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whumpty-dumpty-doo · 25 days

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Bonus chapter: We Are TroubleD - "Feeling Bushed - Trailing Behind"

What's this?! A BONUS CHAPTER?! You're darned tootin'! This won't make much sense unless you've read the entries that came before this, so check out those first! (linked below)

Written as a part of @whumperofworlds' WoW's Birthday Whump Event! as a followup to my entries for Day 4 and 5.

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This is a follow up to a 3 part mini-story. Part 1 is here, part 2 is here, and part 3 is here.

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Content Warnings: Captivity, difficulty breathing, electric shock, exhaustion, fear, forced to watch, manhandling, swearing, recapture, restraints (bound and gagged), struggling, temporary loss of mobility, worry

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It had been a long hard day, and the farmer was relieved when he was able to come in for the night to finally relax. With a plate of dinner in one hand and a crisp can of beer in the other, he shuffled into his office and took a seat in front of his computer.

The next half hour or so was spent mindlessly browsing social media, watching a few funny videos, and clicking through his email. Before he knew it, he was swiping through his phone, too. A second screen. A curse, honestly, but it was something to look at while he listened to the latest episode of his favorite podcast.

A tiny red notification dot sat on the icon for his trail cam app, and he opened it, excited to see what critter had tripped the sensor. To his surprise, two cameras had captured activity that morning. Whatever animal it was had apparently been on the move.

He tapped the earliest alert and saw a few stills of… a dirt mound? What in the world? Zooming in didn’t help much. It was a weird figure, human-shaped, but covered head-to-toe in grass and mud. Why were they so dirty? What were they doing?

… Hold on, were they a hunter? That’d explain the crazy camouflage, though it was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He sighed. Not again… He’d have to keep an eye out for them in case they decided to return. Hunters were not welcome on or near his property unless he invited them, and he’d make sure they got one hell of an earful the next time they stepped foot on his land.

But they weren’t carrying a gun or a bow… They didn’t even look like they were wearing shoes...

In the next image, the figure was standing, looking at his electric fence pensively.

Oh. Oh no. They didn’t…

… They did.

He swiped, and the camera had detected enough movement that it had decided to record the next bit. The mysterious mud-covered person stuck their leg through the fence, slipped on something, then was shocked twice by the wire. The farmer inhaled sharply at the footage, his anger at the trespasser instantly being replaced by concern, especially when the figure screamed. Holy shit, were they okay?!

The being stumbled backwards out of the fence and crumpled to the ground, laying on their back. They appeared to have passed out (or at least the farmer hoped they were only passed out) from the shock, because they stopped moving. With no further motion, the trail cam ended the recording.

Oh God, were they still out there?!

He swiped through the next few files and saw stills of a second person stalking through the clearing. Maybe it was a friend coming to the aid of the one who had been shocked, but this other guy wasn’t wearing camo or hunting gear. In fact, he barely looked put together, like he had left his house or campground in a hurry before fully getting ready for the day. A hat was pulled down low on his head, obscuring his face. He walked right by the unmoving dirt mound and didn’t even see them.

Another short video played where the dirt mound was standing and moving, dashing out of frame. Thank goodness, they were alive and seemingly okay. They appeared antsy though, casting a quick glance in the direction that the man had walked.

That was it for that cam. He backed out and tapped on the second cam to see what happened next.

There wasn’t much, only one video that was very poorly framed so he could only see a bit of the action.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

The camera activated when the man from before tripped over something. The farmer still couldn’t see the guy’s face, though.

“… Got’cha.”

Suddenly all hell broke loose. The man had his back to the camera but was wrestling with a pair of mud-covered legs poking out of a bush, which shook violently as the two tussled.

A piercing scream rattled the audio, similar to the one he had heard the person caught in the fence make. It was the same guy. It had to be. The farmer had to turn down the volume because of how loud the video was.

“Don’t fucking fight!” said the man. What did he want with this guy?!

“HELP!!! SOMEBODY HELP!!! PLEASE!! HELP ME!!!” the farmer’s chest tightened at the desperate cries from the person in the bush. Whoever they were, they were terrified and trying with all their might to get away from the man. They kicked him hard and he took the blow, his body language reading furious and deadly.

“You’ll regret that.”

“HELP!!! PLEASE!!! ANYONE! HELP!!” hearing it was sickening, and watching it unfold was doubly so. How had he not heard this from his house? Granted, this took place on the other side of his fields, but sound traveled over flat land. This must have happened either right as he was showering or during the morning news broadcast he watched every day. Either one would’ve masked the noise.

There was a SNAP! like a branch breaking and the person rocketed out of the bush as the man yanked them by their legs. The farmer was horrified and mesmerized all at the same time as he watched the person clawing and scrambling desperately against the grasp of the man, fighting to get away as he was pinned down.

He had no idea who either of them were, but the mud guy was clearly frantic for a reason. Whoever the man after him was, he was bad news. The farmer was praying that his victim would escape. He was appalled by what was happening to him.

“NO! NO! NO!!! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!!! STOP IT! STOP IT!!! LET ME GO! LET ME—"

His heart dropped as the mud-covered guy screamed once again and shook erratically as he was tased. Tased.

What. The. Fuck.

The poor guy had already received a double shock from the fence… could he even handle a third from a fucking taser?!

Mud guy was quickly handcuffed by his wrists and ankles by his pursuer, but that dude was no cop.

“No… please, no. Let me go. Please. Please… No… no!” it seemed like it was hard for him to talk, but the dirt mound was begging all the same. It was gut wrenching.

The farmer watched him struggle and fight, giving it everything he had, which wasn’t much at the moment. He felt like he was going to hurl.

“Let me go! Let me g-mmph!” his pleading died out with a gag being applied as duct tape was looped around his head over and over. He was being treated like an animal. No. Worse than an animal. The farmer was watching a twisted, inhumane, merciless kidnapping take place on his own property, and he had been completely unaware that it was happening.

The mud guy was dragged out of frame fully, crying, whimpering, and thrashing as he was pulled away. It chilled the farmer right to the bone. Absolutely horrific.

The video ended and he sat in stunned silence for a minute, staring at the blank screen completely petrified.

He had to call the police. The authorities had to know about this right now. Someone had to be looking for mud guy, right? Maybe the two were still in the area, and if they weren’t, maybe they hadn’t gotten too far.

He only hoped—

He only hoped the dirt mound person was still alive.

It felt like a knife was twisting in his chest at that thought. The poor guy’s screams echoed in his mind. Who was he? Where was he? Was he okay?

Trembling fingers dialed the numbers on his phone, and he tried to gather his nerves enough to make sense to the dispatcher.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I-I’d like to report a k-kidnapping...”

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sunflower-butch · 1 year

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Alright gay people. Be prepared to lose your shit:

Ronance Lemonade Mouth AU

Nancy is Stella!!! Because I said so!!! Nancy deserves a rebel era and I can so see her being upset about the arts funding being cut for sports, including journalism. Electric guitar player Nancy my beloved >>>

Robin is Olivia, the shy, socially awkward songwriter and singer!!! Going to have her living with Steve as opposed to a grandma or something, but keeping the cat (who ironically in the movie is named Nancy). Might keep the her dad is in prison part? Undecided on how I’m translating Olivia’s background to Robin.

Speaking of Steve, he gets to be Charlie, the drummer! Keeping the pretty hair and parental pressure, but instead of wanting him to go to Stanford or play soccer, his dad wants him to join the insurance firm.

Eddie is Wen because Stella/Wen friendship > Nancy/Eddie besties ofc. Rather than coming in with rap, he adds amazing guitar riffs and heavy metal elements to the band’s sound. His family trouble involves settling in with Wayne, rather than dealing with a new stepmom.

And Mo was hard to decide, but!!! Our own Chrissy Cunningham. Her mom puts so much pressure on her to be the perfect daughter and Mo’s relationship with the one guy translates far too well to Chrissy’s relationship with Jason. Chrissy bass player arc omfg.

The rival band includes Jason, Billy (the one shitty guy who always starts drama), Tommy H, and Lucas (mirroring the basketball team here). Lucas tries to settle the drama throughout the AU.

The story begins when everyone gets detention. Robin and Chrissy were skipping class, Nancy blew up at someone about a news segment. Eddie got mad at a teacher, and Steve hit someone with a basketball (on accident).

The music teacher is Joyce and she leaves them all alone and that goofy little music moment happens and they all sing together.

Instead of Mel’s Lemonade, hear me out: Argyle’s Lemonade.

Robin has severe stage fright, but the band helps her get through it, especially Nancy. She and Steve live together. Eddie is often over to help with lyrics. She has an old ass cat that’s the last thing she has of her mother, just like Olivia.

Nancy gets to be rebellious in this fic. Her dad thinks she should just settle for a white picket fence (when he bothers to pay attention to her at all), her mom doesn’t really fight it, so Nancy rebels. She’s also getting the school newspaper together after the funding cut. Tell me this girl isn’t the kind to protest lack of free speech and the removal of the lemonade machine.

Eddie was only just sent to Wayne. It’s supposed to be temporary. In the same way Wen gets used to his stepmom, Eddie has to get used to Wayne and they do eventually grow closer. The scene where it’s revealed that Wen’s stepmom is moving in is instead Eddie arriving home to all of his belongings there in boxes and his parents nowhere to be seen—his stay is suddenly much more permanent.

Steve’s dad wants him to be an athlete (basketball) and join the insurance firm, but Steve just doesn’t want that. He quits basketball for the band and there’s some family struggle.

Rethinking the living situation, I may have Robin and Steve move in together partway through the story as opposed to the beginning, but I’m unsure where that leaves Robin. Her background is the hardest to work out.

Chrissy learns to stand on her own, gets away from her mom’s expectations, and sees Jason as the manipulative shitheel he is. Naturally she falls for one of the band’s biggest fans: Vickie.

