which runs heavily on tourism. A lot of tourists are from countries in which citizens eat hamburgers, so a lot of lodges and restaurants have hamburgers. I have yet to eat one that is of the quality I want it to be, but they are certainly not bad.

Another important thing to note is that Botswana does have KFC—Kentucky Friend Chicken. Most chain restaurants here primarily sell fried chicken. We have Chicken Licken, KFC, Hungry Lion, and Nando’s. Peri peri sauce, the popularity of which rose from Nando’s, is everywhere. One of my favorite snacks in Botswana is a chicken peri peri pie that I can get at most grocery stores. It is marvelous.

Do they have snow?

Botswana does not have snow anywhere. None of the altitudes are high enough, and even though the desert gets cold at night and the south can get very cold in the winter, it is never cold enough to snow. The temperatures—both hot and cold—just feel more intense because of the lack of heating and cooling systems within the houses.

What sport do the people of Botswana like the most?

Batswana love to play and watch sports. My perception is that both football (soccer) and netball are incredibly popular. Netball is basketball without the back board—just the net. But volleyball and track and field activities are also very popular. Students love any opportunity to run around and have fun, and adults love the opportunity to network, gossip, and blow off some steam. Sports games are community events, and they really build a sense of comradery.

  A PCV versus locals football (soccer) game during Pre-Service Training.

Do people in Botswana play football?

They do not play the American version of football. They do, however, play soccer, which they call football.

Do the people talk differently?

In terms of speaking another language, yes. In terms of having a different accent and using, technically and linguistically, another version of English, yes. Their accent includes rolled r’s, long a’s, etc. The most widely used language in the country is Setswana, although most schooling is supposed to be instructed in English. First languages can also include Sembukushu, Sekgalagadi, Sekalanga, Seyeyi, Afrikaans, Naro, etc. So many languages are spoken in Botswana that I could not possibly list them all.

What language are your books in?

Most books available in Botswana were written in English. Some are available in Setswana, and in some cases, there are books available in tribe-specific languages. For instance, there is a linguistics group in D’Kar working on translating books both into Naro and into Setswana and English from Naro.

My school and I are working on requesting more books in English to help encourage students to read and work on their English literacy. All standardized testing is done in English, and our students are lagging behind. They speak Sembukushu in their homes and then are forced to learn English and Setswana concurrently. It can be very difficult—especially because most of the teachers do not know Sembukushu. Teachers are government employees, so they are part of something called the transfer system. In order to prevent corruption, all government employees must transfer jobs and villages every 5 years. Teachers often end up in villages all the way across the country from their spouses and loved ones.

What holidays do people celebrate, and when are they?

People in Botswana are, for the most part, Christian. There is a small population of Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist people, but the vast majority are Chrstians. They thus celebrate the same religious holidays as those Christians do in the United States; they might not celebrate them the exact same way, though. Other holidays exist for pretty much the same reasons as those in the United States. Botswana has an independence day—Boipuso—a day to celebrate the first president, and others.

Do people have parades with animals for holidays?

People do not have parades with animals. The relationship between Batswana and animals is quite complex. Wild animals are protected very effectively through legislation and through intense animal reserve border controls. The country is totally against poaching, and has enacted measures which fine people intensely or even allow military to shoot people on sight if they violate certain rules regarding wild animals. Domestic animals are not treated with the same reverence. They are able to wander around wherever, and you can often find children or adults throwing sticks or rocks at them. They simply do not have the same emotional importance as pets in the United States. They are a nuisance to many people, as they are an extra food and space burden. It is understandable despite how long it has taken me to accept that treatment.

What are some types of animals in Botswana?

Botswana is really cool. It has a super large variety of animals, from squirrels and mongoose to elephants, lions, and leopards. Botswana has the largest wild elephant population in the entire world. I also think Botswana might have one of the highest donkey populations in the world, but I have no tangible proof of that. There are just a lot of donkeys. Wild animals are not restricted to game reserves, though. There are baboons all over the capital city and surrounding villages. A child was recently killed by an elephant in the village next to mine. Another child was killed by a lion just a few hours from my village. Wild animals live everywhere around the delta, and it can be a huge problem for the humans who also live around the delta. They thus have a healthy fear and respect for such animals.

What is the time difference between Botswana and the U.S.?

The time difference currently is 7 hours. In the spring, when the U.S. “springs forward”, the time difference will be 6 hours.

What is the population of Botswana?

The population of Botswana is approximately 2 million. It has one of the lowest populations per square mile on the African continent. While the country itself is around the size of Texas, its population is much smaller. Manpower can be a struggle for community mobilization and other initiatives. Sometimes there just are not enough people. Most of the population is concentrated in the South, South East, and North East regions of the country. Those are where the two cities lie, and where a lot of expatriates live.

What kind of clothes do you wear?

