#the most of any city in the WORLD now other than Boston and New York

[idsb]

How funny it is that 3 weeks ago all I wanted to do was leave this place and now that I’ve set everything in motion to make that happen, I can’t think of anything worse than having to prematurely leave it behind 🥴

#melb or here melb or here #friends and things I know and love but a city I’ve already been to 5 times #the most of any city in the WORLD now other than Boston and New York #or the tropical paradise where I’m developing wonderful relationships with the people I live with far beyond anything I’ve ever had in my li #*life #a real network a real place that feels like HOME #where the cafe owners know my name and order where the bookshop owner knows me and asks me about what I’m reading #where I sit in the grass under the sun and read and swim all the time #and yes I hate my job but I actually CAN find another job #if I stay here longer #god

[strangeswift]

happy happy birthday @astrobei !! as my gift to you, please enjoy some modern au college jancy (ft. byler)

If you told fifteen-year-old Jonathan Byers that one day he’d be taking time off of his busy schedule as an NYU Student and part time photography intern to get on a plane to Boston to visit his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, he probably would have fainted on sight. 

(Well, he probably wouldn’t have believed you, but if somehow he had, there would’ve been a high likelihood of him fainting on sight.)

The truth was, Jonathan’s life was kind of perfect now, as far as he was concerned. Most importantly, the world hadn’t ended, which was a pretty major concern a few years ago. 

His mom and Hopper were married now, and Hop was ten times the father Lonnie had ever been. It’d been a little bit of an adjustment at first, accepting Hopper into the family, but easier than you’d expect. Hopper had already been there for them for years, so it didn’t feel all that different.

El was living at home in Hawkins, commuting to Community College, which would’ve been Jonathan’s worst nightmare, but El seemed to be more than happy with the arrangement. Jonathan thought she might’ve been making up for lost time a bit, living at home with mom and Hop. Having a mom and a dad, a stable home. She definitely deserved it.

Will was finally happy, which had been Jonathan’s main concern in life for pretty much as long as he could remember. He was going to school for art in California and sharing a dorm with Mike, which he’d been pretty stoked about. Jonathan wasn’t entirely sure about the nature of their relationship these days, though he had his suspicions, but he knew Will was happy, and that was what mattered. Not to say that he and Nancy hadn’t tried to do some investigation on the matter, because they absolutely had. Call it journalistic instinct.

He and Nancy were better than ever these days, despite the distance. The fantastic thing about government hush money is that it’s not only good for tuition to your dream school, it can also be used for frequent air travel. Boston was only about an hour from New York City by plane, so they took turns visiting. Jonathan liked visiting Nancy, if only for the fact that she lived in a one bedroom apartment with no roommates. Glorious privacy. 

They’d just arrived back at said apartment after dinner with a few of Nancy’s friends from school, who Jonathan thought were nice, if a little high-strung. As soon as they entered the bubble of Nancy’s apartment, Jonathan gently grabbed her face and kissed her, slowly walking her back against the closed door.

She pulled back and laughed at him, her eyes filled with adoration. “What was that for?”

“I missed you,” he said sincerely.

She scoffed playfully. “We’ve been together for hours already.”

Jonathan pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to each of her cheeks, and finally connected their lips again. “Missed you,” he repeated.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and her cheeks flushed bright pink. “I missed you too,” she murmured.

---

One bottle of red wine later, they ended up on the couch, Nancy wrapped up in Jonathan’s arms as he ran a hand through her hair. 

He was-- Okay, he was a little buzzed. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight. (The alcoholic genes did absolutely nothing for him.) Nancy was even worse off.

So there they were, a little tipsy, tangled together and staring into each other's eyes, just because they could.

“Have you talked to Will lately?” Nancy asked suddenly.

Jonathan nodded. “He texted me earlier.”

“Have you collected any more intel?” Nancy asked curiously, leaning forward. 

Jonathan could smell the wine on her breath. He took a moment to find it funny that she was referring to prying for information on their little brothers and their possible romantic relationship (probable romantic relationship) as collecting intel.

“No,” Jonathan said, “I haven’t asked him about it in a while, he got all touchy last time,” he frowned.

“Mike won’t tell me shit,” Nancy complained, “he won’t even pick up the damn phone.”

“I should call Will,” Jonathan announced, and Nancy nodded earnestly.

He shimmied a little so that he could retrieve his phone from his back pocket, then settled back into place. Nancy watched intently as Jonathan called Will and put it on speaker. They both listened to the phone ring, and Jonathan held a finger to his lips, gesturing for Nancy to stay quiet. She giggled and nodded.

“Jonathan? Is everything okay?” Will’s groggy voice came over the phone.

“Oh. Were you sleeping?” Jonathan asked.

Will huffed. “Yeah, Jonathan. It's midnight. Are you drunk? You sound drunk.”

The existence of time zones suddenly dawned on Jonathan and he felt like an idiot. “A little, yeah. I’m not used to you being on California time. Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Will said through a yawn.

Jonathan was about to apologize again and let Will go back to sleep, when he heard a voice in the background grumble, “Who is it?” and Will quietly answer, “Shh. Just Jonathan.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened and he looked excitedly at Nancy. She grinned back at him.

“You settling into the dorms okay?” Jonathan asked.

“Uh… Yeah?” Will responded, obviously wondering why the conversation was still happening.

“You and Mike got separate bedrooms, didn’t you?” Jonathan asked, biting back a smug grin.

After a pause, Will said, “Yeah,” his tone clipped, “We got lucky.”

Jonathan and Nancy exchanged another look.

“Cool,” Jonathan said, “And you’re in bed now?”

“Yeah, Jonathan, it’s midnight, I was sleeping,” Will said, “Listen, I can call you in the morning if that’s okay?”

“Sure, buddy,” Jonathan said.

“Okay, I’ll--”

“Just out of curiosity though, who’s in bed with you right now?” Jonathan asked abruptly.

Will coughed. “What?”

Jonathan heard a distant “What is it?”

“Nobody is. I’m alone,” Will insisted.

Nancy rolled her eyes and Jonathan held in a laugh. “You know, you can tell me if you met someone out there,” he said, “I’m happy for you. Seems a little fast though, you’ve been there… what? A week?”

“I haven’t met anyone! Jesus, Jonathan,” Will said.

With that, Jonathan noticed Nancy was also on her phone, and he furrowed his brow in confusion, until he saw Calling Mike on the screen. The next thing he heard was a ringtone coming through the other end of the phone, followed by a loud groan.

“Hey!” Nancy said, “He sent me to voicemail.”

“Is that Nancy?” Will asked, “What the hell Jonathan?”

“Maybe,” Jonathan answered sheepishly.

There was some shuffling on the line, then Mike’s very tired voice came through the phone loud and clear. “Hey, Jonathan and Nancy. Great job, you caught us, we’re going back to sleep now. Fuck you and goodnight.”

Before Jonathan could respond, the call ended. He locked eyes with Nancy who looked similarly bemused.

“Case closed,” she said with a shrug, erupting into giggles.

“Case closed,” Jonathan echoed. He couldn’t help but recall a few years back, watching the two of them through a rear-view mirror in the Nevada desert.

He was really, really happy. And a little wine drunk, but mostly happy.

#you see... i just needed it to be modern au so they had cell phones #en ee ways #HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUNI #this is actually gift 1 of 2 but the other one i realized is a little (or a lot) too angsty to be a good birthday gift #I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU #ficlet #abby writes #jancy #byler

[musette22]

Obviously, 2022 was a shitshow in many regards. Lots of bad stuff happened, particularly in the world in general, and in my personal life, too. Nevertheless!

I’d like to take a minute to acknowledge the good things that happened in my life as well, because while they don’t won’t make the bad things any better, the good things matter, too – they’re just easier to forget 🙃

So because I love making lists, I made a list! And then debated whether or not to post it on here or to just keep it to myself and my loved ones, but eh, what’s the harm in sharing? Most of you won’t be interested in reading about all this of course, but maybe some of you are, and maybe it’ll remind someone else of the good things that happened in their life as well. Who knows.

So, here goes (I’ll start off with some fandom things and put the more personal stuff & some pics under the cut):

Most importantly (lol) (no but really): I finally saw Chris in the flesh this year, at the Lightyear premiere in London, on his birthday. AAAHHH 😭💙🌟

Sebastian was nominated for an Emmy and a Golden Globe this year!!! 🏆

Both our boys had a highly successful 2022 and we got so much amazing content from both of them ✨️

I made some wonderful new fandom friends (you know who you are) who made this year infinitely better, and this fandom gained a ton of incredibly talented authors and artists whose beautiful writing I got to enjoy. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for making my own & many people's lives a little (a lot) better 💘

I wrote a few fics that I’m really proud of this year (even if I’d have liked to have written more) and I'd like to think I’ve grown and improved as a writer compared to last year✍️🏻

I got another Stucky tattoo ❤️

I met up with some very awesome fandom pals in real life, twice! @ohhsodebonair & @puppypeter - I love you to bits 🥰💫

I got to go back to some of my absolute favourite cities in the world in 2022. I went to London (and Oxford) twice this year, and I saw some of my best friends again for the first time since moving back to the Netherlands/since the pandemic, which was absolutely wonderful 🇬🇧

I went back to Italy, for the first time in years and spent a couple of glorious weeks in Florence and Venice in springtime, drinking wine and revisiting all my fave spots from when I used to go there a lot as an art history student 🇮🇹

I went back to New York in the autumn and also got to see beautiful Boston for the first time, and had an amazing vacation there which included a few other first times as well (first time seeing Harvard, first time seeing the Phantom of the Opera on stage, first time visiting Madison Square Garden, first visit to the MoMA and seeing Starry Night etc.) 🇺🇸

I’ve been self-employed for a few years now, and this year was a considerably better one for my business than last year (I put in the hours too, maybe a little too many hours, but it did yield results) 🪙

I spent lots of time with my friends and their little ones and got to see them grow and turn into amazing little people 🥺💖

I got back on track with running and am back to doing weekly 10ks now 🏃🏻‍♀️

I started doing Duolingo again for Italian and it went way better than expected (all that stuff I learned during all those language courses over the years is still there somewhere!) 🦉💚

I figured out some really complicated stuff this year (health stuff and financial stuff) and I’m quite proud of myself for persevering until I had the answers I needed 💪🏻

There were several moments this year, particularly in the last month or so, where I looked back at a situation that had occurred previously and realised how much I had learned from it, and that I handle similar situations differently now. Call that growth, I guess 😌🌱

Alright, that’s the gist of it, I think! If anyone else would like to share their highlights too, I’d love to read about them!! 💗 And here's to 2023: maybe it bring us all more good stuff than bad stuff! 🙏🏻💫

And because I can't help myself, a little collage of some of my favourite pics/moments from this year 🥰

#have an amazing NYE everyone 🍾🎆✨️🥂🥰 #I hope you all have a fantastic end to 2022 and an auspicious start to 2023!!! #I love you all so much 💖💖💖 #thank you to all of you for making this fandom so brilliant and special #and for making my life better #you rock #💕💯💗 #minnie talks

[lucienballard]

Bob George in the ARC NYC stacks. Photograph: unknown/ARC NYC ...

