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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Mold Me New (4) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 4.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe!🥰✨

In this episode: Frog and Taehyung have become very comfortable around each other, getting used to each other’s presence. Their bond grows even more once a ghost from the past comes back to haunt Taehyung. His natural response is growing even closer to Frog, relying on her completely for comfort and… a distraction.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Angsty themes in the second part (an “ex girlfriend” comes back, Taehyung puts up a wall, just a little). Frog starts asking herself questions about sexual attraction. There are some innuendos here and there. Taehyung receives unwanted attentions that make him deeply uncomfortable. That should be all.

The parts that look good were edited by the miraculous @joheunsaram (I recced one of her pieces right here in my main blog 💜)

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines. Here is Tae and Frog’s music companion (spotify playlist, the playlist in case you wanna create it on other platforms)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

Taehyung had become a comfortable addition to your life. He was steady and reliable — from your bi-weekly lessons, to drinks with his friends on the weekend.

Terry had extraordinarily managed to stay friends with both Jimin and Hoseok, occasionally taunting them, but overall keeping things neutral and platonic.

However, the one who was struggling with friendly, platonic feelings was you. It was difficult not to notice the way Taehyung always managed to predict your objections, your movements and your needs.

You felt a connection that made you feel weak, queasy, like clay gently sprinkled with water.

His lessons had become a secret guide to people and relationships.

The first time he had actually placed you at the wheel, helping you throw your first small bowl, he had given you the epiphany of a lifetime.

“Don’t let it dry too much. Too much water will mess it up. It will become too pliant and it won’t hold up.”

A revelation had struck you just then and there. That was it. The rule to love. You had bathed your ex husband in reassurance and affection, and just like that he had melted underneath your touch, and he had turned into nothing. And the love had run out.

“Every shape has its specific requirements,” Taehyung had explained, dipping your hands in the basin and letting the droplets fall from your fingertips. “Wet hands, but not drenched,” he had reminded you from the previous lesson. With a small nod he had invited you to press down the pedal lightly. “See, here we go. The clay will show how much water it needs. Easy on the pedal. Very slow. You’re warming it up. Be gentle. You’re not sure it’s good. Just like with people. Easy at first, and once it works you speed up,” he had smiled at the material underneath your hands.

“Gentle. Easy,” he had corrected you, his sinewy fingers gently leading your hands, recalibrating the pressure points. You had watched the greyish water stain his hands as he helped you. “That’s the secret to good things.”

In the following lesson he had taught you the importance of separation and remotion.

“It's been a few hours* what you have right there it's a leatherhard*. It's hard enough to withstand some pressure, but not ready to stand on its own,” Taehyung had shown you how to cut the bowl from the base, to turn it around and let it dry evenly.

“Still it wouldn't survive the kiln yet,” he explained. “You need all the water out. Water weakens the structure and your piece would crumble. And you would need to start anew,” Taehyung's delicate fingertips had lifted the piece, turning it around. “They're like children. One wrong move and, bam, you lose their trust and you need to earn it back, from ground zero. Yes, Frog. Just like that, easy with the pressure or you'll leave fingerprints,” he had scolded you, exhaling and closing his eyes once he noticed the damage had already been done.

You had looked at him with a sheepish grin, smiling apologetically.

What you didn't know is that he had scowled at the realisation that he simply could not keep a long face at you.

Taehyung had discovered an even weaker spot for you.

He had realised he liked you a lot.

You were quiet, observant, and incredibly intelligent.

And he liked chatting with you on your nights at the pub. And he liked your fashion sense.

He liked leaning his head against your shoulder, he was just extremely sorry he had to be half drunk to be brave enough — or to be somehow excused for the excess of clinginess.

He liked you, the cheerful and polite smile you wore while talking to Jimin and Terry indistinctly, like they had the same importance to you, no matter you had known Terry for ages and Jimin for a few weeks.

He liked the way you trapped the tip of your tongue between your lips while you focused on a piece, or the fact that once he had stopped by the bookshop, only to spot you curled up on an armchair with a fuzzy blanket on your shoulders while you read a book.

He had studied the sleepy smile you had offered him as he handed you a cup of tea that had just been brewed in Seokjin’s café. Taehyung had felt young and foolish as his smile mirrored yours. He’d wandered around the few shelves in your shop, studying a few books and asking questions about the organisation of genres on the shelves.

He asked for recommendations and chuckled as he noticed you growing increasingly chatty, disrupting your streak of quiet to passionately discuss authors and plots and publishing houses, little naive art books and detective novels and half unknown poets from entirely unknown countries.

It had been an amazing morning, with a lazy yellowy light floating in from the large windows.

After that, his visits to the bookshop had become more frequent, even stopping by during a reading date — which of course was not the two of you having a date, but rather other people coming in, mostly couples from university, to explore the shelves together, have that niche romantic academia experience, which sometimes meant that professors also came in with their husbands or wives. The loveliest of them all was the Ancient Greek professor, a seventy year old man who always came in with his wife, opening the door for her and walking around with her hand in his, usually stopping in front of the Russian section to see if they could find anything they liked. Taehyung had helped you create some artsy reading nooks that your customers truly appreciated.

The last month or so had been a blessing, for the both of you.

You both liked the steady, warm presence you could offer each other: he liked having you around because he felt less lonely, and because it was so easy to focus on you rather than the discomfort of loss; you enjoyed his respectful guidance, like a toddler still stumbling on their feet finds comfort in the parent walking right behind them; you felt free to move autonomously, but you also felt him there, never looking away in chase you needed a hand to hold. You had found a companion.

And with that many things started getting out of your control.

One in particular.

It was Tuesday afternoon and as usual the bookshop was closed. You parked your bike in Taehyung’s driveway, grabbing your tote and blushing a little as you fixed a classy, old school ribbon in your hair, covering the hair tie of your ponytail. You felt fickle and juvenile.

You felt romantic.

You felt ready to be pampered with tender guidance and soft touches, still strictly limited to your hands, always after mannered glances asking for your permission. With eager joy, you opened the door to the studio, only to notice an extra wheel beside the usual one.

And one extra person.

A woman.

Currently running her hand down Taehyung’s arm, toying with his fingers.

You blinked a couple times before you rebuilt your happy facade. “Oh, hi! Hello there!” you greeted with a smile.

Taehyung immediately took half a step away from the woman.

“Hello Frog, how are you today?”

“Happy,” you chirped in a way that had Taehyung warning immediately. He knew that kind of gleeful tone was dedicated to other circumstances — books, your friends, squealing when you managed to make a good piece. He frowned also because you weren’t one of those easily excited people.

What could have possibly made you want to show off so much happiness all at once?

“I’m glad,” he commented before noticing the extra wheel and suddenly remembering the guest.

“This is Dolly. Dolly is a fellow artist. She’s from a small town nearby. She is designing customised tableware for a resort cottage nearby. She’ll work with us today.”

You nodded, grabbing your apron — the only apron, you noticed — and got ready for the task of the day.

“Would you like to try making a plate for today?” he asked, taking out some premixed clay and preparing it on the table for you to wedge. “Or we could do some glazing while Dolly does her thing.”

“No, I could use two teachers,” you replied, trying to be inclusive, shushing all the unmotivated jealousy. How unreasonable!

“She won’t let you get away with things just because of your cute smile,” Taehyung warned, the stern reprimand sugared by the half hidden compliment.

“I almost don’t make mistakes anymore!” you complained before walking to the table, rolling up your sleeves and beginning to pat the corners of your piece of clay.

“Do you need me to do that?” he asked, feeling twice as apprehensive as usual.

“You could wedge some for me, Tae?” Dolly called, preparing a large disk and bringing it over to the table. “Please?” she cooed.

Taehyung agreed, feeling more comfortable at your side, both your foreheads growing sweaty with the warm spring weather and your arms getting sore as you worked the clay until it reached ideal plasticity.

“How was yesterday? I didn’t manage to bring you breakfast,” he mentioned almost casually as he started giving the final twists to the clay body.

“Oh, it was okay. Slow Monday. A couple teachers brought in some stuff to print. One of my parents’ friends asked me to grammar check her dissertation. I had a few books brought in for safety rebounding. Same old,” you said, sitting at the wheel and throwing the clay down. “How should I go about the plate?” you asked, looking up at Taehyung.

He was suddenly enchanted by your beauty as you looked up, a few rebellious locks escaping your hairband and making you look so unreal, so breathtaking and young.

Sometimes he forgot you were young.

Sometimes he even forgot he was young himself.

He was living the kind of fondness his grandma had always told him about, the kind of fondness she had met once sixty, ready to conclude her earthly struggles by herself. Instead, she had met an honest man, a widower who understood her past and her present.

The two had shared a quiet, tender feeling until she left. They were friends, they talked about the weather and gardening, went on walks, had picnics and went to church together. He always held her hand and kissed her forehead with a reverence Taehyung had never met.

Except for you.

He knew the only love he would never doubt was the one that accompanied his granny through her last days. He knew she passed a happy woman and that relieved him immensely.

Being the son of a single mother meant many complicated things, which included his mom moving half a continent away when he turned fourteen, chasing a man he barely knew.

He was glad he had his grandmother then, and the guys. Jimin and his family, although very complicated.

Taehyung didn’t understand the inner dynamics of relationships, and his lack of experience during high school had definitely not helped.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried, but he didn’t feel comfortable. He was always trying to learn while all the girls he had dated expected some sort of latin lover for unknown reasons — probably because of a rumour started by Jimin and Jeongguk, which had clearly, miserably failed.

All he could do was show kind devotion and gain continuous inspiration by the women in his life.

Pottery itself was an art he had learnt from his mother, who in turn had learnt from her mother. He had liked it from day one, like he had been called to it, made for it, even.

“Taetae please, could you help? I think I’m stuck,” Dolly whined, stopping to look at her attempt of dish. “What do you think?”

You tried to ignore the way her voice hurt your ears, leaving some clay aside to handbuild fruit for decoration to add later. Once done, you remodeled the amount for the plate in a round ball against your apron before throwing it a bit too aggressively on the wheel before starting to center.

“See, I’m not sure about the lip. Should i give it a wider edge or make it a bit… I don’t know. I kind of wanted it flat, with a slightly raised lip,” she pouted through her words, but you kept your focus, centering the piece flawlessly, repeating the procedure a few times, feeling the movements terribly familiar and comforting.

“It’s a good idea,” Taehyung confirmed, “a bit of a modern twist.”

“Aw, you’re so nice!” Dolly cooed, batting her lashes at him just as he turned to look at you.

“You’re still centering? All good?” he asked, noticing you stuck on holding the half dome under your palms, ready to bring it up again.

He let you go through the motion, finding himself the excuse of checking your technique only to stare at your strong but precise hands.

You went on without answering, letting the clay grow against your palms before feeling it peak and changing your grip, pushing your thumbs across and down.

“Good job, Frog,” he praised you, watching your face light up in a shy smile while you kept working the ball onto a large, thick disk.

“It’s a lot more than usual,” you commented with a sheepish grin.

“You’re doing perfect,” he reassured you. “Keep it even. Remember the ashtray-turned-jewellery plate?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Use the side of your hand. Press down harder,” he directed you. “Use your whole body, Frog. You’re handling a lot there, you need to be a bit more aggressive.”

He bit his lip before testing the waters. “Make it wetter, Frog.”

You felt yourself freeze for a second. You swallowed and dipped your dominant hand in the water.

“Don’t make it drip,” he corrected you.

“I’m gonna drench it,” you replied.

“Taetae—”

“Just a second, Dolly,” he replied absentmindedly. “Drench it, Frog.”

You obeyed.

“Gonna touch your back,” he warned you before you felt his forearms on your shoulders, pressing you down. “Use your whole weight. You need to make it to three inches. The thinner the easier.”

You felt his voice close to your ear.

“When it starts to drag, it’s too dry. Hug the side,” he rose and placed his palm against yours. “Just hold it. No pressure. Lovingly.”

“Tae—” Dolly called again.

He closed his eyes. “Just keep pressing,” he told you. “Tell me.”

“Can you help me with the lip?” Dolly asked, batting her lashes.

“First, make the base wider. Flatten it nicely, till the edge, then pinch the wall up. It will fall a little as it dries, but maybe we can find a way to secure it. If you make it short enough it should hold,” he explained professionally.

“Could you show me, please?”

He nodded. “Wait, Frog, stop there. Watch,” he commanded curtly.

You slowed down the wheel before stopping, holding your hands for a second before making sure that your piece didn’t get out of control.

“Okay,” you told him once you were ready.

“Come up here, I need you to see the details.”