Dustin plays the role of the AV kid that helps the band throughout the movie. He shows Nancy around in the beginning, explains the budget cut, and he makes the first vinyls for the band.

Nancy gets to rock Billy’s shit because I said so.

In the end scene, it’s Max and Lucas who save the day. Lucas leaves the rival band to help Lemonade Mouth out, Max is the first person in the crowd to start singing.

Steddie is established already. Ronance is the focus. Any of the Wen/Olivia scenes will be Ronance instead because I said so. Rumors circulate that Eddie and Robin are dating because Steddie keeps quiet and Robin isn’t out and the whole band finds it hilarious.

#lemonade mouth ronance #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #lemonade mouth #this movie is bomb #best dcom actually #that’s just objective fact

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conradscrime · 9 months

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The Bath School Disaster, 1927

August 13, 2023

The village of Bath was located just a short distance from the city of Lansing, Michigan. In 1922, the town voted for a school district, which also would lead to an increase in property taxes for the town to be able to afford the new school. The creation of the school was extremely controversial in the town.

When the school had opened there was 236 children that attended, all from grade one to grade twelve.

Andrew Kehoe was born in Tecumseh, Michigan on February 1, 1872. After graduating high school, Andrew studied electrical engineering at Michigan State College and worked as an electrician in Missouri for years.

During his time working as an electrician, Andrew had sustained a head injury from a fall and it was reported that he supposedly had been in a coma for several weeks after. He eventually healed somewhat and moved back to Michigan to live on his father's farm.

After Andrew's mother died his father married a woman who was younger than him, Frances Wilder, and the two had a daughter together.

On September 17, 1911, Frances had tried to light the family's oil stove, when it suddenly exploded and set her on fire. Andrew through a bucket of water on her but the fire being oil-based, it ended up spreading the flames quicker. Frances died the next day due to her injuries. Later on there was a rumour that Andrew had caused the stove explosion purposely.

The following year in 1912, Andrew married a woman named Nellie Price and a few years later they moved to a farm outside of Bath. Andrew was known by his neighbours as always doing favours and volunteering to help others. However, Andrew also had an impatient side, even killing a neighbour's dog who had annoyed him with it's barking. Andrew also beat one of his horses to death when it did not perform what he wanted it to do.

In 1924, Andrew was elected as a trustee on the school board and had even been the treasurer for a year. He argued a lot for lower taxes and was known to be difficult to work with, often voting against the board. He would claim he paid too much in taxes and tried to get the value of his property reduced so he would pay less.

In 1922, the school tax was $12.26 for every $1000 valuation of a property -- in 1923 the school board raised this to $18.80 per $1000, in 1926 it was $19.80.

In 1926, Andrew's tax liability was $198.00 and he found out that the family member who held the mortgage on his property was starting foreclosure proceedings. It was later on said from a local sheriff who had served the notice to Andrew, he had muttered, "If it hadn't been for that $300 school tax I might have paid off this mortgage."

In 1925, Andrew was appointed as temporary town clerk, but was defeated the following year -- this public rejection made him angry.

One of Andrew's neighbours noticed he had stopped working on his farm in 1926 and had believed he was possibly planning to end his own life. Andrew had given this neighbour one of his horses in April 1927, but the neighbour returned it. Andrew had also cut all his wire fences, seemingly preparing to destroy his farm. He also put lumber and materials in a tool shed and later destroyed it with a bomb.

At the time the bombing happened, Nellie, Andrew's wife had symptoms quite similar to tuberculosis. She often was in the hospital, which could have added to the family debt. Andrew had stopped making mortgage and insurance payments months before.

It is believed that Andrew had begun his plan of bombing the school after being defeated as towns clerk in 1926. During that summer he had access to the school building. He had bought pyrotol, an explosive as well as dynamite. Both of these were frequent things farmers used so it did not seem odd he would be purchasing them.

Neighbours even called him "the dynamite farmer" because they would often hear the sounds of explosions on his property. After the bombing occurred police found that dynamite had been stolen from a bridge construction site, Andrew was suspected as having stolen it.

Andrew spent a considerable amount of time buying explosives, going in between his house and the school with them. On May 16, 1927, Nellie was discharged from the hospital and it was in between this day and the day of the bombings, May 18, that her husband Andrew murdered her.

Andrew put her body in a wheelbarrow behind the chicken coop where it was later found very charred. Around the wheelbarrow he had placed silverware and a metal cash box that banknotes could be seen in it. Andrew had wired homemade pyrotol firebombs in his home and the farm's buildings.

Around 8:45 am on May 18, 1927 the bombs exploded in Andrew's house and farm buildings. Neighbours noticed the fire and volunteers rushed over. As people were going over to the property to help, Andrew drove off in his truck, stopping to tell them they better head over to the school.

Classes began at the school at 8:30 am, and Andrew had made sure the bombs would begin going off at 8:45 am. Rescuers heading over to Andrew's farm heard the school explosion and turned back. Many people were killed initially, 38 of them and most were children.

The scene was chaos, with many people rushing to help remove debris to look for wounded children. Many witnessed mother's moving extremely heavy bricks on their own, frantically searching for their babies.

One mother, Mrs. Hart, was sitting on a bank near the school and had two little dead girls on either side of her. She was holding a little boy named Percy, and right then Andrew blew his car up on the street, wounding little Percy, Mrs. Hart's oldest child. He later died in the hospital.

The north wing of the school collapsed, where the roof was on the ground and there was about 5-6 children under the roof in a pile. One man even volunteered to grab some heavy rope to be able to pull the roof off of the children. The man later stated on his way back to his farm for rope he saw Andrew drive by him and he waved and had the biggest grin on his face.

Andrew drove up to the school about 30 minutes after the first explosion. Andrew got out of his truck and detonated the explosives he had stored in there, killing himself, 3 other men and one second grader named Cleo Clayton who had wandered out of the school building in the initial explosion.

The explosion from Andrew's truck spread debris over a big area, and many cars parked in the area had damage, including several roofs catching on fire.

During the search for more survivors and victims, it was found that 500 more pounds of dynamite that had not been detonated was in the south wing of the school. It is believed that the initial explosion caused a short circuit in the second bombs, preventing them from going off.

Police searched Andrew's farm, looking for Nellie and eventually found her charred remains the following day. All of the farm buildings had been destroyed and two of Andrew's horses had been burned to death. Their legs had been tied together with wire, preventing them from being able to escape.

There was a wooden sign wired to the farm's fence that Andrew had stenciled "Criminals are made, not born."

The Red Cross had received many donations that were sent in to pay for medical expenses for the survivors and burial costs of those who did not make it.

Andrew's body was claimed by his sister and was buried in an unmarked grave in the pauper's section of Mount Rest Cemetery in St. Johns, Michigan. Nellie's family buried her in a Landing cemetery under her maiden name.

It was no question that Andrew Kehoe was the perpetrator of the bombings, however at the coroner's inquest the jury needed to determine whether the school board or employees were guilty of criminal negligence. After more than a week, the jury exonerated the school board and employees. This was determined as Andrew had hidden his plan quite well from everyone around him.

It was determined that Andrew murdered superintendent Huyck, as he had asked him to come over by his truck right before it exploded. Andrew had also been determined to have acted alone, and murdered 43 people in total, including his wife Nellie. Andrew's own suicide was considered the 44th causality.

On August 22, 1927, 3 months after the bombing, Beatrice Gibbs, a 4th grader at the time of the bombing died following a hip surgery. Her death was considered the 45th death attributed to the Bath School disaster. This makes it the deadliest attack to ever occur in an American school.

Richard Fritz was injured in the explosion and died almost a year later from myocarditis at 8 years old. His older sister, Marjorie, had died in the explosion. Richard is not listed as one of the victims, however his death is thought to be directly caused by an infection from his injuries.

School resumed on September 5, 1927 and was held in the community hall, town hall and two retail buildings for the year. Many donations were given to help rebuild, and the damaged portion of the school was demolished, with a new wing being built. The new school, James Couzens Agricultural School was dedicated on August 18, 1928.

In 1975, the building was demolished and was then rebuilt as the James Couzens Memorial Park, dedicated to the victims. In 1991, a Michigan State Historical Marker was installed. In 2002, a bronze plaque with the names of those killed was placed near the entrance.

On May 1, 2022, weeks away from the disaster's 95th anniversary, Irene Dunham who was the last Bath School student from the time of the bombing died at the age of 114.

The Bath School disaster is regarded to some as an act of terrorism. Medical experts wrote it was "the largest pediatric terrorist disaster in U.S. history."

#true crime #crime #unsolved mysteries #unsolved #murder #homicide #unsolved case #solved #mystery #school

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delicatebluebirdruins · 4 months

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the creeping shadow first read

books 1&2, book 3

one day i will have a solid grasp on what to name these... not this day (this was my first book of 2024 i was reading it during Jooles Hootenany and was like two chapters? away from the end? i have no idea wish i made a note oh well)

this book is an ex library from somewhere called Snodland. SNODLAND. i just want to laugh.