‘No one else is saving it’: the fight to protect a historic music collection ...

It all started in a loft in Tribeca, New York, long before it was a trendy neighbourhood. “I had 47,000 records and nobody wanted them,” recalls Bob George, who had just published a discography of punk and new wave music. “That led a lot of people coming to me and saying you have to save this stuff; no one else is saving it. That got the ball rolling in my loft in what is now fashionable Tribeca, which was an incredibly unfashionable war zone in 1974 when I was first there.”

George turned his record collection into the ARChive of Contemporary Music (Arc) in 1985 with co-founder David Wheeler. The non-profit music library and research centre now contains more than 3m sound recordings or over 90m songs, making it one of the biggest popular music collections in the world. Donors and board members have included David Bowie, Jonathan Demme, Lou Reed, Martin Scorsese and Paul Simon.

The Arc is not open to the public but has been a vital resource for film-makers, writers and researchers ranging from Ken Burns looking for a song for his series Baseball to the new Grammy Hall of Fame and Museum in Los Angeles needing cover art for its inducted recordings. Now, however, this unique treasure trove is under existential threat.

The Arc cannot remain at its current Hudson Valley premises indefinitely and is in need of a new and bigger home. “We have to move and we don’t know when we’ll have to move and the collection is really at risk because it’s all on pallets,” says George, who dreams of a patron like James Smithson, the British scientist who left his estate to the US to found the Smithsonian Institution. “We’re looking for someone to help us buy a very wonderful property or for us to build a new building on vacant land in upstate New York.”

After growing up in Youngstown, Ohio, George moved to New York in 1974 as a visual arts student and started collecting records as a DJ. In 1981 he released Laurie Anderson’s first single, O Superman, which sold nearly a million copies worldwide and made it to number on the UK singles chart. He was a guest on John Peel’s beloved BBC radio show, sneaking in little-known records from New York, and took music to European broadcasters too. People kept giving him records that other collections turned down.

Some of the 18,000 recordings in the Keith Richards Blues Collection. Photograph: Arc NYC

“I was doing the book and then doing Peel shows and it accidentally became this large collection that nobody wanted. They kept saying, oh, we collect classical, we collect Broadway, we collect ethnic music. I said, well, I have funk, reggae, African and hip-hop and they said, oh, no, we don’t collect any of that. Forty years later, I say, you put all those together and that’s what music has become.”

The simple goal of the archive, which has always had a peripatetic existence, is preservation. “We have no interest in quality,” George cheerfully admits. “It started that way from the very beginning because there’s no way to tell what’s valuable in the future. Everybody brings their own criteria and tastes to things in their own time. But the future is quite different, as we hope.”

The archive has never received aid from any city, state or federal organisation but its scale gives the Library of Congress a run for its money. It has absorbed major collections from musicians and fans and is home to most of Rolling Stone Keith Richards’ extensive blues inventory.

George dispatched two semi-trailers to a condemned house in Boston sinking under the weight of Jeep Holland’s set of more than 125,000 recordings and over 2,500 signed albums from the likes of the Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley and the Sex Pistols. “Going towards the bathroom, he has a gas stove, the pilot light is on, there are records in the oven. It was just a storage space ... His car had become so full of records that he abandoned it and rented a car.”

George has made repeat trips to countries such as Brazil, Cambodia, Colombia, Cuba, Japan, Jordan, Laos and Thailand. The Arc contains Demme’s personal collection of Haitian albums. More than 150,000 pieces of world music have been catalogued; there are plenty more to do. “We’ve tried to get as much of that material as possible so that collection is just fabulous.”

The Arc preserves copies of every recording in all known formats. It has electronically catalogued more than 400,000 sound recordings and digitised 200,000 with the Internet Archive – more than any other public university or private library in America. It also contains more than 3m pieces of material including photos, videos, DVDs, books, magazines, press kits, sheet music, ephemera and memorabilia.

The late Andy Rourke of the Smiths at Arc looking at Smiths records he had never seen. Photograph: Arc NYC

George says: “We catalogued 105,000 singles just recently; we have another 200,000 or 300,000 to go. This is the first way a band at one time got their feet in the water. They put out one or two or three singles. If they did hits, they got the chance to do an album and so much of this material does not exist on LP or CD. Little by little more of it might be streaming because of YouTube, as people can get away with murder on YouTube, which is great, but YouTube will disappear. Everything commercial will disappear.”

Among those who have turned to the archive is the Oscar-winning director Ang Lee, who wanted records by the singer Bert Sommer for his film Taking Woodstock. “The archive is amazing because we don’t know what we have until somebody needs it. We’ve been into the stacks and we found five LPs by Bert Sommer. For me, it’s like I have no idea who this guy is and what he did; he’s sort of a folkie. For Quincy Jones, we just sent him a list of the 8,000 things that he’s either produced or on.

“Research was how we basically stayed alive along with the largesse of the rock stars or celebrities that we had hooked up with. The idea was never to open to the public but that’s what we want to do now. I don’t think it’s untrue that we’re one of the largest in the world and that we want to make that available. We’ve tried to save two copies so there will always be a listening copy and then that would then become a listening library.”

George hopes the new archive will be open to students, educators, historians, musicians, authors, journalists and the general public. An anonymous donor has come forward with a million dollars to help realise that dream but more money is urgently needed. One possible new home is an abandoned IBM campus spanning 34 acres, although that would cost $8-10m. George is considering partnering with an upstate university and has plans to offer residencies for scholars.

“People could come in and produce a work, and that would go out into the world. It could be a blog, essay, tape, compilation, new recording, whatever. We’re really quite un-academic. I’m against it somewhat and I’d like people to have ideas and bring those ideas and put them back into the world as opposed to making it an interactive experience for everybody. I don’t want to be Disney World. It’s nice to have seminars. It’s nice to have listening parties. It’s nice to have dances.”

source

#vinyl records #Bob George

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

The Last Great American Mystery

At 5:00 PM on the 27th of September, 1992, the sky over the town of Winesburg, Ohio went dark. Not just a little. Not just dusk -- a sudden, complete, total power outage. No streetlights, no lights at all -- a few emergency lights, a few porch lights, just that. A few dim gas lanterns, at most. Not even the glow from the TV screens inside the few few remaining houses in town, not even the moon, which still hung low in the night sky, casting faint shadows on the town's empty streets and sidewalks and deserted intersections. A complete loss of light, like the light was simply going out. Everyone in town -- the people who had come to the annual festival in Winesburg, those who had just stayed in town, the visitors in town -- went absolutely dark.

The town of Winesburg was about 70 miles north of the Ohio-Michigan border, on the road which runs northwest-southeast through the midst of the Ohio Piedmont, a rolling plain of high-altitude, deeply-curtained mountains and old deciduous forest. It was a fairly small town -- fewer than 2,000 people -- one of the smaller and more remote towns in the Ohio Piedmont. Its only real claims to fame were that it was the site of the Piedmont College and that for a brief time, in the fifties, it had one of the highest per capita rates of population growth in the world. And that it was the site of an annual festival, the largest festival of its kind in North America, which drew some 100,000 attendees every year, from across the Piedmont and from beyond -- and from beyond the Piedmont -- people who lived hundreds and hundreds of miles away, in places such as Boston and New York and San Francisco. It was, the local newspaper, the Winesburg Pulse, ran a banner headline in its issue of the 28th of September, the day of the blackout, to announce: THE LAST GREAT AMERICAN MYSTERY! The Pulse also reported that the blackout had lasted more than ten hours, at one point lasting a full twenty-four, before it had been finally brought under control after dawn the next day.

Most towns in the Piedmont were not so lucky as Winesburg. Most people drove into Winesburg from the outside world, rather than coming from within the town itself -- and Winesburg's small size, combined with the town's proximity to other towns, made it hard to coordinate any sort of response. The nearest larger town was about fifty miles west -- Cleveland -- and on the next day, the 29th of September, some 1,600 miles away, it was already mid-afternoon. Cleveland would be waking up soon after dawn, and the sun would rise in the morning, and the whole of the Piedmont, from New York to Boston, would still be in the sunlight -- a bright, open, beautiful world -- as soon as the sun set that night. By noon, the sun would already be up for the people there -- by that point, a full forty-four hours earlier in Cleveland -- the sun would be on the Piedmont -- and the people of Winesburg would still be dark, a few hundred thousand miles away.

Many other towns did, however, have a little bit of an early start on this problem. Some early, half-conscious recognition that perhaps something was happening, a few people at around 2:00 AM began to make their way south from town, along the main north-south through-route, toward the nearest highway, where they encountered the highway patrol. The highway patrolmen were puzzled by their findings. The blackout seemed to have begun at around 6:00 PM that day, and now it was still almost exactly 6:00 PM the following morning, but it seemed to the highway patrolmen that something was very wrong with their watches.

Some of the highway patrolmen were also baffled by the blackout. The highway patrolmen had the advantage of being far from any cities; in Winesburg and in Winesburg alone, on that night and that morning, the people were still awake. There were no people at night and the highways at night were empty.

Some of the other highway patrolmen, however, on that September morning, noticed something else: that they were not being nearly as successful in getting people to report the blackout as they had been in the previous years. There was something odd about the way that people on that day were acting. They were not acting the way they should have been acting -- they were behaving strangely, even unnaturally, even bizarrely. This was the most unnatural thing about it all, to the highway patrolmen. But even among the bizarre, unnatural, and otherwise odd people -- the ones who had gotten out of bed very early that morning (and so had not slept through the night) and who were walking north on the road alone -- some of these people reported the blackouts to the highway patrolmen, while others did not report them. The ones who reported the blackouts said that they had not been there when they should have been; the ones who did not report them said they had not been there when they should have been. (This was why the highway patrolmen took a statement, on that September morning, from the local veterinarian, a man named Dr. Henry Raynor.)

The most unusual thing, it seems, was that, in this town that was otherwise so small and otherwise so ordinary and ordinary-looking, this town -- this small town in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of one of the most sparsely populated areas of the US -- there had been no blackouts in this town, not even at all at night, not even at night that the highway patrolmen were out on that morning of the 29th -- before this night. This town, this town was normally so empty, this town was normally so uninteresting, this town -- and on the evening of September the 26th, a week before, this town had been quite alive, and there had been music and dancing and dancing and dancing and laughing and playing of banjos and fiddles and singing and singing and singing. There had been parties and music, music and parties, parties and music, a town that was -- just like other towns -- but a town different, a town strange -- a town in the middle of nowhere, among the mountains and pines, with its only 1,400 inhabitants, a town where people were strange and unusual and a little odd, and there was so much music, and there were so many people, and the night before, there had been an enormous, an enormous, an enormous, an enormous party in town, and the town was so alive and the party was so large and so loud, it had spilled out over the hills, and there were people everywhere, and there was music all night and music all night and music all night.