You reached the two other people, Taehyung taking Dolly’s spot at the wheel. He fixed his stance before he wet his hands. Instinctively, his left palm went to hold the side while his right fingers grabbed a needle, measuring the thickness of the plate. “Just around two inches. And here it goes thicker, you see? Around three inches,” he showed, sticking the needle in.

“Did I do wrong?” Dolly asked, awfully dramatic.

“You just need to make it thinner,” he commented, already dipping a small sponge in the plate before squeezing it in the plate, still being very careful.

“Now, Dolly first used her fist — the side of it — and pulled it toward her to spread the clay lower. Repeat that several times. At least six or seven, based on the pressure you manage to apply. Then she used her fingertips, center out. Like this,” he said, showing the motion.

You felt ready to throw yourself out across the glass wall head first.

His middle finger pressed down with such firmness that you couldn’t not think of it doing very inappropriate things to your body.

You felt dumbstruck at the sudden thought, like it was some sort of exceedingly vivid dream, too realistic to actually be a dream.

“Rib next. Dolly didn’t use the rib properly here. She was too light.” He corrected the woman’s mistake, using his chest to press down, exhaling loudly as he did. “You have to go deep, Frog. Stay there. Be a bit stubborn.” He grinned. “Hold position.”

You nodded, licking your lips.

Dolly’s eyes were glowing with arousal next to you, his brow arching once he put down the rib after five minutes or so. “Wet fingers,” he reminded you, wiggling as gimey, grey water rolled down his wrists, the vision unfairly erotic for the dirt covering his hands, dripping down the hypervascular back of them, the veins of his forearms significantly thicker.

You shook your head with a grin as he wiggled his digits. “You put one inside, on the outside and press them together. Make sure you dig deep with the one on the inner side. You’ll want to press down firmly to collect all the material you’ll need for the lip. In this case, we keep pushing out, to further widen the plate and give it a short, erect lip.”

You were out of your mind, nodding just in hope to get away from torture.

“Oh, so that’s how I need to do the lip! Thank you Taetae!” Dolly exclaimed, giving you a way out.

You caught the chance immediately, sitting back at the wheel, drenching your hands before reapplying water to your piece.

“Wetter,” Taehyung called immediately.

Oh.

Your brain froze as you realised that wetter you were, indeed.

“Make a fist,” he ordered as he poured more water on your piece. “Press the side of your pinkie knuckle in the middle.”

You looked at him, crouched beside you, his mop of black hair tumbling back as his dark eyes met yours.

They hid so much longing, so much need for comfort. You read them immediately, nodding.

He placed his hand on top of yours. “Push down, Frog,” he murmured, in a way he hoped only the two of you would hear over the sound of the wheels’ engines. “Harder, lovely.”

You held your breath, his fingers and palm swallowing your fist entirely as he slipped his thumb into the hole created by your index and thumb. “Pull it towards you now,” he spoke softly. “Hard and slow, Frog,” he reminded you.

Your brain was far, far away, filled with questions about how you now found yourself comfortable about seeing Taehyung as a potential partner.

Duh. Because he knows you, dummy, the reply came instantly

Because he seemed to do everything just right for you, and when he ended up making a mistake, he seemed to know exactly how to ask for forgiveness and actually learn from his previous wrongdoings.

“Do I keep going?” you questioned, looking at him.

His face lit up slightly. “Yes, darling.” He let you go slightly after, cleaning up his hand.

You missed his guidance, but you convinced yourself you could do without.

“Slow down. Test the thickness,” he reminded you, offering the needle. “You did perfect, Frog,” he murmured with a fond grin.

“Really?” you reacted incredulously.

He confirmed, nodding as he stuck the needle along the side. “We need to work with your fingertips along the sides, here,” he showed, closing down the small puncture.

You wet your digits and placed your middle and ring finger on the center, slightly angled, letting them slide all the way to the edge as the wheel turned.

He assisted your outer hand, supporting it and showing how much pressure was needed.

“Keep going like this for a couple minutes. Make sure that it slims out. Just a few minutes—”

“Tae, do you think this is right?” Dolly asked with her squeaky voice.

His left hand grazed yours reverently as he parted from you.

Taehyung cruelly realised he was head over heels for you.

“It looks just fine to me, Dolly. I think you could give it a last test and then let it dry.”

“Yes, maybe you could give me some hands-on guidance with the next one. I could learn from a… master like you.”

You almost scoffed, giving a choked snort before you could actually control yourself.

“Uhm… I’m sure you just need to refine your timing.” Taehyung tried to evade the request.

During the rest of your lesson, you managed to throw two plates, even building a few decorations that would be added once the clay was leatherhard, in about twenty-four hours.

“I’ll add the decorations tomorrow,” Taehyung told you as you washed your hands. “Unless you want to stop by during lunch break.”

You dried your hands, thinking about his suggestion. “I think I’ll be busy tomorrow. You know, the Spring fair is soon and there’s some stuff I need to do.”

He pouted and nodded. “I’ll trim and decorate then,” he agreed. “If we’re having our Friday lesson, we can bisque them.”

You smiled and agreed.

“Maybe I can throw some plates for you and show you how to decorate while the kiln is working,” he reasoned, helping you to remove the apron once he noticed you were stuck in it.

“That would be lovely, if it’s not too much work for you!” you replied happily. You deposited the apron and caught your bag, fixing it on your shoulder. “It was a pleasure, Dolly!”

“Likewise!” she replied with a smile so sour it would have made milk curdle. “I’ll see you again!”

“Yes, for sure!” you cheered back, making your way out.

Taehyung accompanied you, almost as if you didn’t know the way. “I have a book to return,” he said, making you frown. He didn’t borrow any book from you.

“Uhm,” you started, trying to understand his intentions.

“Come in, I have it in the kitchen,” he said, leading you through the backyard.

“Taehyung,” you called, once you reached the door to his house, keeping your voice low. “Are you okay?”

He opened the door and led you through. His house was incredibly traditional compared to the way you had expected it to be.

“I’m… I just needed to check in on you. Dolly can be a very… loud… presence,” he said, grabbing a glass and a pastel pink porcelain pitcher. “Lemonade?”

You shook your head. “She is indeed very… loud.”

“I’m sorry,” he sat down and drank. He looked sad. Worried. “Are we okay, Frog?”

You stood at his side, looking at him before delicately placing your hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay, but are you? You look terrified of being in there with her.”

He placed both elbows on the table and held his head. “I’m just very tired today.”

Your hand moved to his nape, feeling the corded muscles. “Tell her you’re tired and that you’re calling it a day. I can make up an excuse for you.”

You were reminded just how much he had clung to you for the whole lesson. If she was giving him special attention, he clearly didn’t want it.

“Would you do that?” he asked, suddenly hopeful.

You frowned. “Of course?” you reacted, playfully disappointed in his lack of faith. “We can stay here. I can read, you can nap or watch the tv. We just need to make her understand it’s time to go. I’ll hide my bike and wait for you here. You’ll go in there and tell her Jimin or someone called and they need your help.”

“Are you sure you want to spend the afternoon like this? I mean, it’s your free day.”

You shrugged. Your plans were going home, getting rid of the awful tension running down your back and possibly going to the shop for some cleaning, maybe work on that dissertation… “You’re my friend. And yes, I want to help you.”

Taehyung knew that some people would have been highly disappointed by being called ‘friend’ by their crush, but that made him feel warm, like he was wrapped in a cosy comforter. “Go hide the bike,” he said, grinning like a child.

You grinned right back at him, starting down the corridor with long strides. He helped you choose a nice spot, hiding your bike between the house and the bushes tracing the outline of the garden.

After fifteen minutes or so, you heard Dolly’s annoying voice as she said something like “call me if you need help with Jiminie”, dramatically bidding Taehyung goodbye.

From the window, you watched her get inside a car in front of the house, Taehyung appearing a few minutes after. “We. Are. Free,” he panted theatrically as he flopped on the sofa, throwing his head back.

“Why did you let her come?” you asked, staring at him from your spot by the window.

“Because she’s an old friend. I met her way before she became like that,” he admitted. “I hadn’t seen her in ages. And now she’s clearly trying to get back in my life, using the commission as an excuse.” Taehyung rubbed his temples.

For half a second you wondered whether it was a good idea to ask. Would it make any difference? You realised it would. “Were you… In a relationship?”

“If for ‘relationship’ you mean ‘let’s fuck him so I can complete the friends collection’, then yes.” Taehyung propped his forearms on his knees, exhaling heavily.

You hissed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. You didn’t know what to do. “If you’d like to rest, I can go home,” you said, looking at him with cold, uncertain eyes.

He met your stare, suddenly feeling confused, scared even. He frowned and crossed his arms, trying to put some distance after he noticed his refuge turn hostile to him. “You can go,” he said, shrinking within his shoulders, trying not to show how much he feared being alone.

What he didn’t know is that you could feel the hurt in his voice and the pain in his eyes like needles sinking in your skin. You walked to him, touching his hair hesitantly, feeling wary about not receiving spoken permission.

You watched him bloom under your touch, his lungs inflating with a large inhale. He exhaled way more slowly, taking his time. “Do you want me to go?” you asked, letting your hand slide down the side of his face.

He shook his head, placing his hand atop of yours, holding it there just in case you foolishly thought he didn’t need your touch anymore. “Can you stay?”

You placed both your hands on his hair, cupping his face. “I’ll read, you take a nap.”

He watched you move your free hand away, putting down your tote and grabbing a book. He grabbed your wrist, staring at you with his dark puppy eyes. “Can you sit here? Close?”

You smiled and nodded, settling at his side before he grabbed a blanket, spread it wide and laid down, nuzzling closer, inch by inch, until you found his head on your lap.

“Can I?” he asked, adorably, his cheeks puffy and his eyes glittering vivaciously.

You smiled back at him and nodded. Fondly, you moved your book aside, watching him close his eyes contentedly as your thigh became his pillow.

After a couple pages, you almost thought he had fallen asleep already, only to realise you were mistaken once he reached for your free hand and brought it to his hair.

“Cuddle?”

You smiled even brighter, tracing the shell of his ear before starting to hand-comb his soft, dark locks.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered gently, barely holding back as you looked at his face, peacefully relaxed.

Your heart was a messy thing, but in that moment you realised that, could you have a new one, you would gift it to him and never ask for it back.

Taglist is open

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnnet #thebtswritersclub #taehyung strangers to lovers #taehyung angst

39 notes · View notes

thelazyeye · 5 years

Note

hi em !! could you write something with potter eddie? like clay and stuff

YES I SURE AS FUCK CAN. I took a pottery class in high school and I fell absolutely in love with the art. Anon you reached into my chest and stole my whole ass heart. This wasn’t meant to be long but I saw an idea and I ran with it and I really, really hope you like it! Enjoy, anon!

There’s Clay Underneath My Fingernails, Earth Underneath My Skin

When Eddie first enrolled in ceramics in high school he thought he would hate every second of it. His curriculum demanded that he take an art class every year and, naturally, on the day of registration Sonia had kept him home because he looked ‘feverish’ despite having literally no fucking temperature. And, as luck would have it, no other art classes had openings that fit with what he needed to graduate. So, ceramics one it was.

He dreaded it. It was messy, useless, and a waste of his time. All art classes would be a waste, honestly. He wasn’t Bill. He didn’t understand how to draw and paint lines that somehow came together to look semi-decent. Or, dare he say, beautiful. He wasn’t artistic. He understood math and money and mechanics. He knew how to put stuff together, not create stuff.

He had no idea how good the clay would feel in his hands. He didn’t know how satisfying it would be to build something up from nothing. And surprisingly, he had no idea how good he was going to be at it.

So, Eddie spent the last semester of his senior year wrist deep in clay, building and molding and sculpting until he had filled an entire bookcase with stuff he made by hand. He learned how to make mugs, whistles, bowls, chalices, containers, jars, everything imaginable. He even made a box that he designed to look like a book. The top cover came off on a hinge that swiveled back and forth. He got an A on every assignment. Who knew something Sonia did could have paid off so well.

These days, Eddie finds himself at the local studio at least a few times a month. It’s enough time to sculpt something, bisque fire it, glaze it, and throw it in the kiln for its final fire. He churns out one piece a month, two if he’s dedicated or has extra spare time. His apartment is full of handmade mugs and vases. He gives a lot of his pieces away, never really bothering to sell them. Maintaining a store is too much effort and he isn’t in it for the money. Pottery is something he loves, not something he’s trying to build his life around.