5 Emma Marchment ghost hunting with mirrors which is actually really fun

13 Wan Tina, Medicore Ted and Jumpy Dave. Hello [temporary] team mates 14 "concerned about supervisors that they never acted like proper teams" it must be very hard to rely on people to keep you alive but you also have to rely on adults most of the time (what happened with Lucy in her home town being an extreme case of the unique hardships that brings)

21 "hey there's nothing disgusting about random body parts" lmao skull

33 Dave is the only one who has rights. (and he and Lucy being little shits is so funny)

39 the skull had a point about the flower pot

43 "the slim and elegant figure of Holly Munro standing picturesquely beside him [Lockwood]" detect a little jealous and bit of yearning for Lockwood

49 "[Lockwood] and that girl were still on a high when they came in. Quite exhilarated. Laughing and giggling together." a little hurt and jealousy electric boogaloo

53 Skull and Lucy in a flatshare situation (i need Lockwood's pov)

58 the skull feels bad for Lucy

60 the shock of seeing Lockwood at her door is great. His smile "it was warm but somewhat hesitant, as if it hadn't been recently used. It was the smile I'd hazily imagined a hundred times; only now it was real, solid, meant just for me" this entire bit so much is said but not outright you know?

her spiel about his chosen tie and her own thoughts about her reaction also the laundry bag and Lockwood holding it is so i would rather die (hilarious to think about this scene happening in the show just in general but imagine if we got this scene AND they kept the towel scene in the show)

66 "Making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you" I just like all the quotes about tea

70 first off I want to know what was said when Lockwood "growing angry with me at last" and just laugh at Lucy imagining him going down on bended knee asking her to return to the company

82 "what could it be?... not a date surely?- the boy's got eyes" the skull my love

92 this is awkward

96 just the entire bit about crackers is so funny

100 Penelope is a locklyle shipper so one of us (also this would be so great in the show as it would be following the "you feel safe with him"

103 "I didn't feel bad about the fib though. I'd been lied to as well"

104 the Rotwell mascot is called Roger? also the posters are great

108 the heck? the mummified head Lucy finds at the start of the book is not destroyed?

111 I love this chat with Holly but what was she going to ask "I was going to ask you about -whether you found- oh good, and here are the boys too" like come on what was it?

121 KIPPS!

146 talking about the skull is so funny

152 snapshots of the past

157 compliments "I couldn't help smiling back at him. Compliments from Lockwood were always nice to hear"

163 creepy "the sound of teeth clacking together" this is horrible

173 Locklyle "thank goodness for you Lucy... I can always rely on you"

176 Lockwoood is more reckless and George upset about it and Lucy

182 Uh oh spaghettios Lucy's flat has been broken into

188 Harold might have done it?

195 love this bit "strange how close the darkness is, even when things seem brightest. Even in the glare of a summer noon, when the pavement bakes and the iron fences are hot to the touch, the shadows are still with us"

203 Harold is dead gods

215 Lockwood seeing Lucy appear at her doorstep is also something i want to see his pov on

221 talking about Holly staying over and Lucy feeling a little hurt by it

234 lmao Lockwood and George's superior nursing skills. and the second client of the day.

241 "creeping shadow" roll credits

248 nice relaxing moment in the garden

261 i love the spirit capes 269 I love disguises

281 the skull is so funny

283 "I've missed you so much Lucy" Lockwood said that and I yell and rereading it now my only though is he blurted that out and barreled on not letting Lucy respond (she wanted to)

290 Mr Johnson? hello 292 Hi Adelaide (i really like that name)

301 capes and Lockwood putting one on Lucy first.

315 Information on Rotwell

323 "there is a battle to be won - not simply against ghost, but against death itself" hm interesting

331 Castle! can't wait

342 punch the boy also considered by Lockwood

354 At last the goggles are being used

363 should have locked Reverend Skinner in his rooms

370 aw Lucy just happy to be with Lockwood

379 Rotwell is an ass

389 poor lady and this would be horrifying to see on screen

395 hi buddy 397 them holding hands is so cute

(the Iron Chain) 407 technically you guys walked into the Black Library at Fittes.

414 helpful Lockwood "the hole's between those two black posts"

417 "it was the desisive action. once through, we could never take it back." uh oh

426 Lockwood's orders is great 435 oh my god 437 holy shit

442 the skull remains a little shit 446 guys that was a little close

450 good job ghosts avoiding Guppy and just the Locklyle of it all

459 I am nervous

464 oh god Lucy 469 SKULL! "his grin, which gleamed sardonically even in the swirling dusk and was somehow most familiar"

474 GO ON GEORGE "he's like a whirling dervish" 477 HUGS between Lucy and Holly

481 saving Kipps and the imagery is cool

484 kick Rotwell's ass!

(practically thinking how they would adapt this scene in the show this has a lot of working parts more than the Winkman fight because there is more people, practical affects, special affects and having it in a probable 8 episode season would not do it justice)

489 lmao Lucy and Lockwood deciding to give Georgie the last biscuit/ barrel

499 Lucy understands now

501 thanks Mr Skinner 504 Barnes asking them to be safe aw

511 intense eye contact

518 Sir Rupert and Penelope is in their kitchen

520 Yikes 528 the skulls parting words had a "I beg your pardon" from me.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george cubbins #holly munro #quill kipps #locklyle #sorry to keep bringing up the show I think it worked well as a adaptation and I want to see these scenes with Cam and Ruby and the others #and I am sad i missed some interviews with Joe Cornish and Mr Stroud in the past #ellie reads

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disco-tea · 2 years

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for au hellcheer + flower/tattoo shop

Nobody expected Eddie “the freak” Munson, who supposedly headed a “devil-worshipping cult” in high school, to take over the local flower shop after he finally graduated.

It had come as a shock to him too, if he were being honest. It was supposed to be a temporary job, just a few paychecks to help them get by while he and Wayne went through a rough patch. It all started because he’d helped the elderly owner, once. She’d been unloading bags of potting soil and he’d walked out of the tattoo shop next door, now brandishing a new “86” inked on his lower ribs. He’d stepped outside just in time to see some jerk knock over the old woman’s moving cart, not even bothering to help her clean it up.

Despite what most of the student body at Hawkins High thought, Eddie was not, in fact, a cold-blooded monster. He’d gone over to help her pick them up, offering a middle finger and a few choice words directed at the back of the offender’s head as he disappeared around the corner. So he’d helped the old woman clean up and carry the soil inside, chatting with her and “sparing her achy old knees,” as she’d put it. Before it was over, she was giving him a card and offering him a job, saying she could use someone young and strong around her dusty old shop. Eddie had declined at first, saying it wasn’t exactly his style or expertise. He took the card anyway.

Three days later he was calling the number, because Wayne got laid off at the factory and the upcoming electric bill didn’t care if it looked a little odd for a metalhead punk with skull rings to be working at a flower shop. It was supposed to be temporary, but two weeks turned to four, and four to two months. Two months to a year.

The owner, who he now knew as Delores, sat him down one day to “talk.” Eddie had honestly expected to be fired or laid off, to be told that they’d finally had enough of his overbearing personality or too-loud music he played when he pulled into work each morning. What he hadn’t expected was for Delores to tell him she was planning to retire, and having no children of her own, she wanted to leave the shop to him.

Eddie had been floored, his brain already half in a panic, because the closest he’d ever come to having any experience with any sort of “business” was selling weed and sometimes straight up oregano to fellow students out behind the high school. And yet he found his lips moving and his mouth agreeing without his brain’s full consent. Because the truth was, he liked his job. He liked being able to tell stories and say things that spoke volumes with just a handful of flowers and a ribbon. And despite looking…the way he looked, he liked pretty things. He liked the soft petals under his string-calloused fingertips and the gentle floral scent that filled the air around the shop. He liked the way the customer’s faces often lit up and the way they couldn’t help but press their noses to the bouquets as they walked out. (And if he sold a few special potted plants on the side, Delores had always turned a blind eye.)

So that was how Eddie, the town freak, became Eddie, the town freak and florist.

And as if that in itself hadn’t been a strange enough turn of events, it got even stranger when the fledging tattoo shop next door came into new ownership, and the word was that it was Chrissy Cunningham, the former queen of Hawkins High.

Eddie hadn’t believed it at first, because it was Chrissy freaking Cunningham, the head cheerleader with the perfect pristine white sneakers and perfectly pressed cheer uniform (that he did NOT pay attention to, obviously) and the brilliant megawatt smile and the white picket fence life laid out before her. It was Chrissy Cunningham, the girl he’d had the most embarrassingly massive crush on in middle school. Sweet and innocent Chrissy Cunningham who never bought drugs or drank at parties and always did the most perfect somersaults (or at least he thought so, anyway).

There was just no way in hell that Chrissy Cunningham owed a tattoo shop.

And yet, as that bit of impossible information churned about in Eddie’s brain for the rest of the day, he couldn’t help but think about the last year of high school. He’d been preoccupied with trying to slay the beast that was algebra, but there’d been…talk. Gossip. Little bits of information he couldn’t help but overhear and didn’t exactly go out of his way to ignore, particularly since it had involved Chrissy.

Word was that she’d broken it off with her boyfriend, that she’d pushed back when her parents wanted her to go to some high-end college alongside Jason Carver, the basketball star and Chrissy’s presumed future husband. By the time graduation rolled around, Eddie had sworn he’d even heard someone say her parents had gone as far as to kick her out over the whole ordeal.

Even so, Eddie still had a hard time taking any of this at face value. They were just rumors, ones he wouldn’t believe until he saw the owner for himself.

He didn’t have to wait long, though, because the next day as he was opening up shop, one of his newer employees (and current neighbor) Max, had given him a heads up and told him the new owner had just pulled onto the curb.

Eddie nearly tripped over himself trying to get from the table where he’d been arranging displays to the window across the room. Max just rolled her eyes and put her headphones back on, tuning him out as she went back to sweeping.

He saw a girl get out of the car and sure enough there she stood; Chrissy with her ponytail of strawberry blonde hair and her brilliant smile and a sleeve of floral tattoos along her arm that had most certainly not been there senior year. Eddie’s jaw dropped and so did the vase in his hands, shattering as it hit the floor.

Eddie was pretty sure Max was yelling at him (her literal boss) for making a mess, but he was having a hard time focusing on it. His entire worldview had just been rocked. The earth had shifted on its axis. He felt like he was losing his mind.

Chrissy Cunningham owned a tattoo shop right next door to him.