But there had been no music and no music that night, because this town had been dead. And this was not a death by violence -- there was no fighting, no fighting that night -- this was not a slow death from old age or natural causes or something, there was no fire, no floods or accidents or sickness, but this town was dying, and it was dying from something else -- it was dying. In the morning light, people would see it and they would be afraid. But at night, when you were out of town -- when you were far from town and the lights of town were gone -- you wouldn't see it. You wouldn't hear it either. It was a town that was dying

[spacecasewriter13]

When the Lights Go on Again by @spacecasewriter13

Story synopsis: It is May of 1946, over a year after his fall from the Hydra train and losing his left arm, and James "Bucky" Barnes is struggling to adjust. Working as an analyst at the New York City SSR branch, Bucky tries to put the war and all of its sorted memories behind him. However, try as he might he is plagued by thoughts of Magdalene "Maggie" Ramirez, a Women's Army Corps (WAC) Corporal he met in London and hasn't spoken to since before his fall in January of 1945. Little does he know that Maggie, in her struggle to put the war behind her, has moved to the city and looking for a job with the New York Bell Telephone Company as a switchboard operator. Now, by sheer dumb luck, they are reunited as they both fight come to terms with what they were to one another during the war, and work to figure out how to move forward in a world that was unprepared to deal with the consequences of war in the unsteady peace.

Chapter 13: Half Agony, Half Hope

Chapter summary: After a tumultuous 4th of July Maggie makes a decision which forces Bucky to respond in kind, while Bucky deals with his own myriad of emotions with the revelation the SSR is sending Steve and Carter to London.

Excerpt:

“What are you reading over there, Ramirez?” Emilia called from her bunk.

“The Three Musketeers.”

“Still?”

“It IS in French, and Dumas wasn’t exactly succinct.” She called back without looking up from the page. A small French-English dictionary propped open on her lap alongside the book to assist with the advanced or tricker vocabulary.

“You’re reading it with that handsome Sergeant, aren’t you?”

“Is my answer going to make its rounds on the gossip circuit, Baker?”

“Everyone KNOWS you’re stepping out with him, even if you won’t give us details.”

“I like my privacy. But if you must know, Yes. We sit and read Dumas to one another Saturday morning after we have breakfast.”

Emilia made a face.

“What’s that for? I thought you’d be proud of me and my romantic ventures.”

“THAT is hardly romantic, Ramirez.”

“Picky picky. Cut me some slack, all right? I grew up in Sleepy little Taunton. You can’t expect too much out of me. Not all of us can be from the bustling city of Boston.” Maggie stifled a giggle. “And what could be more romantic than reading a story of swashbuckling heroes?”

“This is London Ramirez. There are other things, more interesting things, you could be out doing.”

“L’amour est la plus égoïste de toutes les passions.”

Emilia wrinkled her nose. “Love is the most selfish of the passions?” She translated.

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been able to make of it. Why the sour puss?”

“Your pronunciation is wretched.”

“Well, it can’t be that bad if you were able to understand me.”

You sound like a Portuguese-Mexican American tourist.”

“In any other context, I very well would be,” Maggie answered before adding, “You should count yourself lucky, Emilia Baker, that I adore you as I do. If anyone else made a comment like that, I would’ve punched their lights out.”

“My mother is french. I grew up speaking french.”

‘Not like some of these finishing school girls.’ She didn’t say it, but Maggie could see it in her expression.

“So I take it your pronunciation is the real deal.”

“Oh. Positively provincial, but anything is better than Parisienne French.”

Maggie snorted, “you’d know better than I. But as luck would have it, our hero D’Artagnan is from Gascony.”

“Oh so is Cyrano de Bergerac.” Emilia added helpfully. “My mother is from Reims, so still the north of France compared to Gascony in the south, but I do appreciate a southern boy.”

“Which is, of course, why your Johnny is from Springfield, Mass. As far south in the state as you can get.”

“Yes, Yes.” Emilia stuck her tongue out but then laughed. “But we’re getting off-topic, My mother read Dumas to me and my sisters growing up, all of his works really, so I am familiar with D’Artagnan and the three Musketeers.”

“Oh. So I should read aloud to you!”

“And have you butcher my mother’s language? “Emilia shook her head. Rising, she crossed the barrack and, in a motion, scooped up her book and dictionary. “No. I will read to you instead. Move, so I can sit with you.”

Maggie must have made a face because Emilia laughed, “Come now, Corporal, we both know that there is room enough for two. Put your head in my lap, close your eyes, and let me read to you.”

“How romantic,” Maggie rolled her eyes.

“I would even take you dancing, my dear, if you weren’t such a shut-in.”

“And who’s to say my GI doesn’t take me dancing? We have to do something in the hours between dawn and when I have to report.”

“YOU need to be more creative.”

“I’m sure you could provide me with an education.”

“Yes. So are you going to let me sit down and put your head in my lap or not, pet?”

“Yes, yes, all right.”

Maggie allowed Emilia onto her bunk, and they adjusted until they were both comfortable—or as comfortable as they could be crammed on a standard issue bunk. Then Emilia began to read the book in one hand, the other hand gently stroking Maggie’s face and neck, fingers playing with the baby hairs on the back of her neck.

Her voice was soothing, lyrical almost as she read, and despite doing her best to focus on what she was saying, so she could translate as they went along, Maggie found that she was starting to nod off.

Then, there was the wailing of air raid sirens, and Maggie started to jerk into an upright position but was stopped by Emilia’s firm hand.

“Emilia—“

“Shh. We’re okay.”

The sirens continued.

“Emilia, we really should—“

“It’ll be okay. We’re safe.”

“I think—“

Maggie jerked awake, Daniel’s alarm clock blaring from the room over. It was silenced with a heavy hand, and the apartment fell silent.

To continue reading please visit Ao3

#MCU #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #Captain America: The Winter Soldier #1940s Bucky #Fic #New Chapter #Steve Rogers #Daniel Sousa #James Barnes

[popentertainment-interviews]

Gilbert O’Sullivan

Driven to Tour Again, Naturally

By Jay S. Jacobs

Gilbert O’Sullivan sure believes in making up for lost time. The 1970s hitmaker – who had three chart-topping hits in the US, “Alone Again (Naturally),” “Clair” and “Get Down” – had not played a live gig in the US since 1973 when he did a couple of US shows in 2019. Born Ray O’Sullivan, he sold tens of millions of albums in the 1970s and was named the male singer of the year in 1972.

He’s since had a long, fruitful career as a singer and songwriter, releasing many records and touring over the years throughout Europe and Asia. But somehow, he never made it back to the States as a live act until just four years ago.

Now, O’Sullivan is on his third tour in the last four years in the United States. In fact, he had a tour planned in 2020, but it had to be postponed until the next year due to the COVID pandemic, which shut all touring down around the world. (We actually spoke with O’Sullivan about the planned tour in January of 2020.)

Now he has a tour planned for this year with himself and his long-time guitarist Bill Shanley, starting in Boston on March 11 and rolling through eight cities before closing in Nashville on March 22. He’ll be hitting Philadelphia at the City Winery on March 15.

Also, O’Sullivan recently released his latest album, Driven, which has been gaining huge buzz and appreciation worldwide. The single, “Take Love” with guest vocalist KT Tunstall, has also caught people’s attention.

We caught up with O’Sullivan a few weeks before the start of the tour to chat about life on the road and the long, rewarding life of being a singer/songwriter.

You hadn't done any performances in the US for 43 years. Now, you've done US tours in three of the last four years – and of course, the 2020 tour was postponed due to COVID. What made you think it was time to return to the States? Do you plan on continuing to do it annually now that you've broken through and started coming again?

It all stems from way back in ‘73, when, after having three-million sellers in America with “Alone Again (Naturally),” “Clair” and “Get Down,” I was beginning to tour in Europe and the UK. It was decided that we would have the first American tour. So my manager had to make the decision. Remember, this is not my department. (laughs) I write songs. I make records. I sing. I leave all the organizing all the touring to other people. Anyway, my manager Gordon Mills, who managed Tom Jones and Engelbert Humperdinck, had to make a decision. With three million sellers, does he [have me] go out on his own and do what Tom and Engelbert are doing, big theaters? Or does he [have me] support the Moody Blues? Because you know what happens, you support a major act, and then you become a major act, but the support act.

Of course.

He had to make that decision. Not my decision. They made the wrong one. Other than Carnegie Hall in New York with just me, which was a lovely show. Once I went out to bigger arenas, it was becoming a bit of a disaster. The tour got pulled. It was a wonderful disaster. I mean, we had a private plane, an orchestra, really nice people, but it got pulled. That was the end of my touring in America. Then we go through to the early ‘90s. [I’m] getting a band together. By the middle ‘90s, I've got a really good band. I still have them, of course. We tried to get into America, but the cost of bringing a band into America, as you can imagine, is pretty high.

Sure…

It just wasn't feasible. Three years ago, my guitar player [Bill Shanley] and myself decided we would do up close and personal intimate concert, just the two of us, around Europe, UK and Ireland. Over two hours, and people would get to hear the songs very up close and personal. It's good to hear the words more clearly. That then opened the door for [the US]. As a result of that, with it being the two of us, the offers came in. (laughs) After such a long time, it's nice to think that we got there eventually.

Most of the shows that you've done in the States over the last few years have been at City Wineries in different cities. How did the connection with City Winery happen?

That’s not my department, Jay. I leave that to management. It's their department. They're the ones. I'd always said in the ‘90s, “How can we get into America? Keep chasing with the band.” Then of course, you came on board when it was down to just the two of us, so that was out in the way. I don't know why the Wineries. They’re good venues because they're intimate, up close and personal. Those are ideal venues for appearing in. But I'm happy to be playing anywhere. Just to be able to get to America, after all, it was a real plus factor.

You released Driven last year and that was, I believe your 20th album. How has recording changed over the years?

Well, ironically enough for me, it hasn't changed much. With me, it isn't rocket science. The last album, the one before, the one before that; here's how it works. I decide on a producer. I like working with a different producer [each album]. Why? Because it's always the same writer, always the same singer. The producer brings his aspect to the table. That can vary and it can be interesting. So I meet the producer, agree with a producer, then he has to hear the songs. I play him the 12-13 melodies without the lyrics written. He picks the 12 he likes. I go away and write the lyrics. Studio session is set up. We go into the studio. I meet the musicians. I allow the producer to pick the musicians. I think that's a good thing. I could choose musicians, but I feel that the right producer, he’ll know good people.

That makes sense.