I wear formal business attire to school every single day. The workplace is quite fancy, and women often wear heels several inches tall to work. Your outward appearance is meant to display the respect you have for the people around you; it is not meant as a form of artistic or personal expression. I do own some clothes I had tailored for me in African prints, but I do not wear them super often. In the workplace, people primarily wear Western-style clothing. Non-government workers are more likely to wear clothes we typically think of when we think of the African continent. Botswana is hot, and a Tswana-style dress allows for a lot more air flow than a button down shirt and pencil skirt.

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Q+A: From the mouths of babes I recently had the opportunity to video chat with a third grade class from the United States about my time in Botswana and my new home.

[blandbiscuits]

If anyone's out there, please take a minute to read and help me out with some advice!

I'm going to try to make this quick, but it's probably gonna be long anyway. Essentially, I work about 20 hours a week in retail and am a full time student. Last week, I had a two hour appointment on Monday, two hour testing appointment on Friday, and then an 8-2 testing session on Saturday because I was recommended by Disability Support Services on campus to get tested for learning disabilities, mainly ADD/ADHD. I won't be getting the results until after the week of Thanksgiving, but still before the end of the semester, God willing.

I'm having trouble keeping up with school (hence the testing) and my requests for fewer hours are not being fully listened to. I'm too afraid to stand up and push for what I asked for, because I know I'll have to keep repeating my point every week to actually get scheduled how I want. I'm also having a lot of mental health issues due to work stress and school. It's getting harder and harder to realize that I'm not going to be able to visit home for the holidays because I'm in retail, and it's taking a toll on me.

The problem is, I like where I work and who I work with. The only problem is the store manager. My mom wants me to quit and even told me to tell my boss that if he tries to schedule me too much or if I put in my two week notice. However, it's almost the holidays and we're busier than ever. I have worked here the longest out of all other floor associates (1 yr 7 mo), and the only floor associate that has worked during the holidays. I don't want to hurt the people there by making them work with a bunch of people who haven't even been here a month. We also get a raise every year, and I got 25 cents this year. I'll probably get at least another 25 next year, putting me at $9.80/hr.

The options I have are:

-Wait until I get the results of my testing to decide how to move forward, and...

-if I get diagnosed with something I'll have a talk with the store manager about what I can and can't handle, or put in my notice or

-if not diagnosed (I will still be told what could help me in school), talk to my manager about what's recommended for me or put in my two weeks if the recommendations mean I need more time for school

-Put in my two week notice and be able to have a normal holiday break.

-Wait until after the holidays to put in my notice

-Stick around and just roll with the punches

I really just need other people's advice here, and I really appreciate whatever you can give me. Thanks for reading!

[abqhouseholdservices]

Move in Cleaning Move Out Cleaning Albuquerque NM | ABQ Household Services (505) 225 3810

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Best move in out cleaning services in Albuquerque: Are you planning a move in or move out? We can help! Our deep cleaning service ensures your place is super clean. Call ABQ Household Services for a free estimate. Regular cleaning, maids service, deep cleaning, one time house cleaning, oven cleaning, kitchen cleaning. Service Area: Albuquerque NM.

MOVE IN MOVE OUT DEEP CLEANING ALBUQUERQUE Moving can be a hassle, so why not give yourself a break and let the professionals do the cleaning for you?  If your purchasing a new home or moving out of one, we will meet your expectations and do everything we can to make sure you or your landlord are happy with our services. We also offer carpet cleaning at a discount to our customers that hire us to do a deep cleaning clicking here for carpet cleaning information. Our standard fees are based on vacant properties with average cleaning needs, Some properties need more attention than others.

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If you had to evict a tenant, acquired a foreclosed home or, just had a previous tenant leave a disaster don’t worry!  Our team is fully trained to remove all waste, furniture, etc.  leaving the property empty allowing the process of assessing the damages easier and more accurate. We have access to dumpsters sizes from 15, 20 and, 30 yards. No job is too big or too small for ABQ Household Services

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Our prices include the following, all floors swept mopped or vacuumed, Bathrooms get a deep clean including light fixtures, medicine cabinets, sinks toilets, showers, tubs, vanities, all cabinets and, floors. Bedrooms get all light fixtures and fans, baseboards, closet shelves, blinds (have a upcharge of $5.00 each), windows and window runners. We get a little crazy in the kitchen starting with light fixtures, cabinets inside and out, appliances to include moving them out and cleaning underneath them we know that kitchen and bathrooms are the most important thing when it comes to cleaning. You will not be disappointed in our services! I guarantee it! See what our previous customers had to say by clicking here

Get a online quote now! click here If you’re getting ready to move into a new home in the Albuquerque area, you probably already realize what a significant transition this is. Whether you have a new job or are just relocating to accommodate a growing family, there is much to be done in the process of moving out of your old home and into the new one. Aside from packing and organizing, you also need to set up utilities, transfer services, and so much more. When you work with the qualified move in / move out cleaning staff here at ABQ Household Services, we can make the process a quick and easy one by keeping things clean from start to finish.