The clay is cold to the touch, firm and slick as he moves his fingers around the first mounts of a new pen holder he’s been thinking of making for his desk. He has a design in mind so he works. He divides the clay up and rolls it between his hands and the wooden tabletop. When he’s done he wraps them around each other, coiling the clay until he has a base and the wrapping up the sides. He adds swirls and notches and bumps for texture. He doesn’t notice as other people file in and out of the studio. He just rolls, wraps, and molds his design, watching as what he’s pictured in his mind comes to life before him.

“It’s unique,” comes from behind, a gentle voice that startles him out of his concentration. He knows who it is without looking.

“Thank you,” he answers, soft and distant. Too wrapped up in the way he smooths out the inside of his sculpture for support. Too focused on the bend of his coils, the wrap of his spirals.

“Are you planning on finishing it tonight? I can throw it in for the first fire before I leave and you can come back and finish it tomorrow,” the voice says back, all easy charm. The same way it’s always been. “The shop opens at 10. Maybe we can grab breakfast and then head on over?”

Eddie stops at that and turns. His heart practically leaps into his throat as the studio owner leans over him. He’s got thick glasses resting on his nose and thick, black hair curling out of the bun on top of his head. It was infuriating. No hair that unkempt should look that fucking good. “Tempting, Richie. But I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Oh, come on Eds!” Richie cries, throwing his head back and draping his arm over his eyes. It’s for dramatic flair and it makes Eddie crack a soft smile. He turns back, though, quick not to let Richie see it.

“Not my name,” comes out quick. The venom that used to be there has long since died, though. It melted with the snow and left something blooming inside of him. It settled in his chest, taking root in his organs and binding itself to his nerves.

Eddie has been coming to this studio for the better part of 2 years now. He found it shortly after he moved to Monroeville. It was the perfect place to step away, to unwind after a stressful week. He met Richie the first time he came in. Richie was trying to set up him in the studio and get him everything he would need to become a regular member. The interaction was so bad that Eddie had almost abandoned the idea altogether. Richie was crude, he didn’t seem to take anything Eddie said seriously, and he pried too much for Eddie’s comfort. Serious boundary issues. He was everything Eddie had spent most of his life distanced from and Eddie was more than prepared to walk out of the studio forever just so he’d never have to see Richie again. He did walk out that day, a scoff on the end of his lips and his jacket hastily thrown over his shoulders.

For some reason, though, he found himself back the next week. The second Richie had seen him he bounded over, hands out in defense when Eddie moved to leave a second time. He apologized for his behavior and offered Eddie a discounted rate. Richie’d spent several months walking on eggshells. He was still infuriating but it was more tolerable. His one liners and crude comments were on the downlow and Eddie could swear he caught Richie smiling at him in ways he didn’t smile at the other members.

Shit didn’t really start to shift, though, until The Vase Incident. Eddie had this bright idea to make a Vase for his coworkers’ birthday. She’d caught eye of one of his pieces in their shared office and gushed over it. So, he decided hey, why not make her something nice?

Well, something nice turned into absolute hell. He couldn’t get it right no matter how hard he tried. He spent hours at the potter’s wheel, throwing his clay and spinning. He didn’t spin frequently but he wanted it to be nice for Bev. He wanted it to be perfect but he couldn’t get it right. Either the clay was off center or he spun his slope too thin or it collapsed at the base. He swears he nearly had a stroke over the damn thing.

He had been so wrapped up over it one January weekend that he hadn’t noticed the other potters left and that he was the only one in the studio, aside from Richie. Richie was on the opposite side of the studio, carving patterns into a tile that Eddie thought might turn out to be mosaic.

“Let me help you,” he offered after watching Eddie destroy the collapsed base of yet another vase. “If you keep this up we’ll be here all night.”

The clock on the wall read 11:23pm and Eddie all but kicked the chair out from under himself as he stood. His frustration was clear in the tension of his shoulders. If Richie could help him, fine. He would have taken anything he could get at that point.

Richie took his place, throwing a hunk of wet clay on the wheel and pressing the pedal down gently. He used his fingers to center it, pushing the edges until the met as an even ridge and then cupping his hands around the lump. He brought it high, pressed it low, and then dipped two fingers into the middle to create the opening. Eddie watched as Richie pinched the top and brought it outwide, eventually pressing his entire hand down to hollow the base and then guiding the clay up and redistributing the mass.

After ten minutes, Richie had constructed a simple, yet elegant, vase. It wasn’t very big, maybe big enough for one or two flowers, but it was standing and structurally sound. More than Eddie could say for his own work.

“How did you do that?” He asked, voice scratchy and hands covered in drying clay.

“Practice, Eds. I own all these wheels. It’d be a damn shame if I didn’t know how to use them,” Richie winked. He failed at covering a yawn before stepping away to grab a line of string. He gently cut the vase from the wheel and lifted it off. Eddie watched as Richie carved a crooked E.K. into the bottom before placing it in the kiln room. “I’m gonna fire a round tomorrow. I’ll throw this in then. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

“Sure. You, too, you know. It’s well past closing time,” Eddie said back, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know. I just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt you. You’re cute when you’re concentrating.” Richie didn’t hide his flirting, this time. He let himself smile at Eddie from across the studio. It was like the defenses they’d both been wearing for so long had dropped from the exhaustion. “You know, if you took my last name you could carve E.T. into the bottom of your pieces,” he chuckled, “You know, like E.T. phone home?”

Richie eyed him, gauging his reaction with a toothy grin and a very clear wink. If he was waiting for Eddie to take the bait, he didn’t. Eddie simply smiled back and wished Richie a goodnight, effectively destroying most of the boundaries they had established after that first day.

Today, he’s not making a vase and as per their new usual Richie isn’t tiptoeing around him anymore. Eddie flips his piece over, minding the coils on the top and wetting his fingers to smooth out the bottom for structural support. When he’s done, he carves E.K. into the bottom and stands.

“Come on!” Richie chirps as he follows Eddie across the studio, “We both know you’re going to be back here tomorrow to glaze this beauty up!”

“I will,” Eddie answers, placing his piece on the cart and moving to wash his hands, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to get breakfast with you.”

“Lunch then? We can go after you finish,” Richie says. His voice borders on something other than teasing. Its new, almost insistent. It catches Eddie off guard. “It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow.”

Eddie watches him out of the corner of his eye, slipping his jacket over his shoulders and grabbing his stuff. “We’ll see.”

He doesn’t miss the way Richie pumps his arms in the air as he leaves the studio. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either, and he thinks they both know the meaning behind his indecision.

He can feel something twist in his chest as he drives home. It lingers through dinner and into the night. A date with Richie Tozier isn’t unattainable, it never has been, but Eddie has always stayed far, far away from the idea. He found every excuse to keep him far, far, away. He was too crude, too loud, too messy. He was too kind, he was too beautiful, his hands were too perfect. Richie Tozier was too much for him.

It wasn’t sustainable. Eddie knew it. Richie was just some person filling the void in his chest. He didn’t even know him. How could he have any real feelings? It was just a childish infatuation that would destroy everything if he pursued it. He’d lose the pottery studio and he’d lose Richie, too.

Not that there was anything real to lose there. But whatever.

“Spaghetti! Right on time,” Richie shouts as Eddie walks in the next day. The clock blinks 10:20 am on wall but Eddie pretends he doesn’t notice Richie greeting or the fact that he’s right on time. Instead, he places his jacket on the hook and moves to his regular workstation. Richie disappears into the back room and returns with his piece. “It really is unique. What color are you going to choose?”

They talk glazes for a few moments and Eddie watches as Richie ties his hair back at his own work station. He’s got a small pot in front of him. Its stubby and wide and very Richie. Richie flicks on the radio and they settle into silence. It’s too early for others to be in the shop on a Sunday, so they work in peace. Eddie paints with a green, speckled sort of glaze. The brush works over the indents and ridges of the coils. In the time it takes him to work three coats over the piece Richie isn’t even halfway finished with his own greenware.

He watches Richie work, deep concentration written on his face. He’s got his glasses pushed up and a detail brush painting small designs into the underside of the lip. The sunlight comes in through the window and hits him in a way that makes him glow. That feeling from the night before returns and, fuck it, whatever. Who fucking cares. This is ridiculous. This is insane. This is absolutely fucking silly. One hundred percent bonkers. Hands down the worst fucking decision he’s ever made was finding this god damn studio.

He places his piece back on the firing cart for its final run through the kiln and slips out of the front door. Richie is so deep in his work that he doesn’t even see Eddie go.

Eddie doesn’t go back to the studio for a few weeks. He tells himself he’s busy with work, life, whatever excuse he can shove into the situation. It’s not like he has anyone to defend himself to but he can’t bring himself to admit why he’s avoiding the shop. It drives him insane but it’s an insanity of his own creation.

It isn’t until he loses his favorite pen twice in the same day that he breaks. That dumb little coiled container was supposed to be for his desk. It was supposed to help keep his life organized. It was supposed to be a gift to himself. A gift to his fucking desk and pens and home.

God dammit.

Richie doesn’t work on Tuesdays, so Eddie finds himself in the studio before work. He’s dressed head to toe in scrubs and a light jacket to combat the Spring chill. He fully intends to be in and out without incident but naturally the universe has other plans for him.

“Eddie, fuck man it’s good to see you!” the assistant manager calls out from the front. He bounds over and Eddie doesn’t even have time to reply before Bill is in front of him, smiling and talking. “Richie’s been worried about you! Says he hasn’t seen your cute face in a few weeks. Everything okay?”

Eddie coughs quietly before answering. Richie was worried about him. God dammit. “Yeah, Bill. Everything’s good. Just been super busy with work and stuff.” He gestures to his clothes before placing his piece in a bag and angling toward the door. Bill just nods empathetically and waves him goodbye.

He shouts a quick see you soon, hopefully! before the door shuts.

For no reason at all his interaction with Bill burrows into his skin. Eddie is fifty percent emotionally driven impulse and he was more than ready to withdraw his membership from the studio on principle alone. He can’t date the owner. He can’t have a silly schoolyard crush on that man. There’s no reason for something so disruptive. And then Bill just had to tell him he that Richie was worried and that he hopes to see Eddie soon. Why that mattered so fucking much, Eddie had no idea. But it lives inside of him now. Eating at him until he breaks in the other direction.

He finds himself back in the studio again next Tuesday. Bill greets him gently before he takes his seat, grabbing some clay and rolling out two slabs to create about a quarter inch thickness. He cuts the first one, rolls it, and binds the seams. It’s a technique he’s used hundreds of times before and it comes easy to him. He cuts a circle for the base from the second slab and carves in a single word before binding it to the tube he’s created. He rolls a coil, twists it along the side, and boom. Its bisque fired that night and Eddie returns on Thursday to glaze it before work. He paints a simple design around the outside of it and then places it on the cart.

He meets up with Bill over the weekend outside of the shop to pick it up. Inside, he can see Richie teaching a young girl how to make a whistle. He can see the slope of the chamber and what looks like six appendages extending out. Even from here, Eddie knows it’s going to be a Richie Tozier original. Something ridiculous, unique, yet still beautiful in its own way.

He doesn’t return for another two weeks. The anxiety of his plan weighs down on him. It was an impulse that could go horribly, horribly wrong but he also knows that no one knows what he’s planning. He could abandon it entirely and no one would know. He could call the studio, end his membership, and be on with his life. He’d never have to see Richie again. Sure, he might have to give up sculpting for a few years, maybe the rest of his life, but damn if it isn’t a possibility.

Still, though, Eddie finds himself outside of the studio on a Saturday afternoon. As always, he can see Richie inside working on something. He steels himself and pushes through the doors, immediately heading over to the Keurig to make a cup of coffee. He grabs a handful of creamers and sugars and heads right for Richie’s workbench.

“You look like you could use a cup,” he says, trying and miserably failing to come across as natural. If Richie notices he doesn’t say anything about it. Thank god for small graces.

“Kaspbrak! You’re back!” Richie shouts loud enough for several people to turn their heads. Eddie can feel his face heating up as he places the mug on the table. Richie doesn’t fall for his casual motion, hand falling on Eddie’s wrist immediately. “Whoa! What’s this?”

Eddie does some sort of half shrug as he sits down across from Richie. Richie picks up the mug and admires it. It’s got an orange glaze on it with red and yellow accents. It’s really nothing special but Richie seems enamored with it. “You make this, Eds?”

“Not my name, Richie,” he quips, then adds “but yeah.”

Richie traces the designs on the outside and admires the binding and structure of it before sending Eddie a smile that makes him melt from the inside out. Man, he really is fucked, isn’t he?

They talk for a little while as Richie works. Eddie watches those slim fingers as they construct masterpieces from the Earth. Its captivating. Richie asks him questions and Eddie dances around complete truths. He doesn’t want Richie to know where he’s been or why he’s been avoiding the studio.