So, I meet them for the first time in the studio. They stand around the piano, after we shake hands and stuff. I play the first song, any song on a piano. They go back to their chairs. We rehearse it a few times. And we take it. That process is how it's been and how it is. It isn't like rocket science. We don't spend three days with the drum machine. We don't spend days and days doing overdubs. It has a live feel. Not intentionally, it's just because it works. We see no reason to change that. We're in an era now where real drumming is almost out the window. How many records you care to mention, it's drum machines. That used to be the 80s thing. In the 90s real drums came back and now here we are back to drum machines. But I like having the real drummer there.

The single “Take Love” is a duet with KT Tunstall, who is great. I interviewed her years ago. How did you decide to have her be a part of the song and what was she like to work with? 

That came about because we finished recording the track and I said to Andy [Wright], the producer, “This could make a good duet.” We thought about who we might want to get. I said to Andy that KT Tunstall had a song some years ago called “Suddenly I See,” a really good song. That's not a dissimilar feel to what we were doing with “Take Love.” So let's approach KT. As you probably know, she lives in California. We sent her the song. She loved it. Then we sent her the parts. I told her, “Sing what you want.” It was great. The lovely thing about all that was that apart from it being a really good record together, she came to London before the record was released, and we spent the day doing a video. I hadn't done a video in about 30-odd years. Spent time with her talking about music and stuff. Really good. Nice person to work with. Very talented, too. 

Mick Hucknall also appeared on “Let Bygones Be Bygones.” How did you get involved with him? 

Again with Andy the producer. Andy Wright produces Simply Red. He [also] produces Simple Minds.  And he's produced Simple O’Sullivan. (laughs) He goes to see Mick. I knew Mick was a fan because I had met him at a charity show, just to say hello to some years ago. Anyway, Andy would go down and visit Mick while we were recording. He came back and said that Mick had said to him, “If Ray's got a song that I could sing with him as a duet, I'd love to do it.” We sent him a couple down there and he chose “Let Bygones Be Bygones.” [It’s a] nice version, because it's a softer sounding Mick, not the kind of raucous Mick Hucknall you hear on Simply Red. It was really nice to have him. 

Driven has done rather well as did your last album, Gilbert O’Sullivan. How gratifying is it that there was still a big audience waiting to hear new work from you? 

I was always troubled in the past with reviews. I rarely get them because of how I presented the image that I presented. But ironically enough, Driven has got the best reviews I think I've ever had. That's really nice. That's the business justifying me continuing. It's one thing to be making records now that nobody notices. But if you're making records, writing songs that people are talking up... yeah, I don't mind. (laughs) 

When you were getting started, could you have ever imagined that you'd still be playing music for a career after all this time? 

We didn't really think like that. Because you're young, and you're just enjoying the moment. You're not looking beyond what's really going on. You have that famous incident; the Beatles when they were in the dressing room, they were being asked by a British reporter, “How long do you think this will last? And what do you think you'll do?” So Ringo said, “Probably last a few years, and I'll become a hairdresser.” John and Paul said, “Well, maybe, we could continue writing songs for some years.” But they never saw beyond a few years. I think it surprises us all. 

Yeah. 

The thing about what I do, if I wasn't writing songs, I wouldn't be talking to you. But the joy of songwriting is still there. I mean, I have that hunger for it. Hence the title of the album Driven. I am driven because I come up with the goods. Then if I come up with the goods, you want to get them out there to whoever is interested. I love it, so long may it continue. As long as I'm able to do it. 

Your first big hit, “Nothing Rhymed,” was inspired by world hunger. How did that come about? It's surprising looking back that you were so ahead of the curve on writing on that subject. So many people have written about it since then, but I can't think of anything before that. 

Here's what happened. On television [they showed the starvation in] Biafra. We saw for the first time, starving children and stuff. Nobody had seen that on TV before. It just shocked everybody. The whole of the UK, where I was living in London, were just shocked by the images of the starving children. So that got into the song. My songwriting is often done like a newspaper. Page one can be about one subject, page two could be about something else, the common denominator might be the hook line. So I brought that in.

I see…

I remember Richard Curtis, the film director [he wrote Four Weddings and a  Funeral, Notting Hill and directed Love Actually], he gave a speech on television a few years back, talking about some of the work he'd done. He said he drew great inspiration from seeing Gilbert O’Sullivan singing about starving children. “Nothing Rhymed” became a very special song for a lot of people, which is really nice. And you're subtly bringing that subject up [in the song], you're not out there becoming other than a singer. You're just making people aware that this is going on and maybe we should do something.

Another song of yours that was big that made people aware of things is “Alone Again (Naturally),” which is such a beautiful song, but it's lyrically so sad. I know that it's in no way autobiographical to you but was it difficult as a songwriter to get into such a desperate headspace? 

No. Just before I started writing that I had been still working as a postal clerk in London, earning 10 pounds a week and writing early in the evening, or on the weekend. So when Gordon Mills signed me up, I was able to write full time, and gain 10 pounds without having to be a postal guy to do it. I was in heaven. I was able to write during the day. One of those days, I was coming up with “Alone Again.” I've always said, you don't have to [have] experience to be able to write about serious subjects. I think that's what makes you a good lyricist. Once you get into that subject, you just get into it. That's what happened to that song. The other song I was writing at the time was “Out of the Question,” just a good, fun song. The funny thing was we had to go in the studio not long after these two songs were completed to make the next single. Everybody thought “Out of the Question” would be the single. People liked “Alone Again,” but they didn't think it was commercially strong. We know what happened. 

You wrote “Clair” about your manager Gordon Mills’ young daughter. Are you still in touch with Clair? Do you know how she feels about the song after all these years, now that she's an adult, too? 

She has two children of her own. Yeah, we see her. We meet up with her. We had a nice incident when I did Hyde Park. I was one of the guests for Hyde Park concert with the BBC Concert Orchestra in front of 30,000 people. My daughters invited Claire to come along to see it. She had been to other shows previously in theaters, but this was very special. She came along and my daughter said to me that when I sang “Clair,” during that performance, she almost had tears in her eyes. It was very special. Something really nice about that. 

“Get Down” is one of your more rocking tunes that really became big. As a songwriter, do you enjoy playing with different styles and genres? 

Yeah, that's the key to what you're doing. God forbid every song would be a ballad. You have that variety. It helps in concert, too. We're two hours. You don't want to be singing the same song for two hours. It's good to have variety. What gets you off as a songwriter is to sit at the piano rock it up, something will come. Then something else will be slower. Something else can be medium. That's the joy of songwriting. You don't really know what's going to come out of the woodwork. (laughs) But it's fun. 

I've noticed in the two Philly shows that I've seen you do in the last few years that that while you cover songs from throughout your career, one of your US Top 40 hits, “Ooh Baby,” has not been on the playlist. Is there a reason why that one was skipped? 

Yeah. I liked the record. It actually made the top 30 in the Black charts in America. At the time it was a big deal. I just thought there was there's too many bloody “ooh babies” in it. I’m coming around to performing it, but I'll just cut out some of that. The reason is simply that there was too many “ooh babies” in that. It's the one record when I look back and listen to it, there are too many of them in there. I wish I'd have reduced the amount. It's not a bad little tune. Got a good feel about it. 

What are some of the songs that you've written over the years that you feel that might have slipped through the cracks, that you're very proud of and think that represent you as an artist, but they never really got as much notice as you'd expect? 

You can feel like that, but you have to make sure that it doesn't last very long. You just get on with it. You're happy with it. It's a success when you’ve written what you think is a good song. It's a good song. It's a success when you make the record and you're happy with it. There are people who have made records they don't like, and they become successful, and they hate them. At least every song I've written that's been released, I'm happy with. (Laughs) But “Ooh Baby” with too many “ooh babies.” Of course I have [some songs I thought would do better]. There's a song called, “It's Easy to See When You're Blind.” I really liked that song. Then there's the one I wrote about 9/11, which we'll be doing on the American tour, “All They Wanted To Say.” I get a lot of mail from people in America with that song because I picked up on an aspect of 9/11 that that wasn't getting a lot of attention. So yeah, there are there are songs out there, Jay, but I'm happy with them. Many of them we perform. 

I saw your recent statement about the recent death of Burt Bacharach. As a songwriter, how did he inspire you? 

A big influence. Bacharach and [lyricist Hal] David… I mean, fantastic. A great melody writer and a great lyricist. Hal doesn't get the credit. It's always the lyricist who seems to lose out a little. Rodgers and Hart – Lorenz Hart didn't have a happy life. Richard Rodgers and Hammerstein. They're great collaborators, and one wouldn't be there without the other. Burt Bacharach, “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” he wrote (hums the tune). Hal David wrote the words that we all know. It is a huge influence itself. Never a week goes by here when I don't put on Bacharach CDs, because the melodies are great. That's how you're able to write yourself because you're influenced by hearing great melodies. Whether it's Carole King – [Gerry] Goffin and King. Whether it's [Neil] Sedaka/[Howard] Greenfield. Whether it's even Dylan, or whether it's Lennon and McCartney, you hear great music, and that's what enables you to be able to do it. Without hearing good music, without getting that influence, I think you'd struggle. 

Now, speaking of influencing other artists, years ago I interviewed singer Mark McGrath of the band Sugar Ray and I mentioned to him the fact that he had paraphrased a line from “Alone Again (Naturally)” in his hit song “Fly” – “Twenty-five years old, my mother God bless her soul.” He said I was the first person who had ever mentioned that to him and that he was a huge fan of yours and the song and that line was just a little tribute. Did you know about that usage in the song, and how does it feel that your work has inspired so many artists who came in your wake? 

Well, I mean, I've objected to changes of lyrics in the past, but that was paraphrasing what I said so I wouldn't object to that. It's a nice line. A few other people have [done that]. I seem to remember there was a band formed by Barry Gibb’s son [Steve Gibb], and they did a version of [”Alone Again (Naturally)”]. Sarah Vaughan did “I remember I cried when my daddy died,” which I liked. Nina Simone went too far. She went a little bit well over the top. I wasn't mad about that. But I was a great admirer of Nina Simone. In fact, she was a big influence.

She was a great artist. I have to admit I don't know her version of your song. I'll have to listen to it… or maybe not. (Ed. note: I did listen to her version on YouTube, and the lyrics were nearly completely changed.) 

You can get it. I have the album that it came out on [the 1982 album Fodder on My Wings]. It was done at a time when I wasn't made aware of it. When I became aware of it, it was already done. But my admiration for her stopped me from overreacting. (laughs) She loved the song, but she just added elements. I think she went too far but, in the end, I let it go because she's a huge influence. 

Along those lines, I remember years ago the rapper Biz Markie tried to use a sample of “Alone Again (Naturally),” without giving you credit, and that became a legal battle. What exactly happened with that? 