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A Fresh Start for Many Years of Memories The best time to clean your home in the Albuquerque area is before you ever move your belongings in. After we clean up your old home, our move in cleaning staff is here to put our skills and resources to work getting your new house in great condition so you can enjoy a fresh start for many years of memories to come. Think of it as starting off on a fresh slate. Get your free quote today and enjoy the many ways we can make your Albuquerque NM move a productive one.

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We clean apartments and rental homes for apartment complexes and rental property managers. Before we start, we will walk thru the job with you to complete a check list of what you expect to be covered. Upon completion, we will provide you a list of the work completed. We guarantee your complete satisfaction, or we will make it right. Hiring a cleaning service you can trust can be a challenging task…

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Need a little help with your moving out cleaning services? We’ve all been there… It’s almost time to be move out of your home, but you feel a little rushed and don’t have time to clean! Moving is a hassle in itself, so leave the cleaning to us. Whether you are trying to run down your landlords’ checklist to get your security deposit back or getting your home ready for resale – Maids 2 Match has you covered!

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We do ask that you have all of your belongings moved out prior to the cleaning to ensure we can clean everything to our standards. If for some reason you are unable to move everything out, we will clean around the furniture and boxes. However, this is never ideal because once you move those out… the areas will obviously not be satisfactory.

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CONTACT: ABQ Household Services CALL (505) 225 3810 CLEANING CALL (505) 570 4605 JUNK REMOVAL CALL (505) 850 3570 MOVING Best Cleaning Company in Albuquerque NM Open Monday to Sunday 6:00 am – 11:00 pm Located in Albuquerque NM 87120 WEB:  http://www.serviceabq.com/ EMAIL:  serviceabqnm@gmail.com http://www.serviceabq.com/

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[thetravellerlove]

Bangalore to Yelgiri - A road trip to cherish

 Ugadi is the New Year's Day for the people of the Deccan region of India and It was 3 long days holiday in the state of Karnataka, India  including the weekends. As a typical Software employee, I thought of spending my 3 days chillaxing at home watching movies ( my passion) , playing with my 8 months daughter and sleeping. My brother is a travel freak and he was making a plan for Chikmagalur. He asked me if I am willing to come. Since I had already been to the place, I thought why I don't waste my time sleeping around and explore some new place. I called my friends and after series of discussion, we finally opted for Yelagiri ( one night stay since one of our friends had to attend office on  Monday). 

Yelagiri is a hill station in Vellore district of Tamil Nadu, India, situated off the Vaniyambadi-Tirupattur road and is around 170 kms from Bangalore. We booked 3 rooms in an ecstatic villa  in the Kairos Resort. We begin our journey at 7.30 AM and took Hosur road as the starting point. We met several toll booths on the way including Karnataka-Tamil Nadu Border check post. You will notice several food joints on the way including Kamat, A2B , McDonald's on your left . We chose Kamat but were thoroughly disappointed with the service and quality of the food. After the breakfast, we continued our road trip on the beautiful Bangalore-Chennai highway and finally reached Yelagiri at 11 AM.

At the first glance, Kairos Villa looked astonishing with nice garden embedded with variety of flowers which were eye-catching. The staff greeted us warmly and gave us the villa key. We were flabbergasted to check the interiors of the room and bathrooms. It was neat and clean with cosy beds in each room. After cold shower and hot lunch, we relaxed for sometime.

We started with the first tourist spot @ Punganoor Artificial Lake-cum-Park, probably the most popular tourist spot in Yelagiri , which comprises of nature park along with boat ride. On the way back , you will be surrounded with shops selling honey and green tea. We called it a day and went back to Villa for evening snacks and dinner followed by few drinks. Kairos management obliged to your request for food and gave us what we wanted.

Next day, I got up to pursue my passion for trekking which turned out to be the most toughest trek till now to Swami Malai Hills.

Swami Malai hills are the hills in the shape of cake with a strong base at the bottom and a high peak. Trekking is an attraction at Swami Malai (1000 feet). This trek leads one to a small peak from where the entire valley is visible. It was a tough trek as the path was rough grounded with unwanted stones and pebbles but my energy and moral were boosted by 70 year old local guide. He helped me in every step of the journey.

 I completed the trek in 50 minutes and felt proud of myself reaching the top. Few things to take care before you start trekking 

1. A bottle of water 

2. Sunglasses and a cap as it was quite hot out there.

3. Trekking shoes will smoothen your ride,

Due to the length and extended endurance required, accidents are more likely to happen on descent than ascent plus my knees were hurting so I was little careful while climbing down. After few minutes I returned to the base completing my trek.

On returning back to the Kairos resort , I had delicious and sumptuous breakfast with my friends and family. We decided to return back to Bangalore as there was nothing else left in Yelagiri. So if you are looking for a weekend getaway somewhere close to Bangalore with the drive duration of not more than 3 hours, Yelagiri might be the place for you. Best time to visit will be Monsoon and Winter season. 

Hope you had a great time reading my blog. Feel free to give feedback.

- Ketan Gupta