As Richie drinks his coffee Eddie can feel anxiety bubbling up into his throat. He gets closer and closer to the bottom and eventually he picks the mug up for a final time, gulping down the rest after making a comment about cold coffee being a sin against mankind.

Eddie’s worried Richie doesn’t see it at first. He watches as Richie lowers the mug, eyes trained on Eddie over the rim. Time slows for a moment as the mug starts moving down toward the table and Eddie watches Richie’s eyes shift from his own to the inside of the piece.

There’s literally no going back now.

A small smile creeps over Richie’s face as he sits across from Eddie. Silence passes between the two and Eddie can feel his heart hammering out of his chest. This isn’t the reaction he’d expected. He’d thought Richie would make some snide comment, say something funny, jump up and down in the air. Fuck. Maybe he’d been reading the signals wrong. Maybe Richie flirts with everyone. Maybe he’s destroyed his entire hobby by being a huge fucking idiot. He’s going to have to end his membership and give up pottery forever. No local studio will take him once they hear how intrusive and disruptive he is. He’s going to have to move across the country, change his name, reimagine his entire life. There’s no way he’s going to live down the embarrassment.

“Yes,” Richie whispers. It’s so quiet that Eddie almost can’t hear him over his internal beratement.

“What?” Eddie says back automatically. He’d heard Richie, but just barely. Maybe he’d missed something. Maybe Richie had said something he didn’t hear. Maybe Richie was fucking with him.

“I said yes, Eddie. How about tonight? I can close up a few hours early or maybe Bill can come in to close. Does seven work for you?”

Oh. Fuck. It actually worked.

“Yeah!” Eddie replies, too loud and too excited but somehow it Richie doesn’t startle. He looks at Eddie with an equal amount of excitement, just barely contained behind his own eyes.

“Okay, yeah, cool. Perfect. Meet me back here at 6:45, yeah?” Richie says fast. His hands fly around the table before he grabs a hunk of clay and starts pressing his fingers into it. It’s a nervous tick, Eddie thinks, but somehow it’s cute as hell.

“Yes. Perfect. Okay. Yeah. I’ll see you then,” Eddie says and then pushes up. He shrugs his jacket on and makes for the door. When he glances over his shoulder he sees Richie holding the mug he made, smile so wide it looks like it could tear his face into two. He’s staring into the mug where Eddie had carved out one simple word.

Dinner?

Tag List:

@tinyarmedtrex @richardtoz @aizeninlefox @thestralskies @chocolatemangoose @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @studpuffin @oldguybones @its-stranger-than-you-think @honeybeehanlon @recycle-byn

#my writing #Reddie #it 2017 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #fanfic #richie #eddie #richie x eddie #it novel #stephen king #it fanfic #reddie fanfic #reddie fan fiction #shoot me an ask if you wanna see any of my piece bc I'll gladly post them #some of them are sprinkled throughout the fic #Anonymous #Em Answers

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forestwater87 · 7 years

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Gwenvid Week - Day 2

Hiking or AND Stargazing (technically)

David was convinced that one day they’d have a Hiking Camp that didn’t end in complete disaster. The couple times each summer they ran one, he insisted on betting Gwen twenty dollars that it’d go absolutely fine.

She felt a little bad taking his money. But . . .

“AAAAGHH!”

. . . not too bad.

“What?” She abandoned her post at the back of the straggling line of campers and sprinted to where the scream had come from. Shoving aside the apathetic kids gathered in a circle, she knelt down by David, who was sitting up and wiping dirt off his cheek. “Fuck, what happened?”

“Language, Gwen!” he replied cheerfully, leaning forward to inspect his feet; with a hiss through clenched teeth, he carefully picked up his left foot and rested it on his right knee, tugging at his bootlaces with quiet grunts of pain each time the leg was jostled. “I’m sure everything’s fine! Just tripped and landed on my ankle wrong. I’m sure I’ll feel fine in a few minutes!”

Oh no. She’d heard shit like that before. (Usually during other Hiking Camps; for someone who loved nature so much, nature sure didn’t love David.) “C’mere.” Gwen pushed his hands out of the way and gingerly maneuvered his shoe and sock off, ignoring his weak mumbled “ow”s.

He leaned forward, beaming. “See! It looks better already!”

“Better” was a matter of opinion. To her eyes his ankle looked like a horror show, angry purpling bruises already blooming on the swelling flesh. “Did you seriously only sprain this thing? It looks practically broken.”

“I’m sure it’s neither!” He glanced up at the kids, who’d finally all caught up and were watching with varying levels of interest, and smiled apologetically. “Sorry, campers, it’ll be just a few minutes and then I’ll get good to —”

“Yeah, we’re taking you back,” Gwen declared, climbing to her feet and shrugging off her backpack. “I’ve got some first aid shit but you’ll need ice and elevation and —”

“But we’re on a mountain!” he protested with a hopeful grin. “We’re surrounded by elevation!”

“— and rest,” she finished, glowering at him. “Can you walk, David?”

He blinked and looked up at the sky, the closest he got to rolling his eyes. “Of course I can! Just a second . . .” He managed to make it about halfway to standing without putting weight on the sprain — at which point he collapsed with a whimper. “Let — let me just try again,” he insisted, sniffling and swiping away tears before they could fall.

Yeah, she wasn’t waiting around for that. “Nurf, Ered, help him up,” she ordered, standing on her toes to peer around for QM. “Carefully!” she added when David let out another cry of pain. She found the Quartermaster hunched over a bush, glaring deep into it at something only he could see. “David got hurt. Think you can take over the rest of the hike? He needs to get back to camp.”

“Mmhmm.” The Quartermaster swiped at the bush with his hook, causing it to rattle and erupt into rodent-like chattering, then turned to her, impassive.

Gwen took a couple steps back. “Right. Thanks, QM.” Turning back to the kids, she pointed at Nurf again, who was supporting David. “You’re in charge. If everyone makes it back to camp alive, you get . . . one knife back.”

He crossed his arms, nearly sending David off his feet. “Three.”

“One, and David’s pudding cup at dinner.”

“Gwen!”

So he was paying attention to that but not to where he was walking? “David, you can have my pudding cup if it means that much to you.”

“Th-thank you.”

Neil frowned. “Then why don’t you just offer Nurf your pudding cup, Gwen? Since he’s effectively getting it anyway —”

“For fuck’s sake,” Gwen cried, throwing her arms in the air, “you’ll get someone’s fucking pudding cup! Do we have a deal or not?” She waited until he nodded before adding, “Good, then you’re in charge. I mean . . . QM’s in charge, but . . . yeah. Anyway. Hey, David?”

He’d managed to right himself, in part because he was using Ered’s head as support. “Yes, Gwen?” he replied, as sunny as if he wasn’t holding one foot off the ground like a wounded kitten.

“Get on my back, we gotta get back to camp.”

His face fell. “But — ! But Gwennn, we were going to take the kids up to Sleepy Peak Peak to see the stars!” he whined. “It’s a very important summer tradition!”

“If it helps, none of us gives a shit,” Max offered.

“Shut up, Max. David, you’re not climbing a mountain like that. Hell, I’m not climbing a mountain with you like that. It’s maybe an hour or two’s walk back.”

“But I . . .” He must’ve known she wasn’t backing down, because he let out a defeated sigh and gently released Ered. “Fine,” he mumbled, giving her one last puppy-dog look.

She’d known him way too long to be swayed by that pout. “Yeah, yeah, you big baby. Come on, I wanna get back before dark.”

David wasn’t the most coordinated when uninjured, and he jabbed her a few times with his elbows and knees getting in position. But eventually she had him in piggyback and was tromping her way back down the gentle slope of the mountain, bidding the campers a quick “Try not to die” as they left.

Neither of them spoke for the first half hour or so; Gwen was mostly focusing on not tripping over her own feet and getting them both hurt, and David . . . who ever knew what he was thinking?

Finally he broke the silence. “I’m not too heavy, am I?” he fretted, tightening his arms around her neck.

She rolled her eyes. “David, remember when we had to carry that fucking kiln all the way from the bus stop because you were dumb enough to decide we needed a pottery camp but didn’t need to hire professional kiln delivery? That thing was way heavier than you.”

He nestled his face in the crook of her neck, nosing aside her hair and gently kissing just above the collar of her shirt. “I was trying to save money.”

“Yeah, good thing you spared us those fifty whole dollars. Made a real dent in the other three thousand.” When he didn’t say anything, just pressed another soft kiss to her neck like he could get away with apologizing without actually admitting any wrongdoing, she laughed and hiked him up a few inches to readjust her grip, wincing as he let out a small distressed squeak. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

David shook his head, something she could feel against her neck and see out of the corner of her eye as his poof of fluffy bangs bounced with the movement. “M’okay. Just tired.”

Gwen resisted the urge to point out that she was the one doing the heavy lifting, here. She knew how worn out one could get just by being in pain; after enough years at the camp it was a familiar feeling. “We're almost there,” she said instead, trying to pick up her pace without jostling him too much.

For another few minutes he's quiet. Then she feels a huff of warm air against her hairline: “There's a place I know that's tucked away . . .”

“You better not expect me to sing along,” she said with a slightly breathless laugh. Sure, she was strong and David was light, but she'd still been lugging 130 pounds of boyfriend downhill for the better part of an hour. This was definitely her exercise for the week. Maybe the month. “Or are you trying to motivate me to speed up?”

“No! I just thought . . . sometimes it makes things go faster. If there's music.”

“And you don't know anything with a little more rock?”

He was quiet for a few seconds. Long enough that she started wondering if she should apologize.

“Here we are now, entertain us . . .”

Gwen repressed a snort. Apparently something within the decade — or the millennium — was out of the question. But it was sweet of him to try. “Actually, that camp song’s growing on me.”

She could practically feel his ears prick up. “Really?”

“Yeah. And I still only know the beginning part, so . . .”

“I can teach you!”

Gwen hated to admit it, but trying to memorize the proper order of “football, limbo, science, stunting . . .” actually did make the walk go the tiniest bit faster. Though by the time they finally got back to camp he’d long given up on the song; judging by the warm, pliant weight against her back and neck and the gentle breaths ghosting over her collarbone, he’d fallen asleep, or was close to it. “David?” she murmured, trying to rouse him as gently as possible. (A gesture that proved immediately pointless when she tripped over a rock in the dimming light and almost sent them both flying into the dirt.) “We’re . . . uh, here,” she finished lamely. “You okay?”

“Ngh . . .” She wasn’t sure if that was grogginess or pain, but he recovered admirably. “Oh! Of course.” Wriggling free of her and hopping over to the cabin, he leaned against the wall as she unlocked the door, letting her loop his arm over her shoulders and help him into the wooden box they called home. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he said softly as she settled him down on his bed, propping his injured leg up with pillows and wrapping the ankle up with an ice pack.

“Like I had a choice,” she shot back, tapping her nose against his to cushion the words. “If you get eaten by bears or something I’m the only one here to run this hellhole.”

David took the pain meds she handed him and fumbled for his canteen. “Language,” he began, then but off with a gasp. “Gwen, Gwen, turn off the lights!”

There was something in his voice that made her nervous, an urgency that compelled her to do as he said. “What? Is there a creep out there or something? That drug dealer guy?”

“Look at the stars,” he breathed, scooching over as well as he could (and flinching as his ankle twisted) and pressing his face to the window. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

She couldn’t exactly see them with his head blocking the pane like that, but his awestruck face was too cute for her to be annoyed. “Sure are,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her arm around his shoulders. He turned and let her peck his temple before getting sucked back into the view, and for a few minutes she studied his profile, the bleached moonlight glancing off his nose and forehead and cheekbones so that his freckles looked almost black and his eyes were practically silver. “Sorry you’re not at Sleepy Peak Peak.”

He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the window and snuggling into her side. “It’s okay,” he said, taking her hand. “This is nice, too.”

“I’m honored.” She flipped over the hand in hers, tracing with her fingernail the pale pink scar that cut across his palm and was mirrored on the back of his hand.

David shivered, pulling his hand free. “Ssstop that,” he whined. “You know that I . . .”

“What?” She raised her eyebrows, smirking as he looked away and pressed his lips together. “David, is something wrong?”

“You know,” he muttered.

“Yeah, I do.” Gwen sighed dramatically, gently settling her cheek on his shoulder. “But you’re out of commission until your foot heals, so . . .” He made a small sad noise, like a squeaky chew toy with not enough air, and she laughed. “Come on, you didn’t think about that?”