The good and bad thing about court cases and taking somebody to court is… the bad thing is, is it's very expensive thing to do. The good thing is that in this instance, it set a precedent, because it was the first sample case to go to court. That meant that every sample case after my case meant that people had to have permission to do it. Whereas before the Biz Markie scenario, if you'd have been sampled, nobody would have done anything about it. That was the positive thing to come out of it. Biz Markie is a comic rapper. They asked if they could use it, and I asked to hear it. I didn't want it. I didn't like it. No comedy element can be allowed with that song. I make sure in my publishing agreements that nobody can ever use that song without my permission. But he went ahead and did it anyway. He never stopped, so I had to go to court and in America, of all places. An expensive business, hundreds of thousands of dollars before we get into court. I'm the first person that had to go on the stand. Biz Markie wasn't even there at the court. (laughs) 

Wow. 

But we won that case. I was never going to lose, but I had to go through all that you have to go through. We won the case. We won it simply because Biz Markie’s record label was put out by Warner's. They distributed. This court case happened at a time when you'd be coming up to the Christmas period for album sales. So, the judge turned around and said that if you don't take this recording off the market within the next month or the next week, I'll have every Warner Brothers [record] taken off. (laughs) The “S” hit the fan big time. By the time we walked back to the lawyer's office, it was all over. 

You have been writing your own music for years. Did you ever consider collaborating with other writers? 

I don't need to collaborate with anybody because I'm turning out the lyrics as I am turning out the melodies. As long as I'm doing that, why do I need to collaborate? If I felt a weakness on one of them or the other, I might. Lyrics take a long time, so you could argue that maybe it would be nice at some point [if] you've got the melody, give it to somebody else to do the lyric and stuff. But at the end of the day, however long it takes me to do a lyric, I'm always happy that I did it. 

One cool thing about your shows is that you play over 30 songs, and every single one is an original. A lot of artists would throw in one or two covers. Have you ever considered doing that? Or why did you decide you wanted to only record perform your own songs? 

I don't do covers. I mean, some… “She's a Woman,” [by The Beatles] I've sang a little because I got influenced by that song. I wrote a song quite similar to that. And a bit of Fats Domino. Big influence. 

I was reading recently that they “Get Down” was sort of influenced by The Faces’ “Cindy Incidentally.” 

Inspiration. That kind of inspired me. Yeah, when I first heard that, it set me off in that area. That happens. There's a lot of songs. You know the song “Just call me angel of the morning?” [“Angel of the Morning” by Merrilee Rush.] That was influenced by a Rolling Stones ballad. You get that. That happens. And that's a good thing. That's a good thing to be influenced by. As long as what you're doing is original and not a copy. 

It was funny, seeing you in concert these days and seeing people with their cell phones in the air. How has touring changed over the years? 

Yeah, there is that going on. As far as I'm concerned, I just go out there to perform. In the old days you'd be doing an hour. I started off pretty badly in terms of live performance. As you probably know, a lot of performers, even songwriters, start off by singing in clubs and stuff. They get their apprenticeship in the club area before they get into success with big bands and whatever. I didn't come through like that. I came through just simply by writing songs in a garden shed. I had no experience of live performance before “Nothing Rhymed” came out. After “Nothing Rhymed” came out, it was two years actually, it was 1972 before I actually did my first tour. So it was always the songwriting that occupied my time, not performing. Once I started to do concerts, it would be an hour set. The only mistake I ever made was when they put me in at the London Palladium for two shows a night. It was horrendous, because without the experience to handle my voice, two shows a night killed me. In between shows, I would be lying on the floor with all this stuff going into me to try and get me to get through the next hour. I've learned through the years to the point now where vocally, I look after my voice, and I'm a much better singer than I used to be. The only difference for me is that. In terms of audiences, anybody that comes along to see me, I'm happy with it. (laughs) It might have been a younger audience in the early days. The people that come to see it now, it's a cross section. A bit of a cliche to say that, but it’s true, young and old. I meet them afterwards. That's what I like about live performances. You get to meet people and they'll tell you what they think of you – good or bad. (laughs again)

Copyright ©2023 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: February 22, 2023.

Photos © 2023. Courtesy of BMG. All rights reserved.

#Gilbert O'Sullivan #2023 #Music Interviews #Driven #Jay S. Jacobs

[omegaplus]

# 4,078

June 14, 2018.

OK. Show’s over. Cold Cave says good night and Warsaw clears out. Everyone go home. I head to the ‘G’ subway line to get to Court Square but, lucky me, the line is shut down for repairs. The MTA / LIRR in New York City and on Long Island respectively is a necessary evil which tells you to go fuck yourself on a daily basis. Now what? Good thing there a free shuttle bus that takes us right to Court Square which takes me to the ‘E’ line all the way to Jamaica station. What does Tropic Of Cancer’s “More Alone” have to do with any of this? It’s what was playing on my iPod Classic (160GB) on the shuttle route to Court Square, a mode of transportation I haven’t taken since last decade when my ex- Yenny and I took to Rochester to see Projekt Revolution.

Part Two. “Osiris Rises” was what came on next when boarding the ‘E’ line to the Jamaica stop. The ‘E’ was the most exhaustive subway ride I ever taken at 10 separate stops over 45 minutes to get to where I needed to. Subway rides are also where you meet and chatter with random people, such as one young lady who was to get off halfway. Imagine Lorde but without make-up, shorter with curves and wider-than-normal hips; straight shoulder-length honey hair wearing a pink ringer tee and a knee-length denim skirt. I’m truly experiencing a dream in the real world where things could have and may have been possible but never would be, but for once it is. We talked about how impatient we were taking a tiring ride to our respective destinations. Her complexion was a little unique and nothing I seen before from from the opposite sex on an every day basis, hence why I kept glancing at her to figure her out. She dispersed the ‘E’ line before I did and that was it. She was now a memory attached to all of the night’s events, and someone I will never ever see again.

I hung on and finally made it to the Jamaica stop but realized that this station wasn’t familiar to me? I was supposed to get off on Sutphin Blvd., the booth operator told me. I hop on the ‘E’ line again going the opposite way, sitting inside a near empty car on a 15-minute standstill. That’s when “She-Women Of The SS” came on the randomizer. The eerie but colorful two-bit electronic bleeps slowly creep in, filling up the otherwise silent scene as I waited for the subway cars to close doors and shift on. One stop the other way and it’s Sutphin Blvd. to walk to the real Jamaica stop home. I look at my watch: it’s 12:35 AM. I look at the take-off, my train leaves at 12:36 AM. Time to hustle my ass upstairs. I board the Jamaica train with about one minute to spare, stealing it like Jacob Ellsbury stealing home plate. Had I missed the Jamaica bolt, I’d be fucked, because I had to be at work by 9:45 AM.

Jamaica to Deer Park. Why Deer Park? Because it’s a $4.00 difference between that station and Brentwood. The Long Island Railroad (LIRR) prices its’ tickets according to zones. Now you know why commuters roll the dice to find a parking spot during sunshine hours. I sit down and at first it’s quiet. I’m on the right-hand side mid-car, facing and riding east. For the first half of the ride my music is turned up. Earphones pushed in and I normally don’t care about what’s around me. Melody’s Echo Chamber’s “Cross My Heart” plays. (Don’t ask me why other than the answer is that I’m auditioning for future radio broadcasts. With my history, I wouldn’t be caught dead with something like it.) I turn it down, half-hear, and look up to see some 50-something Long Island stereotype complete with a loud drawling Boston / Brooklyn / Jersey-bred accent. It’s the worst linguistic amalgam I could imagine. She’s waving her phone around blasting Hall & Oates and showing everyone in vicinity her friend’s wedding photos, like anyone cares. You guessed it: it’s drunk hour on the train. Everyone’s sitting helpless watching this loud donkey and she didn’t give a fuck what people thought of her, but someone else gave it a try.

This 20 year-old kid was fed up and wasn’t having it. He yelled at her to stop and said his piece of mind; b-bombs, expletives, four-letter words and all. We now have a squabble. It got everyone’s attention including our star of the show. He laid it down on her thick. A back-and-forth ensued and eventually two other friends of hers jumped in, even “apologizing” to him for her behavior but gave her a pass because “it’s drunk hour and it’s expected”. Civility flies out the window and now we got a shouting match. Both sides called bullshit and held mirrors on each other in the ultimate race to see who’s more righteous. The drunk lady then spat her wad of gum at the kid and everyone gasped. The charming young man quivered in shock that she spat her gum at him, but he still kept going. Two more stops to go; him and his crew said “fuck this”, got out of their seats and waited to get off the train. She still was mouthing off all the way home, threatening to call her husband up to meet them at their stop. But, at least she said “goodbye” and “have a good night!” to everyone else not involved.

Welcome to Long Island.

#omega #music #mixtapes #reviews #playlists #Tropic Of Cancer #Body Without Organs #Melody's Echo Chamber

[principiumindividuationis777]

"Toll Road Ahead" (Noir/Crime Fiction)

[If anyone likes this story and thinks maybe they could illustrate it, I would give full credit]

"Toll Road Ahead"

Chapter I

Larry Shaughnessy drove a prison van in New York City, just as the town was descending into an abyss from which it would never really recover, and Shaughnessy knew it better than anyone. Who knew better than a man who drove prisoners to the State of New York's worst prisons?

The year was 1968. It was too cold for hippies. This day, rain was falling, but many days it was snow. Heaven help the people without homes. Larry would put away some of the ones who put them there: The dealers, but he got more than his share of the addicts too, sad cases, no easy answers.

Of course, life was never easy for Shaughnessy. Born in 1929 in the rural parts of County Galway, Ireland (then a Dominion of the United Kingdom), his family had the unfortunate timing of moving to the USA, to Boston, Massachusetts, specifically, in the depths of the Great Depression, which, Larry contended, was "inflicted" by New York City on Boston.

Shaughnessy tried to remember his childhood, even as he heard the curses of the men he was driving to a bitter destination. Larry's father could never control his drinking, and his mother, angry at her husband, Larry's father, treated her son with contempt. He could never forget the day she locked him in the basement, yelling, "You should have been a girl!"

To prove himself, Larry almost ended up, in his early years, much like the men he would later send to prison, bitter at the world, fighting and drinking, though he had sworn off alcohol for good in 1953, when he married.

In Marriage, Larry hoped, he would find stability. A bit of Freud would have done him some good, though, as he married a woman not unlike his mother, a woman with deep psychological problems caused, in turn, by her father, leading her to run off with another man within a year, and the Catholic Church annulled the Marriage, as no Marriage.

It was then, in the winter of 1954, that he moved to New York City, not because he hoped for a brighter future there, but simply to escape. Was it all a mistake, he wondered? Could he go back, maybe even to Ireland?

Chapter II

Shaughnessy had no friends of the human kind, nor, in his view of mankind, did he want any. Criminals, of course, and the liberal-minded, hated him, seeing him as a tool of oppression. His boss was almost as bad as the criminals, forever berating him for minor matters, simultaneously telling him to make deadlines and to drive more slowly and cautiously, mutually exclusive goals.

What few friends he had were in Boston, but they had moved on by now. Most of the time, his unwanted company was the criminal population, in the current instance, two addicts who had resorted to armed robbery: One, named Carl, was cursing with rage at Shaughnessy, trying to spit at him, and doing likewise towards the other convict, called Mike, but Mike was weeping and trembling, evidently suffering withdrawal symptoms.