Eddie wasn’t sure of anything anymore, but there was one thing he did know; he absolutely, without a doubt, needed to get more tattoos.

AU prompts

#hi I’m incapable of brevity #stranger things #hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #my fanfic

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rothjuje · 1 year

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I didn’t realize that I had SAD until I drove by Benson’s last week and saw that they had put their flavor board back up. I immediately got goosebumps and honestly, I started to cry a little. A piece of me sprung back to life.

Between Benson’s reopening, longer days, all the sunshine, and little plant babies my happy chemicals are exploding. I feel like myself again. And it feels sooo good.

I can’t believe spring is springing. No one told me I would see flowers in March!

Pic 5 is the last bit of snow on our property. Hallelujah. Pic 6 is the hiking trail I started today. I’d been putting it off because I was afraid of the kids injuring themselves while I was digging and raking it out, but it turns out that it’s gradual enough that it’s not too steep and also they have zero interest in helping me clear a path, they were happy to run around the yard and I got a fair amount done. I discovered an electric fence (for dogs) I didn’t know we had, interesting. I also found a bottle of marbles and acorns, cute. And I found lots and lots of decomposing branches and logs. It will be a little more work than I had planned to get a functional trail going but once it’s done it will be great. I think I can get 3-4 zigzags up the hill, should be about 10 minutes up and 10 minutes back down which isn’t a bad walk for kids. I’m going to do a fairy tree at the top, and maybe a kids’ picnic table and balance beam since they’re not getting much use on our deck, then we’ll have more room for trikes and scooters. I can pack snacks or a picnic lunch and it will be a nice little serotonin-infused excursion.

I desperately want chickens. I wonder if I can build a temporary coop from our old wood and inspire Justin (since he’s more worried about the cost). I just feel like our family isn’t complete without them, I hate that we had to leave our girls when we moved. I feel like it will be the ultimate full-circle moment to have some ladies clucking around the yard again. I can’t wait.

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galtx · 10 months

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GALTx eNews: Summer Should Be About Sunshine!

Summer arrived like a blast furnace and everything from the temperatures to the cost of dog food is going up like crazy... everything that is except for our bank account balances. Foster homes continue to be one of our tightest resources. To keep doing what we do, we rely on our boarding facility, but it can be expensive. We need your help right now to stay ahead of the summer bills. Here are some of the expenses currently depleting our reserves:

With the rising temperatures, we are consuming more electricity to keep the hounds in boarding comfortable. Texas recently recorded the highest ever daily demand for electricity which is pushing up the rates, both in the short term and long term. We are anticipating a weather related surcharge on our upcoming bills and bracing for it.

Our water bill is also up considerably. We suspect we might have a leak, but have yet to find it. While we understand the water company might work with us on a high bill related to a leak, we cannot count on them to do so indefinitely. We need to find and fix the problem, which will likely require an expensive plumber.

The southwest exercise yard needs to have new sod installed and to have the temporary fencing added to keep the hounds safe.

We have added much needed shade covers to the dog runs and need to repair some of the plexiglass dog doors that have cracked. As with any property, everything needs to be maintained and repaired from time to time, especially with the heavy use of multiple dogs.

The clothes washer used to clean all the bath towels and rags is broken and so old that it likely cannot be repaired. We anticipate that it will cost about $750, with delivery and installation, to replace it.

The hounds' Kuranda dog bed covers get a lot of use and we needed to replace 25 of them at a cost of about $32 each. This expenses alone came out to a staggering $800.

We also need more supplies for the hounds such as the calming tabs, Benebones, and raw food toppers that can be purchased for us directly from our Amazon wish list.

Even the price of sending our weekly emails to keep everyone up to date and let you know of our needs is rising by 16% starting on July 1st. It seems unending and we hate to keep asking, but please consider giving a little or a lot to get us through the summer crunch. You can give on our website, on Facebook, or on Instagram. Thank you!

Click To Give

6/29/23

#greyhounds #snootblr #dogblr #dogs #greyhound #greyblr #sighthounds #galtx enews #pets #greyhound adoption #Summer Sunshine #Kennel #Boarding Facilities #Expenses

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arvensimp · 1 year

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The Scarlet Wallpaper

a Lakehouseshipping parody of The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Turo takes Sada off to the stay in a lighthouse when she seems unwell after Arven is born

CW: postpartum illnesses including depression, anxiety, and psychosis

Please note that this is a (not particularly humorous) parody of a work that is in the public domain. I am not claiming any of Perkins Gilman's phenomenal wordsmithing as my own, and I highly recommend reading the original work (it is hyperlinked above)! I am not writing this for any sort of profit. this is just parody inspired by a really good work that hits close to home.

It is very seldom that mere researchers like Turo and I secure enough additional funding to cover housing for the summers, much less on the coast.

A historical lighthouse, still in use! I could say a calm reprieve or hope in a storm, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.

Else, why should it be let so easily? And why have it stand so long untenanted? And to be given to scientists, no less?

Turo laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.

Turo is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with fantasy, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures. I could guess he doesn’t even like the term “ghost pokemon,” believing that science could better explain the phenomena. This is not to say that I am not also a woman with a firm root in science, but I am not so blinded by electricity and time's unending march forward that I cannot hope to learn from stories of the past. Things unexplained then may have solutions now. Some do not. Many do not.

Turo and I are professors both, and perhaps—(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)—perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster.

You see, he does not believe I am sick!

And what can one do?

If a professor of high standing, and one’s own husband and research partner, assures friends and colleagues that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency towards the fantastical perhaps—what is one to do?

My close friend Jacq is also a professor, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.

So I take vitamins and minerals or pokeblocks and poffins—whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden by him to “work” until I am well again.

Personally, I disagree with the idea.

Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good. Proper research is a thrill in and of itself which would rouse me back to my senses and life.

But what is one to do?

I did read and work, writing for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.

I sometimes imagine that in my condition if I had less opposition and more interaction and stimulus (at the very least interaction!)—but Turo says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.

So I will let it alone and talk about the lighthouse.

The most singular and spectacular location! Apart from the labs in the crater, of course. It is quite alone, standing well high on the road, quite a ways from Los Platos but still nicely on Poco Path. In some ways it makes me think of Hoenn, for there are hedges and fences and a gate that locks, and then so much water, sprawling and sparkling and clear, far as the eye can see!

There is a delicious bit of greenery nearby too! While it cannot compare with other areas in our dear Paldea, it is still rather quaint. It is large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.

There was once a dock down below towards the shore, too, on the sandy beach, though it has more or less crumbled into the sea. In a few years the water will have eroded the last traces of its existence.

There was some economic trouble with shipping, I believe, something about the cost of having to heave freight up the hill; anyhow, the dock has been empty for years. Hence the lighthouse has been left empty, only turned on and off by a timer.

That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid; but I don’t care—there is something about the lighthouse—I can feel it.

I even said so to Turo one moonlit evening, but he said what I felt was just the humidity, and shut the window.

I get unreasonably angry with Turo sometimes. I’m sure I never used to be so...sensitive. I think it is due to this "nervous condition."

But Turo says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control myself,—before him, at least,—and that makes me very tired. He makes me tired.

I don’t like our room a single iota. I wanted one downstairs that opened onto the fence overlooking the water and had sprawling ivy all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but Turo would not hear of it.

He said there was only one window and not room for our Nidoking sized bed.

He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction or instruction of some sort.

I have a scheduled prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.

He said we came here solely on my account and on behalf of the generosity of our funding sources, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your strength, my treasure,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the room at the top of the lighthouse.

It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was likely a landing first, then perhaps a pokemon nursery, and then maybe a pokemon gym. I should judge; for the windows are barred for little children and creatures, and there are rings and things in the walls.

The paint and paper look as if a childrens’ school had used it. It is stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.

One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin. I did not pay much attention in my art classes, but I know this much.

It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate, and provoke study, and when you follow the lame, uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard-of contradictions.

The color is repellant, almost revolting; a smouldering, rusting scarlet, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.

It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a grimy muddy tint in others.

No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long.

There comes Turo, and I must put this away,—he hates to have me write a word.

We have been here two weeks, and I haven’t felt like writing before, since that first day.

I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious bedroom, and there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of strength.

Turo is away all day, and even some nights when his research calls him.

I wish I could answer my own research! Our research!

But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.

Turo does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him.

Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do my duty in any way!

I meant to be a partner to Turo, a rival, a rest and comfort, and here I am a comparative burden already!

Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am able—to dress and brush my teeth, and eat food.

It is fortunate Clavell is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby!

And yet I cannot be with him, it makes me so nervous.

I suppose Turo never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about this wallpaper!

At first he meant to repaper the room, but afterwards he said that I was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.

He said that after the wallpaper was changed it would be the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at the head of the stairs, and so on.

“You know the place is doing you good,” he said, “and really, querida, I don’t care to renovate the house just for a three months’ rental.”

“Then do let us go downstairs,” I said, “there are nicer rooms there. Plus the water is so close.”

Then he took me in his arms and called me a sweet little fuecoco, and said he would go down to the cellar if I wished, and have it whitewashed into the bargain.

But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things.

It is as airy and comfortable a room as any one need wish, and, of course, I would not be so unreasonable as to make him go so far just for a whim.

I’m really getting quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid paper.

Out of one window I can see the path to Los Platos, those mysterious deep-shaded arbors, the riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees.

Out of another I get a lovely view of the ocean and the cliff side that dips down almost dangerously steeply. There is a beautiful shaded lane that runs down there from the house. I always think I see people and pokemon walking in these numerous paths and arbors, but Turo has cautioned me not to give way to imagination in the least. He says that with my prowess and habit of story-making a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the tendency. So I grit my teeth and try.

I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to go to the lab for a little while it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.

But I find I get pretty tired when I think too hard on it.