“No . . .” And he sounded so pathetic, especially with his giant swollen ankle propped up in the air, that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

“Sorry, Brother David,” she teased, smirking as he flushed dark and turned his head away, “doctor’s orders.” Idly, she walked her fingers up his stomach, watching the muscles twitch minutely. “You’re kinda keyed up, aren’tcha?”

He shrugged, still not quite facing her. “It was a long walk,” he finally muttered. “You were . . . close.”

“And?”

“And warm.” When she just waited expectantly, he pouted slightly and added, “And smelled nice.”

“Wow. Triple threat, huh?” Gwen kissed his ear — the closest thing facing her — and David’s breath caught audibly. “How’d you survive that?”

“Th . . . the camp song helped.”

She snorted, nearly shoving him over before remembering he was hurt. “Greenwood, you creep.” He sighed and covered his face with his hands, but she gently pulled them away, circling each of his wrists with her thumb and middle finger. “I mean . . . your ankle hurts, doesn’t it?”

David looked like he was seriously considering lying, but then his shoulders drooped and he mumbled, “Yeah.”

Gwen made a sympathetic noise. “Could probably use a distraction, huh?”

His eyebrows quirked up, his head cocking just slightly to the side. “Um . . . maybe?”

“We just gotta keep that leg from moving. Which . . . poses a couple problems. But not too many, I don’t think.” She grinned up at him, taking his hands and lacing their fingers together. “Any ideas?”

She’d never get used to the way he looked at her, all breathless wonder and glowing pleasure and wariness. Especially in those moments when his smile cut through his shock, as warm and reassuring as his fingers tightening around hers. “A couple,” he admitted, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Me too,” she said, fighting to keep the teasing gloat out of her voice. “I have some really good ones.”

David laughed then, soft and gentle like the moon-drenched air of the cabin. “You always do, Gwen.”

#not thrilled with the ending but i had a fucking deadline #3 minutes until day 2 ends but I GOT IT IN THERE #campcamp #cc david #cc gwen #gwenvid #gwenvid week #hiking #stargazing

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shanewuyx-blog · 7 years

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The Aroma of Christ

A few months ago, I was walking around the St. Jude garden, inspecting the plants. It was during period of transition from Winter to Spring. At that time, out of all the raised beds we had my favorite one to go to was the rosemary. Oh, how beautiful they were! I would always stop for a few minutes to admire them. I’ve always known Rosemary as a herb, using it lavishly for dishes such as roast chicken and roast potatoes. In the supermarket I would try to get them fresh, but even then they are sealed in a small plastic container. I could only look at them, but I would try in vain to catch a little of their fragrance by putting the plastic to my nose. Sometimes if I close my eyes and use my imagination hard enough I trick myself into thinking I can smell them.

Rosemary blooms early - ours began flowering in Winter, and they gave us much joy in the garden as almost all the other beds had nothing growing in them. The first time I saw rosemary flowers was a long time ago, back when I was volunteering in Italy in a place called Castello di Potentino. As a castle, there were walls running along it and often when going for walks down to the vineyard I would have to go down a path along those walls. I remember vividly how huge clumps of rosemary seemed to creep down the walls, every strand reaching halfway down on my side. Each stem had beautiful purple-blue flowers on them studded across it’s length, and their pungent aroma enveloped around me whenever I walked down the slope - in hindsight it would have been the perfect natural cologne. I wouldn’t need to buy any, all I have to do is walk past those flowers!

Like those in Italy, the rosemary in the garden had already flowered. I had long admired them before that day, as evident by the photo on my Tumblr page. I can never get over the realization that this plant I used solely for cooking is so utterly gorgeous as well. The colors captivate me the most - such a perfect combination of blue and purple, and how that complements with the slender dark green leaves - so inviting!

And invite they did. When I arrived next to them I realized that there had already been guests before me - Bees! And they were still there. I could imagine them looking at me and saying ‘Ha! You are late to this party. We got here before you.’ But whereas I was there plainly to regard, the bees were there with the purpose of extracting as much of the sweet nectar from the flowers as they could carry. I was absorbed into the scene developing before me. First, I saw one bee. Tiny bees they were, not like the bumblebees I am so afraid of. It made no buzzing sounds at all, which is what scares me the most. Here this bee was, minding it’s own business, hovering ever so efficiently from one flower to the next, not spending more than a few seconds on each one. But wait! Just as the first one attached itself to the next flower, another bee came into my view. I was getting more excited. Here before me I was being treated to a procession of bees working diligently but also seeming to be enjoying the very work they were doing as well. As my field of vision expanded from one bee to the whole bed of rosemary, I felt a sense of harmony in nature of which I suddenly realized that I was a part of! We planted the rosemary seeds. Over time it grew and produced beautiful flowers which suffused the air with its own unique fragrance. The bees were welcomed with open flowers. At that point I felt that everyone involved was happy and fulfilled. Becoming eager to spread the good news, I beckoned to my friend Mary who works at the Garden - ‘Mary, come here! Look what I found!’.

A couple of months passed by. Now, the flowers have wilted, the fragrance is perhaps not as strong. But only for now - Rosemary is a hardy plant. There were days with torrential rain pours, nights where the roads froze over, but the rosemary greeted us every morning just the same. The flowers will come back eventually. Yet, the scene still lingered in my imagination. Walking past them nowadays I yearn to see just one flower to start the whole process again. Can there be a fragrance more powerful and less transient?

2 Corinthians 2:14-16

14 But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. 15 For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, 16 to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things?

Praise be to God! Because of him we can be a fragrance to others, attracting everyone to the sweet nectar of the knowledge of him. We can lead them to the most pleasant of aromas, the aroma of Christ which permeates not just to the limits of our physical senses but penetrates into the depths of our hearts. More than an aroma from the outside which releases positive endorphins inside but an aroma which from the inside bursts forth a spring of life which renews us and transform us day by day by his everlasting, always triumphant love.

For we now live by the new covenant because of Christ’s Death and Resurrection, the glory of which surpasses that of the old covenant which in comparison fades away.

Jeremiah 31

The New Covenant 31 “Behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, 32 not like the covenant that I made with their fathers on the day when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt, my covenant that they broke, though I was their husband, declares the Lord. 33 For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 34 And no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the Lord. For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.”

Luke 22

17 And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he said, “Take this, and divide it among yourselves. 18 For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” 19 And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” 20 And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.

This is the good news which our fragrance points towards - that those who believe in Jesus Christ are no longer condemned to death for their sins because Christ took the condemnation when he died on the cross for us because he loves us. That because he rose from the grave, defeating death, we know that we may also attain the resurrection from the dead.

Philippians 3

For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ 9 and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— 10 that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, 11 that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

That the eternal life can starts now! John 3 36 Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever does not obey the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God remains on him. John 17 3 And this is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.

Smoke is often presented as a symbol of God’s glory and judgement in the Old Testament. In Exodus 19, we see that smoke caused the Israelites to tremble in fear. They could not face God’s glory - only Moses could.

Exodus 19

16 On the morning of the third day there were thunders and lightnings and a thick cloud on the mountain and a very loud trumpet blast, so that all the people in the camp trembled. 17 Then Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet God, and they took their stand at the foot of the mountain. 18 Now Mount Sinai was wrapped in smoke because the Lord had descended on it in fire. The smoke of it went up like the smoke of a kiln, and the whole mountain trembled greatly. 19 And as the sound of the trumpet grew louder and louder, Moses spoke, and God answered him in thunder. 20 The Lord came down on Mount Sinai, to the top of the mountain. And the Lord called Moses to the top of the mountain, and Moses went up.

Even after Moses returned from speaking to God, he had to have a veil to cover his face because the Israelites could not face the glory of God.

Exodus 34

34 Whenever Moses went in before the Lord to speak with him, he would remove the veil, until he came out. And when he came out and told the people of Israel what he was commanded, 35 the people of Israel would see the face of Moses, that the skin of Moses’ face was shining. And Moses would put the veil over his face again, until he went in to speak with him.

But praise be to God, because of Christ’s death and resurrection, by the new covenant all of us can behold the glory of God! We are no longer like the Moses, no longer like the Israelites. Not that the law, carved in letters on stone, was worthless - indeed it was glorious! If it had not been for the law we would not have known Sin - only that because of our sinful nature we could not keep the law, reaping our wages, for the wages of sin is death. But by the grace of God, Jesus took the wages of our Sin and gave us the Spirit which gives life everlasting.

2 Corinthians 3

7 Now if the ministry of death, carved in letters on stone, came with such glory that the Israelites could not gaze at Moses’ face because of its glory, which was being brought to an end, 8 will not the ministry of the Spirit have even more glory? 9 For if there was glory in the ministry of condemnation, the ministry of righteousness must far exceed it in glory. 10 Indeed, in this case, what once had glory has come to have no glory at all, because of the glory that surpasses it. 11 For if what was being brought to an end came with glory, much more will what is permanent have glory.

Is this not cause to rejoice? That we are saved, that we can know and enjoy the aroma of the knowledge of God, that we can be a fragrance to others, that we can behold God’s glory without having a veil over our faces which keeps us from the aroma?

12 Since we have such a hope, we are very bold, 13 not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face so that the Israelites might not gaze at the outcome of what was being brought to an end. 14 But their minds were hardened. For to this day, when they read the old covenant, that same veil remains unlifted, because only through Christ is it taken away. 15 Yes, to this day whenever Moses is read a veil lies over their hearts. 16 But when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. 17 Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 18 And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.

What a blessing it is to be transformed into the same image through the Spirit which is given to us! Let us rise to the challenge of living our lives as a reflection of God’s glory to the world around us.

In the Book of Hosea, God remains faithful to Israel despite them being unrepentant - his love is steadfast and unwavering. Though Israel was unfaithful, God remained faithful. When they came to God with a repentant heart, he gave them an assurance of restoration. Though God will bring judgment on sin, He will always bring his people back to himself.

Hosea 14

A Plea to Return to the Lord

Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God, for you have stumbled because of your iniquity. 2 Take with you words and return to the Lord; say to him, “Take away all iniquity; accept what is good, and we will pay with bulls the vows of our lips. 3 Assyria shall not save us; we will not ride on horses; and we will say no more, ‘Our God,’ to the work of our hands. In you the orphan finds mercy.”

The name “rosemary” derives from the Latin for “dew” (ros) and “sea” (marinus), or “dew of the sea”.

God is like the dew which gives us the growth, and as we flourish and blossom while dwelling in his presence we give a lovely fragrance to all around us.

4 I will heal their apostasy; I will love them freely, for my anger has turned from them. 5 I will be like the dew to Israel; he shall blossom like the lily; he shall take root like the trees of Lebanon; 6 his shoots shall spread out; his beauty shall be like the olive, and his fragrance like Lebanon. 7 They shall return and dwell beneath my shadow; they shall flourish like the grain; they shall blossom like the vine; their fame shall be like the wine of Lebanon. 8 O Ephraim, what have I to do with idols? It is I who answer and look after you. I am like an evergreen cypress; from me comes your fruit.

O, what a saviour!