For all the trouble that such men gave him, Shaughnessy understood their desire to escape. Out of the wagon and into the rain they went, shackled and guarded, before an ominous structure of tons of metal and concrete, their home for some years.

At the end of a long shift, he shuffled slowly into his overpriced apartment, high above the zoo of a city. Another thorn in Larry's side was the landlord, Billy Macklin, who treated his tenants, Larry thought, with rather less respect than Larry treated his pet parrot, whom he considered his only friend: "Mirror", Larry called him.

It would be easier to sleep with his old boozing ways, he thought, but then, he did not want to end up like his dad, so fifteen years on, he kept his pledge.

"Evicted! Out on the street!" said Mirror the parrot, repeating something he heard from Macklin to one of Larry's unfortunate neighbors. Under Macklin's terms, Shaughnessy had to pay extra rent to have his parrot, which, of course, meant more hours of work.

Chapter III

Morning: The time Larry Shaughnessy loathed the most. Every morning, Shaughnessy wondered why he bothered. He was still with the Church, but part of him did not believe, or had trouble believing, that human beings were somehow special beings. Better to be a simple creature like Mirror, he often thought.

Today was an eventful one at work: Jerry "Wolfman" Steppe, snarling and biting, was thrown with great difficulty, requiring seven or eight burly guards for the task, into the van. Shaughnessy did not read the papers, believing them full of lies, but even he knew who Steppe was: A burglar by trade, his savage, animalistic attacks on residents made him the talk of New York, no easy matter considering the mayhem and greed that were the norm.

The van started towards its destination, but somehow, Steppe had gotten loose, and, with a razor blade, offed two of the guards on the spot, knocked out a third with a well-placed right hand, and the fourth found a way to hurl himself from a moving vehicle, sustaining injuries but more fearful of Wolfman than of the rough landing.

Shaughnessy could have stopped the vehicle, but instead, to try to prevent Steppe from escaping, he drove faster and weaved side to side. Jerry Steppe, however, changed his demeanor entirely, suddenly becoming quite rational.

"I'm not mad, you know," said Steppe.

Shaughnessy gave no answer.

"We, my friends and I, are building up a little gang in Boston, and you would be a fine addition. We could get you a position like this in Massachusetts, and you could let one of us 'accidentally' escape now and then, for generous consideration in your pocket."

Chapter IV

Jerry Steppe was retried on a procedural technicality, and in the retrial, acquitted, but before this, after a day even more hectic than usual, Shaughnessy, having gotten Steppe to his appointed destination, trudged up the stairs to his apartment, utterly exhausted.

The next day was Saturday, but Larry had no plans. He spoke to his parrot, having no other company: For over a decade, every telephone call he had made had been part of his work.

"Some gang wants me in Boston. I want to go to Boston, maybe, but not as a criminal."

"Boston…" was Mirror's only reply.

"I won't take the offer, but maybe this is a sign, if there even are signs, to go back."

Larry thought about pretending to take the offer, as a way of securing the arrest of these Boston gangsters, but then, Shaughnessy did not trust Hoover or the FBI either, and their cooperation would be essential, of course, in any such scheme.

Just then, a newspaper was thrust under Larry's door. Though he had ordered nothing of the kind, his eye caught the headline, and he read of a corruption scandal, the taking of bribes among some fellow prison van drivers in New York, much like the arrangement suggested by Steppe, evidently part of a network all over the Northeast.

"Oh, that's just great… now these press vultures will make us all out to be crooked, and my boss will fire some innocent drivers just for window dressing."

"Window…" mimicked Mirror.

Chapter V

Larry Shaughnessy spent most of the weekend sleeping, tired from the week and having nothing better to do. The next weekend, though, after another week of much the same mayhem, he approached Kevin Welden, a private detective who wanted, for his own purposes, to gain information on the Irish mob in the Northeast. Together, Shaughnessy and Welden hatched a plan to infiltrate the Irish mob in Boston.

By the end of 1968, Shaughnessy very cheerfully quit his New York job, instead accepting the Massachusetts position arranged for him by the Irish gangsters forming a presence in Boston. The only trace of his New York life Shaughnessy took with him was Mirror the parrot.

John "Shemp" Doolin, so nicknamed for his resemblance to the comedian, was Shaughnessy's contact with the rising Irish mob. The first escape from a prison van was to be arranged in two weeks, Doolin explained, and Shaughnessy was to receive $10,000 for every member of the outfit whose freedom he arranged.

Contacting Welden, he soon discovered, however, that it was never Welden's intention to report the matter to the police, but rather, Kevin Welden was playing the oh-so-dangerous game of blackmailing a criminal syndicate.

Shaughnessy's already weak faith in humanity declined yet more when he discovered that Marky Morris, a friend of his from childhood, now sold narcotics in Boston, but was being shaken down for a percentage of his money by Shemp Doolin.

Larry had burned his bridges in New York, and now, he had either to go through with helping criminals escape or leave Boston. That left only one idea in Shaughnessy's mind: Return to Ireland.

Chapter VI

By February of 1969, Larry was back in County Galway for the first time since he was four. He vaguely remembered the beautiful scenery, and let Mirror, his parrot, fly around in his new country.

After a few months, Shaughnessy managed to convince the Republic of Ireland's government to let him drive a prison vehicle, just as he had in New York City and in Boston.

Late in 1969, however, the Ulster Volunteer Force, loyalists amidst Northern Ireland's Troubles, set off explosives in several locations in Dublin. Shaughnessy would, from one of these explosions, spend the rest of his life with a wooden peg for a left leg.

As he lay in hospital, Larry, wishing Mirror were allowed in the hospital, was approached by the Irish Republican Army, who, because he was the victim of a UVF attack, assumed that Shaughnessy would join their cause, and visited the hospital, pretending to staff to be relatives, to make him an offer not unlike that made by Wolfman Steppe, this time suggesting that he move to Northern Ireland, drive prison vans there, then release IRA.

People were no better in Ireland, thought Larry. Everywhere, people were bad.

Chapter VII

In early 1970, Shaughnessy, noting that the criminals in Ireland were rather tame compared to those in New York, was approached at his home by three men, with distinctly Cockney accents.

"We got work for you, Shaughnessy. We 'ave our own ways of knowing about the underworld, you understand, and 'ow you kept Wolfman in the lorry with your driving was impressive. If you could do that, you could drive for us."

"Drive for you where?"

"We have something planned. Let's say all the best art in London, best by price I mean, is going missing soon. Make the Great Train Robbery look like beggary. We three, me and Dicey and Moore, we 'ave all it planned out 'cept for the driver. That's where you fit in. I know, Irishman, you don't want to give up a respectable reputation, so instead of 25 percent, 'ow about 40, then it's 20 three ways for the rest of us? We couldn't do without the driver, after all."

Shaughnessy looked hard at them, and his peculiar response was, "Give my regards to the Queen."

Having closed the door in the men's faces, Larry, drifting off to sleep, mumbled to Mirror that he thought these men were "British agents or police" suspicious of him because the IRA approached him.

"Why would they know so much about a one-legged man's luck in New York? They're James Bond faking that Mary Poppins talk."

"Poppins…" picked up Mirror.

Chapter VIII

For the next few months, even as he drove prison transport, Shaughnessy believed he was being followed. By which side, he wondered? If those supposed thieves were British agents, the IRA might suspect him of being a traitor to their cause, as they would see it, while the British might be still after him. Then again, maybe someone was trying to help a prisoner escape for some other reason.

Though his boss, Ehan Barsky, told Shaughnessy that he was paranoid and offered to refer him to a psychologist, Shaughnessy knew better. He had, by now, even the license number of the same vehicle he had seen three times in a week, going the same route as he was. Barsky said it was probably just someone who took the same route.

"They were three different routes to three different prisons, Mr. Barsky."

After a day of hauling in some rather violent men, Shaughnessy once again found a newspaper had been slipped under his door, just as in New York, without him asking for it. He laughed ruefully at the lead article.

If the paper was right, a massive London art robbery had occurred. Not only that, but it was thought that it was tied to the IRA and some "ordinary thieves from Boston in the States". The only part Larry had right was that the men were pretending to be British.

That evening, the ever reclusive Shaughnessy, now having a fair idea who was following him, read Schopenhauer while listening to an old record of Joe Meek's "Telstar".

Chapter IX

A rare day off, though stuck in Dublin, not in Galway, thought Shaughnessy. With just the one leg, he felt that his good leg, the right one, needed the circulation of walks, but his mind wandered and he wandered into a side of Dublin he had not seen, which reminded him almost of New York.

Shaughnessy thought his eyes deceived him, but no, there was a man of six foot two on the corner of the street, in a woman's dress, accosting motorists. Reminded too much of New York, he turned back on the same street, only to encounter a middle-aged woman screaming at him.

"You're trying to steal my girls. Nobody takes 'em on this street but me, Joe!"

This woman, dressed rather like an unkempt harlequin, and with pupils looking all wrong, kicked Larry in the leg, but in the wooden one, which was concealed. The thud of the fake leg evidently frightened her, because off she ran, perhaps still looking for "Joe".

That one ugly street brought Shaughnessy up to date: Dublin was becoming like every other city. Providence, Shaughnessy thought, had forsaken Dublin as New York was forsaken long ago. He wanted to live in rural Ireland, the better part, he thought, not in this. If he was to be followed about and encounter these types even on leave, he might as well move back to America, then retire to County Galway.

Thus, by 1971, Larry Shaughnessy was back in Boston, but with the strong sense, once again, that his travels from Dublin to New York Boston had been monitored each step of the way.

"I know too much about some secret doings. It all started with Wolfman," Larry said to Mirror, before mumbling and falling asleep.

"Wolfman…" the parrot replied, before mimicking Larry's snoring.

Chapter X

By this time, Shemp Doolin had taken over the Boston outfit that had once approached Larry Shaughnessy, and tired of being followed, Shaughnessy, with no family and nothing to lose, decided to risk it all and confront Doolin.

He had several rough encounters with Doolin's underlings, one of which required Larry to bring back his considerable boxing skills, learned, not in rings, but in the forties on these same streets. An uppercut, and down went some nameless muscle, but this seemed to impress the Irish mob in a positive way. Now, contrary to what Shaughnessy expected, Doolin wanted to welcome back Larry to their old city.

"You're been doing well for yourself, Mr. Doolin."

"Please, call me Shemp," replied Doolin, leaning back in a plush office.

"I know you arranged the heist in London. I'll bet it was you who put those papers under the door, first to convince me to join you, tell me the prison van business had no future, then to show me I was wrong about those guys working for Britain, right?"

"Smart as well as tough. You're our kind of man, Larry. Look, I know that Wolfman put a lot of people off. We needed him to make a name for ourselves, but then, well, he got too… gruesome for us."

"Took him out, eh?" asked Shaughnessy.