It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship about my research. When I get really well Turo says we will ask Professors Kukui and Burnett over for a long visit; but he says he would as soon put a Electrode in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating people about now.

I wish I could get well faster.

But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it knew what a vicious influence it had!

There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside-down. Like a red Mimikyu with its head nearly torn asunder.

I get positively furious with the impropriety of it and the unendingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breadths didn’t match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the other. Skittering and jittering about, like googly eyes in a blender.

I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, at least. An inanimate thing that is truly inanimate and not a Pokemon in disguise. And we all know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture than most children could find in a pokemart filled with dolls and toys.

I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big old vargueño used to have, and there was one accompanying chair that always seemed like a strong friend.

I used to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I could always hop into that chair and be safe.

The furniture and trappings of this room are no worse than inharmonious, however, for we had to bring it all from the winding downstairs. I suppose when this was used as a gymnasium area they had to take the Pokemon nursery things out, and no wonder! I never saw such ravages as the pokemon have made here.

The wallpaper, as I said before, is torn off in spots, and it sticks closer than a Zweilous—they must have had perseverance as well as hatred.

Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the wooden plank itself is dug out here and there, and this great heavy bed, which is all we found in the room, looks as if it had been through the Kalosian war.

But I don’t mind any of that a bit—only the paper.

There comes Clavell. Such a dear man as he is, and so careful of me! I must not let him find me writing.

He is a perfect, and enthusiastic caregiver and hopes only for the best for me. I verily believe he thinks it is the writing which made me sick!

But I can write when he is out, and see him a long way off from these windows.

There is one that commands the road, a lovely, sunny, winding road, and one that just looks off over the country. A lovely country, too, full of great green velvet with dipping grassy knolls and even a strange looking lock off in the distance...

This wallpaper has a kind of sub-pattern in a different shade of scarlet, a particularly irritating one, for you can only see it in certain lights, and not clearly even then.

But in the places where it isn’t faded, and where the sun is just so, I can see a strange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to skulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front design.

There’s Clavell on the stairs!

Well, All Legends' Day has come and gone! The guests have left and I am tired out. Turo thought it might do me good to see a little company, so we just had Geeta, Hassel, and a few others from the board down for a week.

Of course I didn’t do a thing. Turo sees to everything now.

But it tired me all the same.

Turo says if I don’t pick up faster he shall send me to Professor Birch in the New Year; he says the air in Verdanturf might do me well.

But I don’t want to go to Hoenn at all. I secretly imagine perhaps my Turo only wants to see what kind of electrical phenomena might be happening down the road in Mauville! What kind of futuristic gadgets he might ogle after!

Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.

I don’t feel as if it was worthwhile to turn my hand over for anything, and I’m getting dreadfully fretful and querulous, not to mention agitated.

Perhaps worst of all, I am loath to admit, I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.

Of course I don’t when Turo is here, or anybody else, but when I am alone.

And I am alone a good deal just now. Turo is kept in lab very often by serious cases, and Clavell is good and lets me alone when I want him to.

So I walk a little along Poco Path or down that lovely hill to the water, sit on the sand under the cliff, and lie down up here a good deal.

I’m getting really fond of the room in spite of the wallpaper. Perhaps because of the wallpaper.

It lingers in my mind so!

I lie here on this great immovable bed—it is nailed down, I believe—and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as acrobatics, I assure you. I start, we’ll say, at the bottom, down in the corner over there where it has not been touched, and I determine for the thousandth time that I will follow that pointless pattern to some sort of a conclusion.

I know little of the principles of design, but I know this thing was not arranged on any laws of repetition, or alternation, or evolution, or mega evolution, or terastalizing anything else that I ever heard of.

It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not otherwise.

Looked at in one way, each breadth stands alone, the bloated curves and flourishes—a kind of “debauched Kalosienne”—go waddling up and down in isolated columns of fatuity.

But, on the other hand, they connect diagonally, and the sprawling outlines run off in great slanting waves of optic horror, like a lot of wallowing dragalge in full chase.

The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it seems so, and I exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the order of its going in that direction.

They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze, and that adds wonderfully to the confusion.

There is one end of the room where it is almost intact, and there, when the cross-lights fade and the low sun shines directly upon it, I can almost fancy evolution after all,—the interminable grotesques seem to form around a common centre and rush off in headlong plunges of equal distraction, growing, becoming bigger, better, stronger, more powerful.

It exhausts me to follow it. I will take a nap, I guess.

I don’t know why I should write this.

I don’t want to.

I don’t feel able.

And I know Turo would think it absurd. But I must say what I feel and think in some way—it is such a relief!

But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.

Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and spend more and more of each day hibernating or horizontal.

Turo says I musn’t lose my strength, and has me take feebas-liver oil and lots of potions and things, to say nothing of breads and wine and rare meat.

Dear Turo! He loves me so much, and hates to have me sick. I tried to have a real, earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Kukui and Burnett.

But he said I wasn’t able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there; and I did not make a very good case for myself, for I was crying before I had finished.

It is getting to be a great effort for me to think rationally. Just this nervous weakness, I suppose.

And dearest Turo gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read his research notes to me till it tired my head.

It was the most infuriating thing! I want nothing more than to be back in lab! To think! To work! To feel well enough to think and work and be in lab and research! To have his research, our research, read to me and exhaust me to the point that I couldn't concentrate? It brought me to tears. I tried my best to hide them, but nothing gets past Turo.

He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well. He will not make the mistake again to read to me in such a manner.

He says only I can help myself out of my illness, that I must use my will, intelligence, and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me.

There’s one comfort: Arven is well and happy, and does not have to occupy this room with the horrid wallpaper.

If we had not used it that blessed child would have! What a fortunate escape! Why, I wouldn’t have a child of mine, an impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.

I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that Turo kept me here after all. I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see.

Of course I never mention it to them any more,—I am too wise,—but I keep watch of it all the same.

There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.

Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.

It is always the same shape, only very numerous.

And it is like a pokemon. A dragon, a massive dragon stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don’t like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish Turo would take me away from here!

It is so hard to talk with Turo about my case, because he is so smart, and because he loves me so.

But I tried it last night.

It was moonlight. The moon shines in all around, just as the sun does.

I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window or another.

Turo was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wallpaper till I felt creepy.

The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if it wanted to get out.

I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper did move, and when I came back Turo was awake.

“What is it, my treasure?” he said sleepily. “Don’t go walking about like that—you might hurt yourself.”

I thought it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was not gaining here, and that I wished we would leave already.

“Why, querida!” said he, “our lease will be up in three weeks, and I can’t see how to leave before.

“The repairs are not done at home, and we cannot possibly have you back in the lab now. Of course if you were in any danger I could and would, but you really are better, cariña, whether you can see it or not. I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your appetite is better. I feel really much easier about you.”

“I don’t weigh a bit more,” said I, “nor as much; and my appetite may be better in the evening, when you are here, but it is worse in the morning when you are away.”

“Bless her little heart!” said he with a big hug; “she shall be as sick as she pleases! But now let’s improve the shining hours by going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning!”

“And you won’t go away?” I asked, admittedly petulantly.

“Why, how can I, my treasure? It is only three weeks more and then we will take a nice little trip of a few days while Clavell helps with getting the house ready. Really, cariña, you are better!”

“Better in body perhaps”—I began, and stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful look that I could not say another word.

“My treasure,” said he, “I beg of you, for my sake and for Arven’s sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not trust me when I tell you so?”

So of course I said no more on that, and we went to sleep before long. He thought I was asleep first, but I wasn’t,—I lay there for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately.

On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of sequence, a defiance of law, that is a constant irritant to an intelligent mind.

The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.

You think you have mastered it, but just as you get well under way in following, it turns a back somersault and there you are. It double slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you. It is like a bad dream sent by a Hypno.

The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding me of an ancient Pokemon from an old book...a brute bonnet. Like a fungus with shades of moss. If you can imagine that in joints, an interminable string of scarlet brute bonnets, budding and sprouting in endless convolutions,—why, that is something like it.

That is, sometimes! Other times maybe more like a paras. Or a parasect.

Sometimes.

There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes.

When the sun shoots in through the east window—I always watch for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it.

That is why I watch it always.

By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is a moon—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper.

At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I mean, and the pokemon behind it is as plain as can be.

I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was that showed behind,—that dim sub-pattern,—but now I am quite sure it is a pokemon. Maybe two, for sometimes I see it moving as if bipedally, other times as if on all fours.

By daylight it is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps it so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour, too.

I lie down ever so much now. Turo says it is good for me, and to sleep all I can.

Indeed, he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour after each meal.

It is a very bad habit, I am convinced, for, you see, I don’t sleep.

And that cultivates deceit, for I don’t tell them I’m awake,—oh, no!

The fact is, I am getting a little upset with Turo.

He seems very queer sometimes, and even Clavell has an inexplicable look.

It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis, that perhaps it is the paper!

I have watched Turo when he did not know I was looking, and come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve caught him several times looking at the paper! And Clavell too. I caught Clavell with his hand on it once.

He didn’t know I was in the room, and when I asked him in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible, what he was doing with the paper, he turned around as if he had been caught stealing, and looked quite stern—asked me why I should surprise him so!

Then he said that the paper seemed to stain everything it touched, that he had found scarlet splotches on all my clothes and Turo’s, and he wished we would be more careful!

Did not that sound innocent? But I know he was studying that pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself!

Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was.

Turo is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wallpaper.

I brushed it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was because of the wallpaper—he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away.

I don’t want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough.

I’m feeling ever so much better! I don’t sleep much at night, for it is so interesting to watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in the daytime.

In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.

There are always new shoots on the brute bonnets, and new shades of scarlet all over them. I cannot keep count of it, though I have tried conscientiously.

It is the strangest scarlet, that wallpaper! It makes me think of all the scarlet things I ever saw—not beautiful ones like tulips, but rotting, foul, bad scarlet things.