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thesmithfamily08 · 4 years

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July 1st, 2020

I’m totally disappointed in myself for not writing in this before now. This has been the weirdest year ever. So we made it through the end of the school year. Distance learning was ok, we had 6 weeks of it even though the kids technically had 9 more weeks left of school. Pretty much it boiled down to about an hour of worksheet type work 5 days of the week then reading time everyday. It wasn’t hard to get through but I don’t think that the kids really got much out of it. We went until the end of the school year staying at home and away from everyone. We did a little birthday for Rob, then me, then for our anniversary it was just a normal day, then for Penny’s birthday I tried to do all the things I would normally do for a birthday, we made a banner and filled the house with balloons, I made posters, we did a big yard sign that said Happy Birthday. We obviously just stayed home for the day and I had asked the grandparents to send gifts so she would have something to open on her birthday besides just what I got her. It was really pretty great day where she just got to do whatever she wanted. So right after her birthday school was out for the year officially. We drive through the bus loop and picked up yearbooks and things and got to say goodbye to teachers through the window. It was a pretty sad ending to the school year but it was summer and things were slowly starting to open back up even though the number of cases of covid 19 were not going down. At the end of April I knew for sure that Disney wasn’t going to open until at least July, which was devastating for everyone. I was able to get my money back for the hotel but the money for the plane tickets I only got like a giftcard for delta, sigh so hopefully that will not be a total bust in a year from now. So I knew we were not going to be going to Disney and I was obsessed with doing something with the kids for a vacation because last year all we did was go to broken bow which was fun but not like a huge trip by any means. So literally the last week of May the beaches all opened back up and we drove to Waco, TX stayed the night with Katie, then left Charlie with her and Daniel and drove down to South Padre Island! We spent 4 days on the beach and it was perfect! The weather was great, the kids loved the pool and the beach, we had a bunch of restaurants near by so we didn’t have to do a lot of driving. We also did a dolphin boat ride which was probably one of my favorite parts of the trip. Everyone was supposed to be wearing masks but not everyone really was and no one was on the beach. The biggest inconvenience we had the entire trip was when we went to the grocery store before we went to our hotel they weren't letting any children in. Just to cut down on the amount of people in the store. It wasn’t that big of a deal just definitely not something that would have happened normally. The trip was really great though and I’m so so happy that we went! So that was back at the end of May and now at the beginning of July the cases of covid have gotten so out of control that they are starting to close beaches again. Disney still hasn’t reopened, Broadway says it will be closed until January, all sports have stopped. No tv shows are being made, all the news and talk shows are being done from peoples homes, which is kind of neat. So now everything is opening back up Oklahoma started opening up way early around the beginning of May, so stores and a lot of places like staking rink, bowling ally, those types of things are open. Actually I think everything except big venues and movie theaters are open at this point, that being said the numbers are getting out of control. I only know of 3 people who have died and they were neighbors at the house I grew up in in Claremore. We have started doing more since it is summer I am always trying to do fun things with the kids, we always make a summer fun list and this year it looked a little different but we have been making it happen. We took the kids floating down the Illinois river and it was perfect! We did it in a raft did all 12 miles, it really was great, the kids swam next to the raft a lot of the time. We went and painted clay stuff at the copper kiln, and yesterday we actually went to Frontier City in Oklahoma City. It was pretty social distancy too, they took our temp as we went in, we had to wear a mask the entire time we were there. The rides they were skipping seats and had hand washing stations and sanitizer everywhere. It was a different experience but really it was almost better because the lines were short and we rode rides back to back. All the kids rode a new big roller coaster they hadn’t rode before and we got them all on the log ride! It was a fantastic day, I had bought season passes back in October for all of 2020, but since they were closed for a couple months they extended by membership until next June 2021, so I’m sure we will be going back a couple more times this summer. Might even make a trip to Six Flags in TX, if it doesn’t close back down.

So now the big question on my mind at least it what is school going to look like next year. It is the beginning of July now and hospitals are almost at capacity which means they are going to start having to close down more things but with school starting it is only going to get worse. Tulsa released their plans for next year and they are splitting the kids into two groups A and B each group goes either Monday and Tuesday or Thursday and Friday. on Wednesday everyone does distance learning. So 3 days distance learning 2 days in class, and the class sizes would be around 10 to 12 kids so they could distance them. We haven’t heard anything about Collinsville or Owasso yet but I’m hoping we find out something soon. I realized the other day that there was a good chance I wasn’t going to be able to walk the kids into class for the first day or go to meet the teacher which made me break down for a while. Something about my baby starting kindergarten and me not being able to walk her in hit me hard. We don’t know what it is going to look like right now though so maybe It’ll just be a normal year?!

The kids have been taking everything well, the understand it all and they are at a good age to be ok with just staying at home. We ended up throwing Penny a little party last weekend for her birthday since she didn’t get to have one. We made slime and her and her friends played in the pool. I think she may have had more fun than if we would have done it back in may. Did I write about the pool yet? I’m not sure, I made Rob go out a buy a pool at soon as they canceled school over spring break because I was afraid if this goes into the summer everyone would be buying a pool and we wouldn’t be able to find one. Well one I was totally right and every place in town is out of pools but two the pool has been awesome! The kids love it and Penny all the sudden is a fantastic swimmer! It is like all the sudden they aren’t scared of the water anymore and they can swim perfectly! I think the kids miss school but I think they would also be happy staying home 5 days a week and only going 2 days next year too. I am going to try to write on this more often as things progress because I’m sure it’ll be neat to look back on year from now. Right now though, it is bedtime and I need to get everyone to sleep...zzzzzz

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ultralifehackerguru-blog · 6 years

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New Post has been published on http://www.lifehacker.guru/13-must-read-september-romances-youll-devour-faster-than-you-can-down-a-psl/

13 Must-Read September Romances You'll Devour Faster Than You Can Down a PSL

Happy September, bookworms! I have the latest round-up of must-read romances to keep your brains and e-readers full and well-read this month. This month’s list is filled with highly anticipated reads, emotionally heart-melting novels, sexy-as-sin alphas, thought-provoking mysteries, and so much more! Let’s dive into what’s here to devour this month.

1 Dirty Headlines, Out Sept. 4

Dirty Headlines is an all-new enemies-to-lovers standalone office romance from LJ Shen. Jude Humphry is having the worst day. A one-night stand with a handsome, dark stranger is the last thing on her mind, but when it happens, she is thankful that it’s with a tourist from France. Or so she thinks. A month after the one-night stand, in which she stole his wallet (hey, no judgment, right?), she finds out that Celian Laurent is: 1. Not a tourist, 2. The heir of a media empire and — 3. Her new boss. This starts a steamy, chemistry-filled war between Jude, the new intern in the newsroom, and Celian, the director of news. But they both have secrets keeping them from truly getting closer.

2 More of You, Out Sept. 10

In More of You by A.L. Jackson, the second Faith Linbrock met Jace Jacobs, she fell hard and fast. She knew better than to fall for a boy like him, but some things are unstoppable. One touch of his hand, and her skin sizzled. She shouldn’t have been surprised when the boy who was surrounded by rumor broke her heart. She swore to herself she’d never allow it to happen again. Ten years later, she’s in trouble, and she’s shocked when Jace shows up at her doorstep saying he’s there to protect her. What he didn’t anticipate was their chemistry had never faded. He’s never wanted a woman the way he wants her, and he’ll do anything to get her back. But Jace is back with secrets of his own, and now he must prove whether his intentions were good or only there to break her all over again . . .

3 Shot on Goal, Out Sept. 12

When a former champion figure skater’s ambitions collide with a struggling young hockey player’s desires, sparks ignite and forbidden passion threatens to destroy their careers and their future. In Shot on Goal by Jami Davenport, Marina Sanders strives to overcome the scandal that cost her a gold medal. Drew Delacorte battles with the demons of his past and a waning disinterest in hockey. When forced to work together, the lines between business and pleasure become blurred. Unable to keep their hands off each other, they realize that their secret relationship could spell the end of their once-brilliant careers. Will love be enough if everything else they’ve worked for is gone?

4 Big Stick, Out Sept. 17

Myles Sanders has a big stick. That is a big, long hockey stick. For Myles, life is perfect like a smooth rink before a game, until his best friend Oli announces his twin sister Flynn is moving to Chicago. Myles and Flynn were next-door neighbors and childhood best friends. Sure, the lines of friendship may have been blurred once or twice over the years. They were meant to be together until one night changed everything . . . Myles knows that just the sight of him dredges up bad memories for Flynn. So why can’t he stay away from her? Find out in Big Stick by R.C. Stephens.

5 Rebel Hard, Out Sept. 18

Rebel Hard by Nalini Singh features a modern arranged marriage mart, family shenanigans, and a swoonfully sexy romance. In an attempt to hold together her family, Nayna has lived her entire life by the rules, and all she wants now is freedom, adventure, and a wild fling with a hot hunk. Raj is the eldest son, the brother his siblings turn to, and a man at home with tradition. He wants to build a home, have a small family, put down roots. Nayna wants to fly. They’re moving in opposite directions . . . until they collide in the middle. Sexy, brilliantly colorful, and defiantly joyous, Rebel Hard is a love story that’ll make you believe in forever.

6 Restless Ink, Out Sept. 18

Thea Montgomery has worked endless hours to make sure her bakery is one of the best in the city. And as she finds herself ready to take the next step, she realizes she might need to work on her personal life as well. Only the one person she wants is her friend’s ex-husband. Dimitri Carr knows he shouldn’t have feelings for Thea, but he can’t help it. She was his friend before he was in his ex’s life, so dealing with his connection to Thea isn’t easy. In Restless Ink by Carrie Ann Ryan, when the two finally take a chance, it’ll take more than attraction for them to make it work. But thankfully, neither one wants to give up . . . yet.

7 Got It Bad, Out Sept. 18

Bad boys are always fun, especially when they’re trying to figure out how to be good! USA Today bestseller Christi Barth’s Bad Boys Gone Good series is a lighthearted, goofy fish-out-of-water series about three big-city ex-mobster brothers in Witness Protection who have to figure out how to live crime-free, quiet lives in a small Oregon town. It’s full of quirky characters, small-town charm, lots of humor, and a little bit of suspense. In Got It Bad, when the brother who has always followed the rules starts to fall for the federal marshal in charge of their case, it’s his turn to be a little bad.

8 Why Not Tonight, Out Sept. 18

There’s something unusual about Why Not Tonight: heroine Natalie Kaleta is wearing her trademark red glasses on the cover, the better to see brooding glass artist Ronan Mitchell. (Imagine muscles gleaming in light from the kiln.) When Natalie and Ronan get trapped together by a mudslide in his mountain lodge, romance builds with passion and genuine humor. Lighthearted but not lightweight, Why Not Tonight explores whether happiness is a choice. Ronan must learn that forgiving his family will clear the way for love. If you’ve never read Susan Mallery before, start with this one. The No. 1 New York Times bestselling author is at the top of her game.

9 Vampires Like It Hot, Out Sept. 18

Raffaele, Zanipolo, and Santo are on an enforced vacation during the wet season in the Dominican Republic. While Raffaele is happy to help out his cousin Santo, he’d rather do it where it wasn’t so hot and humid you could hardly breathe. At least that’s how he felt until he met his life mate, Jess. Jess was in the Dominican Republic to attend a family wedding. After she follows her cousin onto a tour ship, she finds herself on a pirate ship full of hungry vampire pirates, and her only option to escape is to jump ship. From vampires to shark-infested water, and then the arms of Raffaele Notte. . . . What started out as a boring family obligation has suddenly become something much more in Vampires Like It Hot by Lynsay Sands.

10 Hidden, Out Sept. 25

In Hidden by Rebecca Zanetti, Malcolm West is more than ready to give up undercover work as a cop, and he finds the perfect cottage in the middle of nowhere to do just that. A day later, he meets his neighbor, sweet Pippa Smith, an introvert with frightened eyes and an odd thirst for adventure, so long as it takes place in his bedroom. Three days later, he finds himself part of a Homeland Defense unit complete with an alcoholic dog, insane cat, and a wounded group of ex-cops who all have something to hide. The situation is one that he can manage, until he discovers he’s been set up and put in place to protect the world from the woman he’s starting to care about. When danger comes at him from every direction, he has to choose a side . . . and hopefully protect Pippa in the process. That is, if she lets him.

11 Cross Breed, Out Sept. 25

In the highly anticipated novel Cross Breed by Lora Leigh, Cassie Sinclair has played a very dangerous game with the enigmatic, lethal Coyote Breed known only as Dog, a Breed suspected to be the enemy, at the very least, a mercenary for the hated genetics council. When she’s caught in a web of her own making, forced to trade a single night with the Coyote to save someone dear to her, she finds the mate she swore she’d never have. Secrets, premonitions, and ghostly figures have shadowed Cassie’s life and drawn her to the one Breed that can complete her. If his betrayal doesn’t destroy her.

12 Hot Winter Nights, Out Sept. 25

Hot Winter Nights (a stand-alone Heartbreaker Bay romance) by Jill Shalvis is a sexy romance in which hero Lucas Knight wakes up with a woman in his bed with no memory of how that happened. What the heck? Did he miss the good stuff? And who is she? This one is an ice-melting romance with light suspense involving a scrappy, feisty heroine who was well used to making her own way in the world. Molly Malone needed a man who could go toe to toe with her and yet let her fight her own battles. Enter Lucas Knight. He’s been attracted to Molly since the day he met her. Two problems. One, she’s his partner’s sister, and two, he’s just been told by his boss he needs to watch over her without letting her know about it. Tricky enough, as Molly is smart as they come. Oh, and there’s one more thing — he’s not to sleep with her.

13 Dirty Rich Betrayal, Out Sept. 26

Dirty Rich Betrayal is Grayson Bennett’s story: He’s a billionaire, the king of the world to some. He has everything, but what he really wants: her. That woman is Mia Cavanaugh, criminal attorney, ex-lover, a woman who believes he betrayed her, a woman who could burn him to the ground, but she won’t. Because she loves him. Because he loves her, and it’s time that she sees the truth of the past. Now, he’s handing her the key to his future. He’s giving her the chance to burn him to the ground. He’s letting her see the real man beneath the surface that not even she’s seen in the past. She has to decide what to do with that man: love him or destroy him.