"As he would have done to us."

"I suppose you gave most of that art money to the IRA, right?"

"Better than 80 percent," replied Shemp.

"Then I want 10 percent of it, since you still have that much."

Doolin thought over the matter, rubbing his hand against his not quite shaven face.

"I like you, Larry, and you're Irish, but you gotta do one job for us, and on my word, the boys will stop following you."

"I won't do the dirty stuff. You know that."

"Yeah. Of course not," Shemp continued, "But you wouldn't mind ridding a neighborhood of a guy that deals to kids, would you?"

"I won't go as far as murder, if that's what you mean," replied Shaughnessy.

"No need to… two in the legs and he'll leave Boston."

"And go to New York, I suppose?"

"The big rotten apple, yeah," Shemp agreed.

Larry Shaughnessy asked around, and yes, the man whose photograph Doolin gave him, one Harvey Beckham, did indeed deal to kids, among his other hateful deeds. Shaughnessy did not like working with criminals, but then, he was doing Boston a favor, and once the deed was done, Beckham, having recovered physically, went to New York, as the Irish predicted.

One obstacle faced Shaughnessy is his escape, however: A toll booth. He had been so focused on the unusual assignment that he had forgotten his wallet, and in the circumstances, did not want authorities to take too much interest in him. Taking a deep breath, Larry thought it over, and realized that he had a car on loan from gangsters. Maybe they stashed money in the car, and sure enough, there was a $100 bill under the back seat.

Looked at rather strangely by the woman at the booth, she nevertheless found change for the hundred. The next day, being no thief, Larry gave $100, this time in tens, to Shemp Doolin, recounting his close call on the toll road.

Epilogue: Larry Shaughnessy, now affluent, moved to a cottage in rural County Galway, in early retirement, taking Mirror the parrot with him, of course. Hoping Mirror would outlive him, Larry found a worthy neighbor, he considered, who would take care of Mirror, according to the terms of Larry Shaughnessy's will and testament, if the bird did outlive him.

#short story #original work #oc writing #noir #crime fiction #New York City #Irish #Boston #gangster #prison #Ireland #Galway #The Troubles #tw: alcohol #tw: parental abuse #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #tw: violence #60s #70s #parrot #antihero #Dublin #illustrators #gender nonconforming #gay #aromantic

[newstfionline]

Sunday, February 18, 2024

The Case for Spending Way More on Babies (The Atlantic) There’s a strong case that Congress should be spending way more money on kids. As a general point, the United States, despite being the richest society Earth has ever known, tolerates astonishingly high rates of child poverty. Kids are two or three times as likely to grow up in poverty in the United States as they are in most of our rich-country peers. That is a direct consequence of the United States spending such a small share of its GDP on family benefits such as public child care, home visits, and payments to new parents—a smaller share than all other OECD countries except Turkey, Costa Rica, and Mexico. The country is also an outlier in lacking a comprehensive paid-family-leave program and child care for kids 5 and under.

Hefty fines, penalties will rock Trump family’s business and fortune (Washington Post) For more than 100 years, since Donald Trump’s grandfather started buying land in New York City, the Trump family has run a real estate business in New York. Barring a successful legal appeal of Friday’s decision by a New York Supreme Court judge, that could change. In his ruling on a months-long civil trial brought against Trump and his business by New York Attorney General Letitia James (D), Justice Arthur F. Engoron prohibited Trump from serving as an officer or director of any New York firm for three years. He barred Trump’s elder sons, Donald Trump Jr. and Eric Trump, from doing so for two years. “There is no one at the financial helm. There’s no CFO, no controller, and now you don’t have Eric Trump, Donald Trump Jr. or Donald Sr. running it,” said Boston College law professor Brian Quinn. After finding that Trump Organization executives had engaged in years of fraud by inflating their property values to get better insurance and tax rates, Engoron ordered that the company operate under the close eye of two overseers to ensure compliance with financial reporting obligations. In other words, Trump can remain the owner, but he has lost control.

To fight dengue epidemic, health agents in Brazil scour junkyards and roofs for mosquitos (AP) The small team of state public health workers slalomed between auto parts strewn across a Rio de Janeiro junkyard, looking for standing water where mosquitoes might have laid their eggs. They were part of nationwide efforts to curtail a surge in Brazil of the mosquito-borne illness of dengue fever during the country’s key tourist season that runs through the end of February. Earlier in the month, just days before Rio kicked of its world-famous Carnival festivities, the city joined several states and the country’s capital in declaring a public health epidemic over this year’s greater-than-normal number of cases of dengue. So far this year, Brazil has recorded 512,000 cases nationwide, including both confirmed and likely cases—nearly four times more than those registered in the same period a year ago.

Avdiivka, Longtime Stronghold for Ukraine, Falls to Russians (NYT) Ukraine ordered the complete withdrawal from the ruined city of Avdiivka in eastern Ukraine before dawn on Saturday, surrendering a city that had been a military stronghold for the better part of a decade, in the face of withering Russian bombardment and relentless assault. The fall of Avdiivka, a city that used to be home to some 30,000 people but is now a smoking ruin, is the first major gain Russian forces have achieved since May of last year. In recent weeks, Russian forces have been pressing the attack across nearly the entire length of the 600-mile long front. Oleksandr Tarnavskyi, the head of Ukraine’s forces in the south, said there had been no choice but to withdraw, given the Russian advantage in firepower and the number of soldiers they were willing to throw into the battle.

Israel Was Behind Attacks on Major Gas Pipelines in Iran, Officials Say (NYT) Israel carried out covert attacks on two major gas pipelines inside Iran this week, disrupting the flow of heat and cooking gas to provinces with millions of people, according to two Western officials and a military strategist affiliated with Iran’s Revolutionary Guards Corps. The strikes represent a notable shift in the shadow war that Israel and Iran have been waging by air, land, sea and cyberattack for years. Israel has long targeted military and nuclear sites inside Iran—and assassinated Iranian nuclear scientists and commanders—both inside and outside of the country. Israel has also waged cyberattacks to disable servers belonging to the oil ministry, causing turmoil at gas stations nationwide. But blowing up part of the country’s energy infrastructure, relied on by industries, factories and millions of civilians, marked an escalation in the covert war and appeared to open a new frontier, officials and analysts said.

ICJ declines new protections for Rafah despite ‘perilous situation’ in city (Washington Post) The International Court of Justice on Friday declined South Africa’s request to introduce additional safeguards for Palestinians ahead of Israel’s planned offensive in the southern city of Rafah, where an estimated 1.4 million Palestinians are seeking refuge from Israeli bombardment. In its response to a Feb. 12 request from South Africa, the ICJ said the “perilous situation” in Rafah required Israel to abide by its previous ruling last month, which included taking “all measures within its power” to prevent the crime of genocide and to allow more aid into Gaza. South Africa is pursuing a case against Israel in the ICJ, alleging it is committing and failing to prevent genocide in Gaza, accusations that Israel denies. A verdict on the question of genocide could take years. The situation in Rafah is becoming increasingly dire, the U.N. Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) said in its most recent update, with people “desperate, hungry, and terrified” ahead of the expected attack. OCHA said that the number of aid trucks allowed to enter the Gaza Strip had declined over the past week, with only 20 entering on Thursday.

US diplomats warn of lasting anti-American sentiment in Middle East (ABC News) The State Department has received multiple warnings from its posts in the Middle East during recent weeks about the lasting impact from U.S. messaging on the conflict in Gaza, triggering a meeting in Washington with intelligence agencies to evaluate the fallout, according to internal communications reviewed by ABC News and officials familiar with the matter. One cable from the American mission in Morocco said that former collaborators in the country asserted that the U.S. had become “toxic” because the administration’s support for Israel after Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack had been widely perceived as a “blank check for the Israeli response.” An enduring hit to U.S. popularity in the Middle East could have extensive implications for American diplomacy. Some State Department officials say it may take a generation to rebuild U.S. standing in some countries.

Thousands homeless after DR Congo's worst floods in sixty years (Reuters) In a makeshift camp for people displaced by floods in Democratic Republic of Congo, father-of-three Cyprien Seka anxiously watched his baby nap on the floor of a crowded tent and wondered if it would ever be safe to return home. Torrential rains swelled the Congo river to its highest level in over 60 years in late December and forced around 500,000 people to flee the rising waters. "It's been almost a month since we left our homes because of the flooding... We are suffering," Seka said at the camp on the grounds of a Catholic church on the outskirts of capital Kinshasa. Like many others, Seka's family lost almost all their possessions in the rush to escape. Sixteen of Congo's 26 provinces are grappling with the fallout from the floods, which killed at least 221 people, damaged tens of thousands of homes, and exposed already vulnerable communities to increased risk of malaria and typhoid

Nigeria’s Capital Blames Rickshaws for Crime (Bloomberg) In Nigeria’s capital city of Abuja, rickshaws are essential for getting around absent a working public transit system. But officials are planning to ban the three-wheelers, citing their role as getaway vehicles in a crime and kidnapping crisis that’s engulfed Nigeria’s second-richest city. The rickety vehicles struggle to climb the city’s hills at a maximum speed of just 43 miles per hour. And rickshaw drivers who have come to the capital to escape poverty say the government is making them scapegoats for its own inability to protect residents.

#headlines #news

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Must Read : European Extravaganza: Handpicked Tour Packages Specially for Indians

[madewithonerib]

3.] Success & Sex-Oriented Culture

Over top of Corinth was a mountain & on the top of the mountain was a Temple of Aphrodite; and every single night 1K Temple prostitutes came on down into the city to ply their wares.

     It was the most success-oriented, & sex-      obsessed city, these were corinthianizers      no rules. Nobody came to Corinth to live      —nobody came there to have a life.

     They came to make it, they came to do

Now if you don't see any parallels between Corinth & NYC—you're a tourist all right, and I'm glad you're here. But now you know

This is absolutely true, you go to other cities of this country, you go to Boston or Philadelphia, there's a tradition, there's an aristocracy.

The people go there to live.

People don't come to New York to live.

     People come here to make it, they come      here to do. When Paul came to Corinth he      was beaten, he had a bad time in Athens      and he'd been beaten up actually almost      within an inch of his life in Philippi.

And he was so low that GOD had to come to him in Acts 18:9 & particularly appear to him & say I am going to show you that I'm still with you & I'm going to do a major work. I'm going to plant a Church in the biggest baddest wooliest city in the world.

………………………………………………………………… I'm going to show you the Gospel can change anybody. …………………………………………………………………

   •  I am going to give you a bunch of converts.    •  I'm going to give you a Church in this place

3.1] The Power of the Gospel

The last place in the world you'd think people would turn to the LORD. I'm going to I'm going to take Corinthianizers and you know in the early part of this book 1 Corinthians, Paul writes something that's pretty interesting..

Paul was extremely amazed.