But there is something else about that paper—the smell! I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, making the air stagnant and cloyingly humid, and since the windows must stay closed, the smell is here.

It creeps all over the house.

I find it hovering downstairs, skulking in the landing, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the doorways.

It gets into my hair. I've even painstakingly brushed and washed it to try and get it out, to no success.

If I turn my head suddenly, surprise! There is that smell!

Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like.

It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met.

In this damp weather it is awful. I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.

It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house—to reach the smell.

But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of the paper! A scarlet smell.

There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even splotch, as if it had been rubbed over and over.

I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for. Round and round and round—round and round and round—it makes me dizzy!

I really have discovered something at last.

Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have finally found out.

The front pattern does move—and no wonder! The Pokemon behind shakes it!

Sometimes I think there are a great many Pokemon behind, and sometimes only one, and it crawls around fast, and its crawling shakes it all over.

Then in the very bright spots it keeps still, and in the very shady spots it just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.

And it is all the time trying to climb through or bend them apart. But nobody could climb through that pattern—it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads.

They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside-down, and makes their eyes white!

If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so bad.

I think that pokemon gets out in the daytime!

And I’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen it!

I can see it out of every one of my windows!

It is the same pokemon, I know, for it is always creeping, and most Pokemon that big do not creep by daylight.

I see it on Poco Path, creeping up and down. I see it going up and down the cliff road leading to the sandy shore, creeping through the nearby cave network.

I see it on that long road with the grassy knolls, creeping along, and when an errant person comes it crawls vertically up the cliff face!

I don’t blame it a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight!

I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I can’t do it at night, for I know Turo would suspect something at once.

And Turo is so queer now, that I don’t want to irritate him. I wish he would take another room! Besides, I don’t want anybody to get that pokemon out at night but myself. My sweet scarlet dragon.

I often wonder if I could see it out of all the windows at once.

But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of one at one time.

And though I always see it, it may be able to creep faster than I can turn!

I have watched it sometimes away off in Los Platos, gliding as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind.

If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one! I mean to try it, little by little.

I have found out another funny thing, but I shan’t tell it this time! It does not do to trust people too much. Not even paper people.

There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe Turo is beginning to notice. I don’t like the look in his eyes.

And I heard him ask Clavell a lot of professional questions about me. He had a very good report to give.

He said I slept a good deal in the daytime.

Turo knows I don’t sleep very well at night, for all I’m so unusually still and quiet!

He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and pretended to be very loving and kind.

As if I couldn’t see through him!

Still, I don’t wonder why he acts so, sleeping under this paper for three months.

It only interests me, but I feel sure Turo and Clavell are secretly affected by it.

Hurrah! This is the last day, but it is enough. Turo is to stay in the lab overnight, and won’t be out until this evening.

Clavell wanted to sleep in the room with me—the sly thing! but I told him I should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone.

That was clever, for really I wasn’t alone a bit! As soon as it was moonlight, and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern, I got up and ran to help it.

I pulled and it shook, I shook and it pulled, and before morning we had peeled off yards of that paper.

A strip about as high as my head and half around the room.

And then when the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh at me I declared I would finish it to-day!

We go away to-morrow, and the pokemon movers are taking all my furniture down again to leave things as they were before.

Clavell looked at the wall in amazement, but I told him merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.

He laughed and said he wouldn’t mind doing it himself, but I must not get tired.

How he betrayed himself that time!

But I am here, and no person touches this paper but me—not alive!

He tried to get me out of the room—it was too patent! But I said it was so quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I would lie down again and sleep all I could; and not to wake me even for dinner—I would call when I woke.

So now he is gone, and the pokemon movers are gone, and the things are gone, and there is nothing left but that great bedstead nailed down, with the canvas mattress we found on it.

We shall sleep downstairs tonight, and take a cab home tomorrow.

I quite enjoy the room, now it is bare again.

How those Pokemon did tear about here back in the day!

This bedstead is fairly gnawed!

But I must get to work.

I have locked the door and thrown the key down toward the sandy shore.

I don’t want to go out, and I don’t want to have anybody come in, till Turo comes.

I want to astonish him.

I’ve got a pokeball up here that even Clavell did not find. If that pokemon does get out, and tries to get away, I can catch it!

But I forgot I could not reach far to grab the paper without anything to stand on!

This bed will not move!

I tried to lift and push it until I was lame, and then I got so angry I bit off a little piece of the frame at one corner—but it hurt my teeth.

Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach standing on the floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling bonnet growths just shriek with derision!

I am getting angry enough to do something desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try, as is the glass.

Besides I wouldn’t do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like that is foolish and might be misconstrued.

I don’t like to look out of the windows even—there are so many of those creeping pokemon, and they creep so fast.

I wonder if they all come out of that wallpaper as I did?

But I am safe and sound in my pokeball—you won’t get me out in the road there!

I suppose I shall have to get back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard!

It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and creep around as I please!

I don’t want to go outside. I won’t, even if Clavell asks me to.

For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green instead of scarlet.

But here I can creep along smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long splotch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way.

Why, there’s Turo at the door!

It is no use, Human, you can’t open it!

How he does call and pound!

Now he’s crying for an axe.

It would be a shame to break down that beautiful door!

“Turo, cariño!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key is down by the beach, near the cliff's edge!”

That silenced him for a few moments. Did he understand me? Can he speak in my tongue? Can I speak his?

Then he said—very quietly indeed, “Open the door, my treasure!”

“I can’t,” said I. “The key is down by the beach, near the cliff's edge."

And then I said it again, several times, very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see. Or maybe he just left.

Eventually, he found a way, of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door.

“What is the matter?” he cried. “For god’s sake, what are you doing!”

I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder.

“I’ve got out at last,” roared I, “in spite of you! And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!”

And clearly I'm the stronger one here because my opponent fainted!

But...were we in a battle? Why would he faint? I didn't use a single move.

But he did.

He fainted right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him along my splotched wall path.

#professor sada #lakehouseshipping #professor turo #professor turo x sada #turo #sada #turo x sada #pokemon scarvi

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mariacallous · 3 months

Text

Meduza's The Beet: ‘Russia ruined my old age’

In frontline areas, elderly Ukrainians want nothing more than to outlive the war

By Lucy Duvall

Millions of Ukrainians have been forced to leave their homes since Russia began its full-scale invasion in February 2022. Many people displaced within the country moved to relatively safer western regions, while others fled to Europe or beyond as refugees.

In the eastern hotspots of the war, those who have remained are often low-income, sick, or elderly people, many of whom feel they have nowhere else to go. They live in homes damaged by shelling and walk ruined streets, attempting to find some normality just kilometers away from active front lines. In some areas, this has been the reality since 2014.

Ukraine has one of the highest proportions of older people in the world, with around a quarter of the population over 60 years old. Displaced older people face significant challenges in rebuilding their lives, and many have found themselves crammed into small, shared rooms in temporary shelters or ended up in state institutions throughout Ukraine.

Some of the seniors still living in wartorn areas believe they would be a burden should they move in with their children, and leaving Ukraine would mean starting over again as refugees late in life. For others, remaining in their homes is an act of defiance: Their pride as Ukrainians makes them feel there is nowhere else they would rather be. So they stay, risking death to live out their final years at home — or as close to it as possible.

Kharkiv: Safer than Bakhmut

In Kharkiv, a large three-story building that once operated as a hostel has been turned into a shelter for displaced senior citizens. Many of the residents come from frontline areas. Lyudmyla, 82, came here from Bakhmut, a city in the Donetsk region that Russian forces captured at the end of May 2023 after more than six months of heavy fighting.

Evacuation efforts continued for months, with Ukrainian authorities and volunteers begging lingering residents to leave the city as its fate grew dim. Those who remained in the city the longest were often the most vulnerable people — the disabled, sick, or elderly — or those few who were ��waiting for Russia.” By late May, Bakhmut Mayor Oleksii Reva reported that only about 500 people were still living there, among the ruins.

Born in 1941, Lyudmyla said she was too young to remember living through World War II. But she described her memories from the current war as “terrible.” Before coming to Kharkiv, Lyudmyla had lived in Bakhmut her entire life, and even as Russian forces advanced on the city in the fall of 2022, she was loath to leave the three-room apartment she had once shared with her late daughter.

Most of Ukraine’s elderly people are women — and many of them, like Lyudmyla, have outlived their husbands or other immediate family members. Lyudmyla said her husband died more than 20 years ago and her daughter passed away due to illness just months before the start of the full-scale war.

As a result, Lyudmyla — like so many other older Ukrainian women — found herself living alone in increasingly dire conditions. By the time she evacuated in November 2022, Bakhmut was without water, electricity, and heating. “It was below freezing in my apartment. Everything had frozen: water was standing up in its container,” the 82-year-old said. To keep warm, Lyudmyla wore layer upon layer of sweaters and jackets. “We even slept like that,” she explained. “It was like that day and night.”

Despite the harsh living conditions, Lyudmyla maintained that volunteers evacuated her against her will. “They took one look at me and saw that I was on the fence about it,” she said, recalling the circumstances of her evacuation. “They pulled me from my house. I was standing there like this, in my slippers and dressed in rags, [and] they took me away like that. Everything was left behind in the apartment.”

The volunteers brought Lyudmyla to Dnipro, and from there, she made her way to Kharkiv. She now lives in a small room with two twin-sized beds for her and her roommate. The shelter’s medical staff look after her, and she has all the basic necessities, including food, heating, and a running faucet.

That said, the entire Kharkiv region remains under near-constant attack. Two Russian missile strikes on downtown Kharkiv injured 17 people late on January 16, and smaller settlements in the region report shelling almost daily. Ukrainian officials extended the mandatory evacuation order for families with children in the Kharkiv region earlier this week. According to Governor Oleh Syniehubov, 3,043 people, including 279 children, live in the 26 villages slated for evacuation.