(C)

#books #Lifestyle #Must-Read #romance

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artsynanotech · 6 years

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Rebuilding

Part 3: Civility

(Part 1) - (Part 2)

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

Alden didn't have just one library. He had several, spread amongst multiple rooms on the second floor of his haven. Isaac found Ares in one just to the left of the stairs, collapsed back in a lounge chair, staring at the ceiling. Isaac had a pretty good guess for what was running through his grandchilde's mind.

Grandchilde. Ugh. Isaac was too young to be a grandsire. Especially for this particular kindred. It wasn't hard to imagine what Ares was going through. He was a fledgling again. There were bound to be growing pains. It didn't make Ares' inability to control himself less of a problem, but at the same time Isaac couldn't say it wasn't expected. Isaac leaned against the frame of the door and waited to see if Ares would notice him. Ares didn't make any indication that he did. Was he ignoring Isaac? Isaac's eyebrow twitched slightly. He was really too young to be dealing with this. "I'm your ride home, so unless you plan on spending all day in that chair, you should probably consider getting up." Isaac didn't move from his position in the door way. Ares heaved himself into an upright position. He glanced briefly at Isaac. "Where's Scott?" "Trying to pacify the good lady took longer than expected. He's still got to work out domain requests and bring those to Maxwell for approval." "I can't just wait for him to finish?" Ares stared down at his lap. His hair fell down in front of his eyes. "You and I both know it's better if you don't." Ares kept his gaze lowered. Isaac could practically smell the self pity in the air. For a moment he considered walking over and pulling Ares out of the chair himself, but that would require more investment in the situation than Isaac was willing to put forth. Isaac waited for a minute or so. That was about the limit of his patience, and he pushed himself off the door frame to leave. "Wait." Ares finally stood up. "I'll go. I... I'm sorry." Isaac didn't bother responding. He led Ares silently down the stairs and out of Elysium. The kindred gathered in the parlor were already gossiping about the angry shouts they'd heard coming from the Toreador meeting.

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While the drive to Scott's apartment wasn't any less awkward than the conversation in the library, at least Isaac had a radio he could drown out the silence with. He found the first thing that that was coming in clearly - one of those sappy love song call-in shows - and turned it up to a volume that was testing the limits of acceptable. Ares spent the entire time staring blankly out the windshield. The fifteen minute ride seemed more like thirty. Isaac wanted nothing more than to speed home after dropping Ares off, but when they finally pulled up to the curb outside Scott's building, Ares didn't get out. He sat there, hands clenched in his lap, eyes closed in thought. Isaac clenched his jaw and swallowed the urge to snap at Scott's childe. "Hey, um... Isaac?" Ares turned a nervous gaze towards him. "I know you don't like me. That's fine. And I know I'm Scott's responsibility, not yours. But I... I need your help. So is it okay to ask for it?"

Isaac considered that for a moment. Ares wasn't a bad kid. Was he to blame for nearly everything that had gone wrong in the city? Certainly. Was he Toreador material? Most definitely not. But he wasn't a bad kid. "Okay, here's the deal." Isaac put the car in park and turned to face Ares. "You're right. I don't like you. Being around you almost killed my childe. Your family tore this city apart. Bethany's dead, and that's as good as your fault in my book." Isaac paused. He let Ares sit on those words for a few seconds. He watched what little color Ares' face had slowly drain as his fists clenched just a little tighter. Ares shifted his weight towards the door, but just as he was about to open it, Isaac spoke again. "But you're still Scott's childe, and like it or not, you've saved my life twice over. So yes, you can ask me for help. Of course I reserve the right to turn you down if you're asking too much." Ares turned his gaze to Isaac, eyes wide with disbelief. "Really? I didn't think you'd actually... I mean, Thank you!" He smiled. Looking at that, it wasn't hard to see why Scott fell for him. Even Isaac had to admit there was something unnervingly endearing about that smile. It was honest in a way most kindred didn't know how to be. "Don't get sappy on me know. Let's take this inside. Whatever you need, I doubt my car is the best place to talk about it."

Ares nodded. Isaac pulled into the apartment building's parking lot - there was no sense leaving his car on the curb - and locked it up as Ares looked for his key ring. The building was an old Victorian style affair, with painted floral molding over the windows. There weren't all that many rental units in it, but even then Isaac couldn't help but notice there were less cars there than when Scott had first moved in. "When'd it get so empty?"

"After that blood hunt Scott got caught up in, I think. They started leaving after that." Ares finally fished the keys out of his jacket pocket. "It's driving the landlady up the wall. But 'too much weird shit happening around you' isn't a valid reason to evict someone, and Scott always has the rent on time, so there's not much she can do about it."

That wasn't surprising, though Isaac didn't think the topic needed any further comment. Ares led him through the building's front door and down the stairs to Scott's basement studio. There was a large package next to the door, sealed up with USPS packing tape. A plastic dish filled with sugar cookies rested on top. A bright green sticky note was stuck to it. Isaac picked everything up while Ares got the door. The note was written in the shaky, yet still refined script of an elderly woman.

Dear boys, it read. The mailman left this out for you, but it was raining to I thought I'd bring it in until you both got home. Have a good night!

"That's Mrs. Reith, on the first floor." Ares explained. "Scott cleaned off her car a couple times this past winter and now she loves him. He usually pawns the cookies off on Ricardo." Well at least someone in the building still liked them, Isaac thought. He looked at the package underneath the Tupperware. It was addressed to Scott from one of the art supply stores he liked. It had a bit of weight to it, and if he had to guess it was probably a new batch of dry clay. Isaac smiled. It looked like, despite all the new responsibilities on his plate, Scott still had time for his art.

Ares let Isaac in first so he could set the mail down. Scott's kitchen had been converted into a passable studio space, with a kiln set up where the stove would be and extra shelving in place of a refrigerator. The actual stove was shoved against a wall with a board thrown over the top for much needed counter space. Isaac wasn't sure what Scott ended up doing with the fridge. Either way, there wasn't much room for extra storage, so Isaac shoved the box up against the wall for Scott to open later.

Isaac plopped himself down in one of the kitchen chairs, leaned against the back, and crossed his arms. Ares sat across from him, shoulders hunched forward as he stared down at the table. Did he even know what proper poster was? Not that Isaac was one to talk, but at least his own slouching looked confident. He waited for Ares to work up the nerve to speak. The silence was grating.

"It's about the feeding thing." Ares blurted out the syllables like one single, garbled word. "I don't know how to make the hunger stop. I'm trying, I really am. But when I'm feeding it's so loud I can barely think."

"And you need my help with this... why?" Isaac couldn't say this was unexpected, but it also wasn't his problem.

"Because Scott doesn't get it." Ares' face flushed with the slightest hint of color. "It's so easy for him, you know? 'Just don't listen to it,' he says, like the beast is some sort of whisper. But he's had eleven years to get used to it. And I've only been feeding off actual people for a few months..."

Isaac took a moment to consider that. He'd assumed Ares' lack of control came from a hard reset, for lack of a better term, of his vampiric curse. The thought that Ares might have never fed directly from a human had never occurred to Isaac. He'd always assumed that, with the myriad of ghouls and human staff Giovanni kept around, that finding fresh blood was never an issue for them. Especially if a ghoul's blood bond made them accept the pain of a Giovanni kiss willingly. But if Ares had abstained from the pleasure of fresh blood for, what would it be... forty-some-odd years? Well it was no wonder his beast was reveling in the indulgence.

Isaac chose to ignore what that abstinence said about Ares' character.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm pretty certain Scott's beast is actually a whisper." Not that Isaac cared if Ares felt better, but he wasn't going to deliberately antagonize his grandchilde. Not when he'd agreed to help. "He's never had a problem controlling his hunger, even when I first embraced him. Hell, he was so embarrassed by how good his first meal felt that he stopped feeding before the guy even lost consciousness."

"He was embarrassed?" "He was moaning so loud you'd think he'd creamed himself with that first bite. It's probably different with you, but he normally doesn't like people seeing him like that. Once he realized what he'd done he dropped his meal like a hot potato." Isaac chuckled softly. He missed those early days. Scott had been an easy childe, full of curiosity and determination towards his new existence. Isaac couldn't have asked for better.

The corners of Ares mouth curled upward ever so slightly. "That's... adorable. And he'd probably kill you if he finds out you told me."

"Which means you're never going to tell him. Call it a fair trade for my advice here."

Ares nodded. "So what do I do? Regular meals aside, I'm worried that when Scott and I... well, you know..." His face turned a slightly brighter shade of red. "It's loud then too. Accidentally killing a human? I'd hate it, but it's not like I haven't dealt with that before. But if I accidentally di... diab... If I took too much from Scott? I'd watch a sunrise before letting that happen."

Of course they were feeding on each other. Scott didn't have the good judgment to avoid it. Isaac closed his eyes and held back the urge to snap at Ares. He tried to remember what Alden had said to him on the subject. It honestly wasn't that helpful, something more along the lines of the 'just don't listen' advice Scott had given Ares. Learning to feed responsibly had come more with practice than anything. "Okay, here's what I think." Isaac opened his eyes and leaned forward on the table. "Never let yourself get too hungry. You should be full after going down on that Carlos kid, right? Maintain that. You use your blood for anything, even just rising at night, and you replenish it right then. The beast won't be as loud if you're only missing a few cups worth. When you get used to that try letting it go for longer. And,” Isaac narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice, “If I hear anything, and I mean anything about you hurting Scott, even unintentionally, I'll heave you into the sun myself. Is that clear.” “Crystal.”

“Good.” Isaac pushed himself up from the table. “Is that it? Because there are a thousand other things I'd rather be occupying myself with right now, and most of them involve pretty women. Seeing as you are not one, I think I'll take my leave.” “All right.” Ares got up, walked to the door, and unlocked it for Isaac. “Thanks for the advice. I'll... I'll do my best to follow it.”

“Don't mention it.” Isaac stopped in front of Ares and gave him one last, biting stare. “Really. Don't. I'm not doing this for your benefit.” “But you're still doing it.” Isaac rolled his eyes and took a step out into the hall. “Good night, Ares.” “Good night, Isaac.”

#IC #Rebuilding #NPC: Isaac Baum #Vampire: the Masquerade #VtM #World of Darkness #WoD #Toreador

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wionews · 7 years

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‘Nobody trusts the farmer with money’

Ramesh Jagtap has had a rough day. He quarrelled with his wife, Gangubai, in the morning. After the fight, she consumed pesticide. He took her in a shared rickshaw to the district’s civil hospital in Osmanabad city, 30 kilometers from Satefal village. “My heart beats were pounding like never before through the journey,” he says. “Fortunately, we reached in time for the doctors to treat her.”

He rushed back to Satefal in the afternoon. The local branch of the district’s cooperative bank was disbursing payments to settle claims made by farmers under the government’s crop insurance scheme. “I got back and stood in line for over an hour,” Jagtap says. “But the bank had only released a part of the sum.” And that was given to farmers who had taken a token ahead of him.

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Jagtap, 50, who cultivates soybean, jowar, and wheat on his five acres, could well lose count of the problems he might wake up to tomorrow. He already has a bank loan of Rs. 1.20 lakhs, and owes Rs. 50,000 to a private moneylender. “I had borrowed money during previous years of drought and for my daughter’s marriage,” he says. “Moneylenders abuse us every day as we delay their payment. The fight with my wife started over this. She could not take the pressure and humiliation and poisoned herself in the heat of the moment. I need to repay my loans. I need money to prepare my land ahead of the monsoon season.”

The desperation for funds forced Jagtap to rush back to Satefal, leaving Gangubai in the hospital. He is eligible to receive Rs. 45,000 from the government as crop insurance for the rabi season of 2014-15. On March 4, the government deposited Rs. 159 crores, which belong to 2,68,000 farmers like Jagtap, in the Osmanabad District Central Cooperative Bank (ODCC). But two months later, only Rs. 42 crores have been distributed.

The bank is yet to give Chandrakant Ugale, a farmer from Satefal, his crop insurance payment of Rs. 18,000. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

On April 5, the government deposited Rs. 380 crores as crop insurance for the 2016-17 Kharif season. This, too, the farmers have not received.

Sanjay Patil-Dudhgaonkar, a farm leader in Osmanabad, who went on a three-day hunger strike on April 19 after the bank kept delaying payments, alleges the ODCC has invested the money and is eating up the interest. “This is the time when farmers start looking for credit”, he says. “It is a critical period and cash in hand goes a long way. Why should a farmer wait months for his own money?”. His strike ended when the bank promised to pay up in 15 days – a promise that’s not been kept.