     I think the Church at Corinth was a unique      Church in his Ministry — because it was a      sign to him the Gospel can change anybody

And at one point he writes in CH6 & he's making a long list: adulterers, idol worshipers, homosexual, prostitutes, greedy thieves, drunkards, & then he says “such were many of you”

     but you were sanctified, you were      justified by the Name of our LORD      JESUS CHRIST & in the SPIRIT of our      GOD & FATHER.

What Paul is saying is the Corinthian Christians are not bourgeois, straight arrow moral people—these were people who had done every [sinful] thing.

     They had been everywhere & when they      became Christians, the Corinthian Church      was unique in Paul's Ministry—because      when corinthianizers become Christians

     When this kind of person becomes a      Christian, you get one of the oddest      things & that is Churches that are more      brilliant than the other Churches

     And more troubled, & that's exactly      what you have in Corinth—& if you      want to understand that..

All you have to do is look at CH 13:1-3, which you have printed there.

You've got a picture of the Corinthian Church.

Better Than Miracles P1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9 | Timothy J. Keller [1 Corinthians 13:1-3]

#Better Than Miracles #Timothy J. Keller #1 Corinthians 13 #1 Corinthians 13:1-3 #Power of the Gospel #Sex Addict #Success #Goal Oriented #Driven

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[sellfurnitureonline]

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[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

Mob bucky/seb or mob chris/andy recs??

Updated 07/04/21 ✨ = Just Added

To be added please tag me in your future works!

Hey Anon! I’m so glad you asked this because Mob/Mafia! Any version of those boys is my favorite. In my previous fic recs I recommended...

If love was an option by @mianorth » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Part 1 🦋 Part 2 🦋 Part 3

Good Little Wife & Good Little Girl by @donutloverxo » Mob!Andy Barber x Reader – A little dark and it has some really good smut in it.

Blackmail by @stargazingfangirl18 » Soft!DarkMafia Andy Barber x Female Reader — You were just doing it to protect your family, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, especially once you started to like it. (One-Shot)

Blow Sweet and Thick by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky x Reader — Bucky is having a bad day, you can help him feel good. (Part of Mafia Monday’s)

Run To You by @bestofbucky » Mob!Boss Bucky x Reader — Mob boss Bucky Barnes hires you to be his bodyguard. (Series)

Can’t Run, Can’t Hide by @angrythingstarlight » Dark!MafiaBucky Barnes x Reader — When you get noticed by the infamous mob boss, you flee. But Bucky doesn’t like to be denied anything and he’s coming for you. (One-shot)

Six Feet | Ch.1 ⚰️ Ch.2 by @queenoftheworldisdead » Dark Mob!Steve x Reader + Dark Mob!Bucky x Reader — Your family’s small funeral home comes into financial trouble. In desperation your father finds the most unlikely solution to solve his financial problems. | (Short Series)

Bankrupt by @mypoisonedvine » dark!40’s!Mob!Stucky x Reader — Your husband’s gambling addiction quickly got him in hot water with the mob, and you by extension. When some debt collectors come by to settle what is owed, you realize that you have a lot more to worry about than money problems.

Partition by @angrythingstarlight » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky comforts you after a bad day, and your boss learns why no one messes with his girl. —> Part 2: Let Me Show You — You wanted to know what your mobster boyfriend did, lucky for you he’s more into the show then tell.

Say the word and it’s yours by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your mobster boyfriend rescues you from a long, boring day at work. Bucky always said, “ask and its yours”

Lost Without You by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky Barnes would be lost with you. You’re his everything and he plans on spending Valentine’s Day proving it to you.

All Dressed In White by @angrythingstarlight » Dark!Mafia Bucky Barnes x Reader — You were going to marry someone else, Bucky won’t let that happen. You belong to him now and forever. Till Death Do You Part.

Thick As Thieves by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Mafia!Steve Rogers — The only thing the Mafia hates as much as snitches are thieves. And you’re planning on stealing from Bucky and Steve, what happens if you get caught?

Won’t Let You Go by @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay » Mob!Bucky Barnes x OFC!Kori — Kori met Bucky in one of his clubs, out to get shit-faced with a couple of friends to forget about her worries and maybe take home a guy to further rid herself of her numerous frustrations. Little did she know that the one-night stand with Bucky would turn into so much more than that.

Tell Me What You Want by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Steve Rogers x Reader; Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your mob boyfriend, is none other than Steve Rogers and he is willing to get you whatever you wanted, all you have to do is ask. And be careful what you ask for because he’s going to give it to you over and over again.

To Have & To Hold by @slyyywriting » Bucky Barnes x Mob Boss!Reader — Bucky is trying his best to provide and care for his daughter who just entered first grade. Everything was alright until she asks why everyone else seems to have a mom except for her. You’re just a plain mob boss who wants to turn a new leaf. Challenges arise when the world refuses to let you take a softer, non-violent route. A little girl helps you navigate a compromise.(series)

✨ Mob!Sugar Daddy!Stucky Moodboard by @brattycherubwrites » Mob!Stucky x Reader

✨ Laced Around Your Throat by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Steve x Reader, Mafia!Bucky x Reader — Your Mob boyfriend knows that the only thing that looks even better than his hand around your throat is his custom made necklace. You’re his girl and the world needs to know it.

✨ Hidden Gems by @jtargaryen18 » Mob!Steve Rogers x Mob!Daughter Reader — Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

Necessary Arrangements by @stargazingfangirl18 » Andy Barber x Fem!Reader, Ari Levinson x (Different) Fem! Reader ft. Ransom Drysdale » One of my favorite series, chapters are decent sized and the smut is so good!

Hugs My Love by @thatfuckingweirdo » Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Reader — You just really need a hug, and Bucky is the only one you want it from.

my old man is a tough man, but he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam by @cloudystevie » Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader — steve gives you what you want… kind of.

Brooklyn Wars by @world-of-aus » Stucky x Reader

Petals and Bullets by @revengingbarnes » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader (One of my all time favorites series)

I would check out @sinner-as-saint’s Masterlist they have quite a few Mob!Bucky series and one-shots that I have loved in the past.

Special by @buckycuddlebuddy » Bucky Barnes x Reader — this one-shot is really hot.

Love, Honor, and Obey by @constantwriter85 » Bucky Barnes — This one is good and I need to catch up on.

Mafioso by @captain-barnes-writes » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Please do yourself a favor and read.

Lipstick and Crayons by @oneoftheprettynerds » Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader - In Progress

A really good DarkMob!Steve Drabble called Please Hurt Me by @gotnofucks *chefs kiss*

The Mobster’s Little Girl by @smutsonian » Steve Rogers x Reader

off to the races 🐻 off to the races 2 by @harryspet » Soft!Dark Steve Rogers x Reader

The Ignorant Beauty & the Beast by @mysterioh » Steve Rogers x Reader – With 21 parts sadly it hasn’t been updated in 8 months, it’s one of my favorite Mob!Steve Roger fics out there. *Thanks to @inactivewhore I found out this story was moved to AO3 and is now called where angels fear to tread it was last updated on 13/11/20*

What It Takes by @cherienymphe » Bucky Barnes x Reader — You left Bucky once you found out who he really is. The one thing you thought would guarantee your safety ends up sealing your fate.

Welcome Home by @punani » Chris Evans x Black!Reader — He’s been away for awhile, but he knows that his girl’s loyalty to him knows no bounds. Knows she’s been waiting for him after her adamancy in telling him there was no other option. It’s only right to make the reunion a memorable one. | So, so, so, so freaking good!

These are what I found on Tumblr that I plan on reading.

Handmaid by @extremelyblackandwhite » Sebastian Stan x ingenue!Reader — y/n works as a handmaid for the daughter of an influential mob leader who is promised to the new boss of the most powerful mob family in new york, sebastian.

AO3 Website Reccomendations

Satellite Heart » Stucky x Reader — You used to be Steve and Bucky's girl. Then they fucking left without saying goodbye. Little did they know, you were pregnant. But life went on. You raised your Talia to the best of your ability. But one day, everything goes to shit. Now your boys are back in your life. And they're not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Little Fox A/B/O Series » Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Soft!Dark Natasha Romanoff x OFC! & Peter Parker x Soft!Dark Tony Stark — So I can’t stress this enough you need to read the tags for this series and I kept getting confused as I read this story as to how old Violet Mason is. But this series takes you on a roller coaster, I like it, my cousin didn’t finish it, I need to catch up.

Pelmeni *finished* » Stucky x Reader — James Bucky Barnes has a good life, as a member of a powerful organized crime syndicate. His best friend Steve is a member too and his literal partner in crime. Bucky's got a problem though. You. His longtime love and secret girlfriend. Unfortunately, your father is his boss and has plans for you that involve normal life. Steve has a problem too. Steve wants in on your relationship and more than the semi-regular/occasional steamy threesomes. You don't have a problem, you're just busy with a big mob wedding coming up, which means a big celebration, that you're busy catering for.

Dying For This Love » Dark!Bucky x Reader — That was before. When you were Bucky’s girl. Now, you have a score to settle. That’s why you’re wearing Bucky’s favorite red satin dress, the one with the cuts that reach right up to the tops of your thighs, the tennis necklace he gifted you for your anniversary, and are fresh off of a mani/pedi and hair appointment. He’s going to regret the day he fucked with you. | This one is intense and a tad bit dark, but the smut is good.

off to the races » Steve Rogers x Reader — In which you call the kingpin your Daddy.

The Mobster’s Little Girl » Steve Rogers x Reader — what happens when the big bad mobster gets blackmailed by your father to marry you? (kind of fluffy kind of not. kinda dark kinda not.)

Brooklyn Sweethearts » Dark!Stucky x Reader — Bucky and Steve had always been meant to keep her safe and happy. As far as anyone else was concerned, that was their sole reason for being alive. Unfortunately, the things that kept her safe were not always the things that kept her happy. Lately, she was making it pretty damn hard for them to compromise. | Probably one of my all time favorite Mafia!Stucky stories I have ever read, just sadly it also hasn’t been updated in like 8 months and I keep hoping it will get updated.

Hot Doll » Skinny!MobBoss Steve Rogers x Reader — Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there. | Dark and good!

Doctor Doctor » Steve Rogers x PlusSize! Reader — (1940 Mobster AU!) You're a war widow down on her luck; and the King of Brooklyn, Steve Rogers, takes notice. | Another one of my favorites. A little bit dark as well.

The Widow » Dark!MobBoss x Reader — It’s the 1920s and everyone’s having a roaring time but you. | Trust me it’s just dark enough.

Those are just some on AO3, I would just go through Mafia AU tag and go to filter and click Avengers or Captain America.

#you ask i answer #ktk rec ‘21 #ktk rec #ktk fic rec #mob!bucky #mafia!bucky #mob!andy barber #andy barber #andy barber x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mob!steve #dark!steve x reader #stucky x reader #fanfiction recommendation #fanfic rec #mob!sebastian stan #mob!sebastian stan x reader #mob!chris evans

[emerald-chaos]

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

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