The evacuation order does not include the city of Kharkiv itself, which, for now, is relatively safer than Bakhmut — a devastated, Russian-occupied city surrounded by ongoing hostilities. But a year after her evacuation, Lyudmyla remains indignant. “I haven’t forgotten my city, and I never will. And I curse myself for evacuating — I should have stayed until the end,” she said. “It would have been better to get blown up with that house than here.”

Kupyansk: A frontline town once again

Last March, the Ukrainian authorities began mandatory evacuations of families and other vulnerable residents from Kupyansk — a key railway junction Ukrainian forces had liberated during their surprise counteroffensive in the Kharkiv region in September 2022. Sixteen months after its liberation, Kupyansk is less than 10 kilometers (six miles) from the front line, with Russian forces moving to recapture territory in the northeast.

The Ukrainian authorities completed mandatory evacuations of families with children from the eastern part of Kupyansk in late November. But an estimated 5,500 people were still living in the city, including Oleh and his wife Katya (names changed), who are both in their late eighties.

In the kitchen of their Soviet-built apartment, Katya made tea as she and Oleh told the story of their lives. The husband and wife were born before World War II; Katya spent her childhood in Rostov, in southern Russia, and Oleh in Volnovakha, in eastern Ukraine. Oleh said he remembered Nazi Germany’s troops occupying his hometown when he was just a boy. “Our childhood was like this,” he said, referring to the war raging outside. “The Germans ruined my childhood, and Russia ruined my old age.”

Katya has lived in Ukraine for 70 years, 58 of which she has spent married to Oleh. They built their life together in Kupyansk, raising two children (who have since moved to Europe) and weathering the ups and downs of the Soviet Union’s final decades.

A retired truck driver, Oleh was part of a convoy deployed to Chornobyl (Chernobyl, in Russian) in 1986, after an accident at the nuclear power station caused the worst disaster in the history of nuclear power generation. Oleh said he was tasked with transporting gravel contaminated with radiation from the disaster site. “I was sent there for a month; it was an order,” he recalled. “I left and came back in the same clothes. No one checked for radiation; no one measured it. I didn’t see a single doctor.”

Oleh said his involvement in the clean-up effort earned him veteran’s status, disability benefits, and the apartment where he and his wife still live. Recalling Russia’s annexation of Crimea and incursion into the Donbas region in 2014, Oleh noted that he and Katya have lived through three wars “plus Chernobyl.”

Located just 40 kilometers (25 miles) from the border with Russia and with a pre-war population of almost 27,000 people, Kupyansk was the first town to surrender without condition to Russian soldiers in February 2022. Few had time to escape the city, and locals told journalists that the occupation authorities set up roadblocks, making it impossible for people to leave.

“We woke up in the morning [and] our neighbor said, ‘The Russians have come.’ We don’t know how it happened,” Katya said, recalling the first day of the occupation. In the days that followed, Oleh went out to collect his pension, only to discover that the banks were closed. He then went to the supermarket to buy food and encountered a “sea of people” waiting to receive humanitarian aid.

Millions of Ukrainian seniors rely on government pensions, which averaged around 5,350 hryvnias ($140) per month in the third quarter of 2023. Those living in occupied territories have lost access to these funds altogether and face pressure to take Russian citizenship to receive social support.

Oleh was unable to collect his Ukrainian pension throughout the six and a half months that Kupyansk was under occupation. He said that, in a moment of desperation, he accepted money from the Moscow-installed authorities. “We needed to live. The banks were closed, the ATMs didn’t work, nothing worked. There were only speculators; you’d hand over your card, and they’d go to some place in [Russian-occupied] Luhansk or Donetsk and [take out cash] there,” he explained. “We were surrounded by frauds.”

One day during the summer, Oleh went out to pick up humanitarian aid. He was wearing an old button-up shirt from the Soviet era, emblazoned with the names of factories. A woman waved him to the front of the line, telling him, “Grandpa, you can go first.” Some “correspondents” took pictures of him, Oleh said, which were later “broadcast” in Russia.

Russian state media often reports on Moscow’s “humanitarian missions” in occupied regions of Ukraine. According to Ukrainian media reports, however, occupation authorities in Kupyansk created artificial food shortages and then brought in Russian products that residents couldn’t afford. Oleh and Katya said they didn’t experience any problems with Russian soldiers during the occupation. But other residents weren’t so lucky. After the liberation, Ukrainian authorities discovered four “torture chambers” in various parts of the city.

More than a year later, in the fall of 2023, Russian forces were pushing towards Kupyansk once again. But as of mid-November, the couple refused to leave their home. As the 5:00 p.m. curfew drew nearer, you could hear the distant sound of bombing outside of Oleh and Katya’s home. The elderly couple says they simply wait out the attacks in their apartment. “We’re afraid things might end badly, and we hope they don’t destroy our home,” said Oleh.

“I just hope for positive things,” Katya added. “I don’t want Russia here. Only Ukraine.”

Kostiantynivka: A wartorn haven

A three-and-a-half hour drive away, in Kostiantynivka, Lyuda, 58, and her husband Serhii, 62, live in a tightly packed two-room apartment with their friend Ruslan, 49. From here, the nearest front line is roughly 20 kilometers (12 miles) away.

Lyuda and Serhii are from Dyliivka, a village less than 15 kilometers (nine miles) southeast of Kostiantynivka. Dyliivka was once a vibrant place, home to a “wealthy collective farm,” explained Serhii, who worked as a combine operator harvesting crops on the farm’s 7,000 hectares of land. Lyuda worked there too, as a milkmaid, and the couple raised their two children in a four-room house with a veranda porch. They had never thought of leaving Dyliivka. When war broke out in the Donbas region in 2014, they stayed, even as Russia and its proxy forces captured Kostiantynivka and other nearby towns in the Donetsk region (Ukrainian forces retook these areas within months).

But after the start of the full-scale invasion in February 2022, the situation in Dyliivka quickly deteriorated. On one occasion, Serhii had just returned home from visiting a friend when missiles began whistling overhead. Then came a loud boom: a missile had struck the roof of their neighbor’s house. The blast sent the glass flying from the windows, and debris from the neighbor’s roof hit their house. “When I saw what was happening with my own eyes, I got scared,” Serhii said. “Then the shock wore off, and we stayed.”

The husband and wife continued to live in their damaged home for months. Their neighbors began to flee en masse after a missile strike killed a local man. By mid-December 2022, the small village was without electricity and running water. Those who stayed “had nowhere else to go,” Serhii said. “[For us] it’s the other way around,” he added, explaining that he and Lyuda could always go stay with their adult children in the Dnipropetrovsk region.

“They want us to go there,” Lyuda said.

“I’m the one who doesn’t want to go,” Serhii interrupted.

“I don’t want to go either,” Lyuda continued. “I want to go home to Dyliivka.”

Lyuda came to Kostiantynivka in January 2023 after Serhii implored her to leave their home village and stay with Ruslan in his apartment. Just days after she arrived, however, the apartment complex came under a missile attack. The impact shattered one of the two windows in Ruslan’s home and left the apartment across the hallway in shambles. In shock from the attack, Lyuda ran outside and saw a man lying dead in the road.

Serhii joined his wife in Kostiantynivka in May, moving into Ruslan’s damaged apartment. The three adults now live there together, surviving on the money they make from selling scraps of paper and glass bottles to nearby recycling drop-offs. According to Lyuda, Serhii can’t collect his pension because “his card was blocked.” They sometimes receive aid from Ukrainian soldiers or money from their children, who still encourage them to move. But Lyuda says she’s too afraid to make the journey by car and, on top of that, she doesn’t want to burden her children and their families.

The United Nations estimates that 40 percent of the population in Ukraine, or some 14.6 million people, will need humanitarian assistance in 2024. According to Ukrainian officials, the number of internally displaced people, like Serhii and Lyuda, is approaching five million. And more than 6.3 million Ukrainians live outside the country as refugees.

Asked if he and his wife would consider going abroad, Serhii maintained that he has no desire to go “anywhere far away.” (Under martial law, men between the ages of 18 and 60 are prohibited from leaving Ukraine. But at 63, Serhii is over the conscription age.)

He also brushed off questions about how it feels to live in a damaged apartment. “I’ll speak for all the people who have suffered,” Serhii declared. “Us Ukrainians are thinking about staying alive, and houses are a secondary issue. [We’re just thinking about] staying alive and surviving this war.”

“Our plan is to go home,” Lyuda said. “To survive and go home.”

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f1uckinghell · 1 year

Note

Do any of the packmembers other than Lando and his pregnancy go through a health scare

tw: health and injury

So I think Daniel hurts himself a few times during the work on the farm.

This has come up in the discord before, but there is one pretty nasty injury. The twins are already born, they’re toddlers at this point, and Isa loves „helping“ her daddy out on the farm. They’re just around the pasture, and she toddles on, Dan is a few meters away… and she ends up running towards the electric fence. He doesn’t think about it, just runs and dives to catch her, preventing her from electrocuting herself. However, in doing so, he lands on a fencepost which breaks in such a stupid way that he breaks his leg, basically impales his ass and also gets electrocuted by the fence (but that’s the smallest problem)… at least Isabel is safe, albeit shaken. He has to get surgery for it and all, he can’t work for weeks, and he’s just really frustrated and pissed and bored. He can’t really be a pack Alpha (in the way he wants to) during all of this, also. BUT, that leads to him giving some temporary control to Carlos <3

Max thinks the whole thing was rather brave but stupid, and Michael is just SO grateful that Daniel endangered himself to save their little girl from pain.