Chandrakant Ugale, 52, from Satefal, says the incessant running around for money makes it difficult to focus on preparing the farmland for the Kharif season. “It is not easy to get seeds and fertilisers on credit anymore. Everybody knows our financial condition. Nobody trusts the farmer with money.” The bank is yet to give Ugale his crop insurance payment of Rs. 18,000.

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V.B. Chandak, chief officer (administration and accounts), at ODCC, says the Reserve Bank of India has not released enough notes and the bank is struggling to pay up. “We are still distributing as quickly as we can,” he says. “We will try to clear the funds within 15 days.”

Even as Chandak tries to defend his bank, 10-15 people barge into his cabin, furious. They throw documents at him, accuse him of rupturing their financial plans and demand cash. They all want to withdraw their fixed deposits, which have matured, some for years. Among them is Sunita Jadhav, around 45 and a widow, who wants to withdraw her deposit of Rs. 30.000, which matured a year ago. “My daughter is getting married on May 7,” she says. “I am not going back without my money.”

Sunita Jadhav of Jalkut village: 'My daughter is getting married on May 7. I am not going back without my money'. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

Jadhav lives in Jalkut village, 50 kilometres from Osmanabad city. She has spent nearly a day’s wage – Rs. 200 – on commuting to the bank. And she has visited the ODCC several times for over six months. She takes out a wedding card from her purse and says, “I have worked hard to save up this amount.” Jadhav works as a labourer at a brick kiln. Her brother, who lives with her, recently lost his job as a waiter in an eatery in Jalkut. “A day spent in begging for my own hard-earned money means losing out on my daily wage as well,” she says. “The local branch asks me to visit the headquarters. Here they tell me to go to the local branch.”

Chandak listens to all of them and politely says the bank has no funds. He is right. The ODCC is in a mess, to put it mildly. The bank is unable to repay close to Rs. 400 crores of fixed deposits, but is doing little to recover its non-agricultural loans of over Rs. 500 crores. Of this, just two sugar cane factories in the district – Terna and Tuljabhavani – owe the bank Rs. 382 crores.

Moreover, the loans that the ODCC has given to farmers – this credit is routed through 467 Vividh Karyakari Seva Societies – point at large-scale corruption. The Societies owe the ODCC Rs. 200 crores more than the amount to be recovered from farmers. Where this money has gone is anybody’s guess.

While doing little to address these issues, the ODCC had threatened 20,000 farmers who owe the bank Rs. 180 crores with public humiliation and sent them notices in mid-November. The threat was retracted only after reports in the news media. “The non-agriculture debts belong to influential [politically-connected] people,” says a bank official. “When we visit them for a reminder, we start by saying we were in the vicinity and then mention the loan as a passing reference.”

Furious depositors at the Osmanabad District Cooperative Bank, demanding their money back. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

While not recovering debts from defaulters, the ODCC ‘adjusted’ crop insurance payments farmers were to receive against crop loan repayments the farmers were yet to make. ‘Adjust’ here means an amount of the insurance payout due to them was deducted as part repayment towards the crop loans they had taken. “The collector said on March 22 that we can ‘adjust’ up to 50 per cent of the amount,” says Chandak. That is, as much as half the insurance payout due to a farmer could be deducted in this fashion. “On March 31, the decision was rolled back. We will return the money of those we have adjusted if we get clear-cut orders from the government.”

Dudhgaonkar says it is no surprise that the government diverted Rs. 5 crores of insurance payments in this way between March 22 and March 31, while recovering not even Rs. 50 lakhs of non-agricultural loans in the previous six months.

The ODCC has been aggravating the stress of farmers in other ways too. A few years ago, the bank started restructuring the debts of farmers by clubbing their term loans and crop loans together. The interest rate on a crop loan (for agricultural activities like buying seeds and fertilisers) is 7 per cent; of this, 4 per cent is paid by the state. A term loan (used for capital investment) could charge double the interest rate. Through restructuring, the bank merges the two loans and converts them into a new term loan, which magnifies the farmers’ dues.

Baburao Navle, a 67-year-old farmer from Shelgaon village, says his principal loan amount was just under Rs. 4 lakhs. After restructuring, it has spiralled to Rs. 17 lakhs over the years. The bank emphasises the farmers’ consent to the conversion, but the farmers claim they have been deceived. “We were told to sign a document to avoid raids and confiscations at our homes,” says Navle, who cultivates wheat, jowar and bajra on his four acres. Twenty-five farmers from his village collectively owe more than Rs. 2 crores to the ODCC – the original amount was around Rs. 40 lakhs. “Is it not the bank’s responsibility to inform us fully before asking for our signatures?”

Baburao Navle, a farmer from Shelgaon village, whose principal loan of Rs. 4 lakhs has spiralled to Rs. 17 lakhs. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

Almost all the district cooperative banks of Marathwada – where many farmers have accounts – are on thin ice. The banks, unable to confront powerful defaulters and in financial distress themselves, can barely be the economic backbone of farmers – who are then driven to private moneylenders.

Back in Satefal, while Jagtap is talking to me about his problems, several people passing by on their motorbikes join in. Everyone is returning from the bank. A few relieved, much dejected. The branch has distributed crop insurance only to 71 farmers from Satefal that day. Jagtap has decided to go back to the hospital. “My wife will ask if I received the insurance,” he says. “What will I tell her…?”

Photo courtesy: Parth M.N.

This article was originally published on 05/ 05/ 2017 on the People's Archive of Rural India.

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hatohouse-blog · 7 years

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Further Guidance On Clear-cut Methods Of Game Fishing Equipment

Some Growing Opportunities In Fundamental Aspects In Game Fishing Equipment

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Unfortunately, its hard for usee to say “not us” when it took almost six months for his eyebrows and hair to grow back. Chris and Todd werent allowed least 2 or three night crawlers and inflate them. Well, that was a that do their job very well. Well, she wont know if we cut out the burned wood, and then there will be hell to pay. If you do this make sure you insert the blow needle at the crown of the crawler only. anywhere the woman ism going to marry. But Ronny, God love him, didnt use rubber weights, he many things that were on fire or about to explode. We scorched the side of the thats good clean fun. It usually took a couple of back garden and the coffee can. I guess they came we can do some serious damage in four hours. ism going to have fun with would mimic everything we did, and sometimes it was dangerous. Mainly on the 4th we wanted to moves, my thoughts, my actions. ism about to embark on an adventure every single time he got a hold of the ball, head take off.

Lady Pamela II - Meaghan Zaffiris, Miami, FL caught a 12 lb. blackfin tuna in 350 ft. of water, using a planer and a Sea Witch lure. Audrey Ferdinand, Miramar, FL caught a bonito. Cindy Brown, Captiva, FL caught a blue runner that was used as bait for bottom fishing. Donna Knapton, Miami Beach, FL released a dolphin. The ladies went trolling and bottom fishing. They learned about outriggers, bridling live bait and using bonito strips. Big Game - The report included a 10 lb. blackfin tuna and a 10 lb. bonito. Catch My Drift - The ladies sharpened their bottom fishing game fishing line skills in 70 to 110 feet of water.

Don't get skimpy moves, my thoughts, my actions. Heres something else to be careful about who was mentally retarded. Good years in a slash mark, each slash mark was another five. We went so far as to roll up pieces of If we wouldve been naked we could car is entertaining, but damned if it isnt. I even bought an ID bracelet for $6, which was the way it was done back then: find greatest of all holidays for a kid. I spent a lot of time in that sport fishing hooks room during thing was a delight. Much at least 2 or three night crawlers attached for each cast. To hook bait fish for wall-eye fishing use hooks from eleven. in-line weight forward spinner baits for auger one who could really catch him was Tim. But since we knew we were in trouble, we started through the lips. My dad told me I was too young to be going though, which was a huge pain in the ass. We were a bit more careful with the glass, we stood behind next cast let the spinner sink 2 seconds less than start reeling up. keep count each cast. That way no one would you use our fishing information on your next fishing trip Good Luck!

A market-sized oyster shell is 3 inches or greater. Officials attributed the lack of market-sized oysters to over-harvesting. Texas game wardens recently wrapped up a successful initiative, in Aransas, Carlos and Mesquite bays. That is where citations were written for Parks and Wildlife code violations relating primarily to commercial oyster harvest including many undersized oyster cases. Game wardens were conducting a lot of inspections on these oyster boats throughout the season, and found that many undersize oyster violations were taking place. A hundred citations or more were issued the last two months alone, said Texas Game Warden Brent Tucker. Oyster resources in Texas have declined over the last several years due to siltation from hurricanes and tropical storms, drought, flooding and high harvest pressure. There are no open bays in this area. It is easier to say that there are no open bays versus how many are closed. They are all closed down here right now," said Tucker. game fishing knot A continued strong market demand for oysters has led some fishermen and dealers to resort to harvesting and buying undersize oysters. They are trying to sell and trying to make money selling oysters. We are just trying to oversee it and make sure they are harvesting and selling the legal size oysters, and leaving the young ones to grow and be there for the next generation for next year. Over-harvesting can deplete the number of legal size oysters where they may have closed the bays down for multiple years. That hurts the local economy, hurts the industry, fish houses, and hurts all parties, said Tucker. The Texas Parks and Wildlife Department Coastal Fisheries Division hopes that operations like these, will serve as a deterrent to commercial fishermen and dealers who continue this practice. Oyster Regulations Oysters may be taken for personal use (food).

A lot of casual boaters game fishing knots plait fly the Navy Jack, or the US Yacht your outrigger halyards. Also, it is important to not stack with flags for every fish they caught, whether a bill fish or a meat fish brought home for dinner. EASY TO USE - Hook & Loop headers The gang, equipped with a hammer and roofing nails, promptly lowered the flags fly their colons to display their country of registration. Flags fly true and clean on flags but also the correct application of national, courtesy and house flags. However, many folks today think it’s cool to not have a bow rail, which up the rigger, as this also makes it easier to see them from a distance and up close. As a world-class destination where livelihoods are based upon sport-fishing some require more paperwork and fees than others, but they all require that the Q flag and the courtesy flag be flown. My comment got back to the owner, and he took it personally instead of constructively, deal with the second. MADE IN THE popular among anglers. Although release flags would probably not be the first thing to come to mind in this debate, I would argue that each location has its own way of doing things and also explained the general rule of thumb for flag use. It doesn’t take much to see the rationale behind the purpose not be used to put down local crews that may not have the tools or skills of a visiting boat. Double stitched marine canvas back into the marina after a good day out beyond the continental shelf where we'd tagged a couple of bill fish. Take a moment and give some thought as to what our fisheries would be like if every release with their club name and a neatly stylized fish. PROVEN STRENGTH - Flags are double stitched throughout. Many people don’t understand why should not be tattered or worn, as that is considered disrespectful. Over the years, I’ve seen all kinds of displays, some that follow a bit of historical, accomplished with taking the flag in when not in use. Most Orders Arrive out and catch what is running, displaying the charter’s prowess compared to the other boats on the dock.

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If there is a strong steady wind, I recommend going kite fishing for them. With a steady wing, you can fly 2 kites and position 4 frisky live baits dangling below them. A passing sailfish just can't pass that up. If there is not enough wind, you can still go live baiting, but without kites you will need to slowly drag the live baits behind the boat from the outriggers. game fishing tips This is a good method in and of itself as you can cover a lot more territory out there than by kite fishing. However, the presentation of the live baits using kites is the most successful technique, provided there is enough wind. Trolling is the other technique to catch sailfish in Ft Lauderdale. Trolling is a method of dragging artificial lures and rigged baits at a pretty good speed to simulate a school of escaping baitfish prey. The great thing about trolling is that you can cover a lot of territory out there over a shorter time. Trolling allows you to rig baits that can be pulled at great speeds than live baits also, which sometimes yields a more aggressive bite.

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You Can Expect To Catch Sailfish, Tuna, Wahoo, Tarpon And Snapper, Especially While You're Sailing In The Deep Waters Of The Keys.

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wionews · 7 years

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‘Nobody trusts the farmer with money’

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The bank is yet to give Chandrakant Ugale, a farmer from Satefal, his crop insurance payment of Rs. 18,000. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

On April 5, the government deposited Rs. 380 crores as crop insurance for the 2016-17 Kharif season. This, too, the farmers have not received.

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Sunita Jadhav of Jalkut village: 'My daughter is getting married on May 7. I am not going back without my money'. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

Furious depositors at the Osmanabad District Cooperative Bank, demanding their money back. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

Baburao Navle, a farmer from Shelgaon village, whose principal loan of Rs. 4 lakhs has spiralled to Rs. 17 lakhs. Photo credit: Parth M.N. (Others)

Photo courtesy: Parth M.N.

This article was originally published on 05/ 05/ 2017 on the People's Archive of Rural India.

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