#asks #virtues verse #fluff tag #angst tag #pup tag #vv!daniel

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route22ny · 2 years

Text

If you’re a goat, there’s one thing you really like to do: eat. And for the past few years, BART has put goats’ proclivity for munching to work to reduce fire danger on its grassy properties.

Currently, the goats can be seen grazing away on hillsides in Walnut Creek and Hayward. You might spot them from the highway or even a BART train if you keep your eyes glued to the sandy-colored hills or perk your ears to their signature “bah” sounds.

On a recent weekday, high on a hill off Camino Diablo Road in Walnut Creek, wedged between a ravioli factory and the BART tracks, a herd of goats could be seen in silhouette from the road, cresting skittishly over the hillside.

At a closer glance, the goats were in fact hard at work, eating away at the dry brush and grass below their feet as a natural means of reducing fire risk on the property. They stopped only when their herder, Zenobia Mancha, got too close or when a BART train rolled by below (the animals are protected from the tracks by an electrified fence). One kid, or baby goat, who stood just below a human’s knee height, paused to grab a drink of milk from its mother’s udders.

Though adorable, the goats are also highly utilitarian. According to Glen Eddy, BART’s Assistant Superintendent of Way and Facilities, Grounds Maintenance, the goats are used in place of fossil-fuel-reliant lawn mowers and other power tools, which increase the risk of sparking a fire on the drought-stricken grass and increase the safety of human workers, who once had to scale large inclines to clear the same – and very steep – hillsides. Goats are also naturally quiet creatures, thereby decreasing disruption to neighboring areas.

“Most people don’t realize just how much land and properties the District owns and maintains,” Eddy said. “Most of our rights-of-way consist of wide expanses of property to allow for a safety buffer and access to the tracks as need. Almost all are covered by wild grasses and vegetation that requires maintenance year-round.”

Originally, BART would plow or mow the grass and weeds “as much as possible,” Eddy said, “but in many locations, there just isn’t room for equipment to get in there.” Likewise, performing such work by hand was “very slow and costly,” and worker injuries “is a real concern as many of these areas are on hillsides and slopes too steep to be safely cut by hand.” Poison oak proves an issue, too, but goats eat it happily as a “dessert,” Eddy said. Several areas on BART property are also “environmentally fragile” and require less-invasive treatment.

“Goats are all-natural and pretty much go anywhere, too,” Eddy explained. “And they’re just plain fun to watch.”

BART’s goats are contracted by the Coalinga-based, family-owned business Living Systems Land Management, which owns about 4,000 goats. The animals are a cross between Spanish and Boer goats, breeds ideal for this type of work because they typically eat every edible morsel in sight. The goats also work faster than any human could, clearing about one acre each day.

Mancha stays with the goats 24 hours a day, sleeping in a trailer beside the grazing property at night. It’s essential that he’s near the goats – all 450 of them – 24/7 to ward off predators, such as mountain lions, and to make sure the goats don’t “escape by night,” Mancha said, speaking in Spanish through a translator.

“This is a safe area,” Mancha said. “But there is a risk of them wandering onto roads or into homes or onto the freeway and getting run over.”

Mancha, a Peruvian national who worked as an electrical engineer back home, has resided in the United States on an H-2A temporary agricultural worker visa for nearly three years. He intends to return to Peru – with the hope of one day settling in the U.S. permanently – at the end of this year. The herding work, he said, has enabled him to put his four children through university. Two of his children are now engineers, and two are studying accounting and law respectively.

“There’s a lot of pleasure in life,” Mancha said beaming, “But nothing like the pleasure of educating your children.”

Back home in Peru, Mancha grew up around grazing animals. His eighty-year-old father still maintains a herd of sheep, he said. The work can be challenging – and lonely – but it’s worth it for Mancha, who takes great pride in his children’s educations.

“I get lonely, yes, but what can you do,” Mancha said. “I’m pretty used to it after three years. I prefer to have a job.”

BART has used goats to mow its properties for about five years, Eddy said. They mow anywhere from five to 25 acres at each location where they’re grazed. The goats’ work typically costs BART about $800 to $1,200 an acre, and they usually work for about six weeks in the fire-prone summer months. Late-season rain events may require them to return to certain areas “for another ‘haircut,’” however, Eddy said.

BART has a history of getting creative with land and station management. Earlier this year, the transit agency began contracting a falconer and his hawk at El Cerrito del Norte Station to mitigate the station’s pigeon population. The falcon has been a hit with passengers – and has markedly improved the presence of pigeons on the property.

#BART #mass transit #green tech #environmental #goats

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whumpty-dumpty-doo · 25 days

Text

We Are TroubleD - "Feeling Bushed"

Written as a part of @whumperofworlds' WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

Day 5 (my chosen prompts are bolded): Scream / Captivity / "NO!"

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This is part 3 of a 3 part mini-story. Part 1 is here, and part 2 is here

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Content Warnings: Captivity, difficulty breathing, electric shock, exhaustion, fear, injuries (minor), losing hope, manhandling, swearing, recapture, restraints (bound and gagged), struggling, temporary loss of mobility, worry

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It was mental agony waiting for his limbs to wake up from the shock of the fence. T lay on his back in the dirt trying not to fall to pieces as he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He was too out in the open. If he couldn’t get out of there immediately, he was going to be seen, no question about it.

The person making their way up the path wasn’t the farmer coming to investigate like T had hoped. The gruff, threatening voice calling out to him was unmistakable- it was their captor coming after him. The boy’s scream had given away his general location, though he didn’t remember making the noise.

T stifled a sob, biting his bottom lip to keep it contained. This was hopeless. He couldn’t move. How was he supposed to hide, flee, or—if it came down to it—fight?

It couldn’t end like this. One stupid mistake on his part… He was so close to getting help. He couldn’t let D down… His friend was still back there in that psycho’s basement in need of rescue. What had happened to him once the guy found him sitting all by himself? Or had D managed to get away, too? Please… please God… let D have escaped, too…

He closed his eyes again, wanting more than anything to run, but being virtually immobile. T slowed his breathing and tried to control how much his chest rose and fell, holding his breath for as long as he could.

The heavy, slow, prowling clomp, clomp, clomp of the captor’s boots drew closer. Maybe when he found T he would put two and two together- see him laying motionless by the electric fence and think he had died from getting electrocuted. Would he leave him there to rot? If so then T could play possum long enough for him to drive off again.

The odds weren’t great, but they weren’t zero, either. That was all he could hope for.

The boots were right on him now and T squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, focusing all of his energy on holding his breath as he lay in the scraggly wild vegetation.

The man stopped right beside him, just a few feet away, and T tried not to cry as he accepted that it was over. He had been found.

There was a beat of silence, followed by a deep, disappointed sigh from T’s hunter.

“Where the fuck are you?” the man’s voice growled, and under his breath he muttered something about how he “swore the sound came from around here” and “stupid deer”.

T’s heart skipped a beat. He… hadn’t seen him?

Oh my god. The mud he had smeared all over himself… His camouflage had worked. It had actually worked. He wrestled his face into a neutral expression and kept his eyes shut, too scared to move a muscle as the man set off again.

It was only after he no longer heard the distant footsteps that T ventured another attempt at moving his limbs. Quietly, slowly, he bent his arm…

… it moved. Praise Heaven, it moved. His legs responded too. He could get out of here.

The man was a farther distance down into the woods, but not gone yet. T cracked open one eye to see if he could see him, but only saw the clearing and the fence.

He was going to chance it, to try to get back to the cover of the forest. Maybe he could properly bury himself in leaves or clamber up a tree or something until the guy left.

T took one more cautious look around, then rolled himself over and pushed up off the ground. His limbs were shaky, but they held his weight well enough. When he got to his feet, he made a mad dash over to a nearby thicket and practically fell into it, though he was trying his best to not make too much noise or movement.

A thick, overgrown bush was before him, and he dove under it, ignoring the scratches he got from the pokey branches and thorns. The pain didn’t matter; He had to be hidden. It was safer than being out in the open for sure. Every single small noise he made felt like a nuclear bomb to him though.

He got his front half situated as best as he could, but his legs were still sticking out straight behind him, out in the open. He was just about to pull them in when he froze.

Clompclompclompclomp

Son of a— the man was coming back with increased speed. T had rustled around too much getting into the bush. Maybe he should have stayed put where he was.

Damn it. God damn it…

He was fine. He was going to be fine. He was still camouflaged, and now he had better coverage, too. He wouldn’t be seen. He was mostly hidden by the bush. He could just lay still again and hope that his exposed legs blended in enough to hide them.

CLOMP. CLOMP. CLOMP…

Silence. Once again, his hunter had stopped a few feet away from T’s hiding spot and surveyed the area, keeping a sharp eye out for the boy that he assumed would be upright and perhaps tucked behind a tree trunk.

Shaky breaths. Small, terrified, shaky breaths. T had to keep it together… He only hoped that he was keeping his trembling in check and that it wasn’t making the leaves on the bush shake as well.

His whole body clenched when the man let out another furious shout, coupled with a hard stomp into the earth. It seemed like maybe he was giving up. Please, please, please let him be giving up…

“YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER, KID. I’LL FIND YOU, AND THERE’LL BE HELL TO PAY! IF NOT FOR YOU, THEN FOR YOUR LITTLE SHIT OF A BOYFRIEND!”

T’s heart hammered so hard that the sound in his ears was giving him a headache. So, D was still his prisoner. The threat of him being hurt was almost too much to handle. T had to save him. He was going to save him. If only this guy would leave!

The monkey’s paw curled.

The man did turn to leave, pushing through the tall grass that he had waded into trying to investigate the sound of the bush rustling. They were so close to each other, and neither of them had any idea of just how close.

The camouflage had worked again.

Too well, in fact.

The man tripped and stumbled over something soft. Something squishy. Something organic. Something alive. T’s legs.

Oh fuck.

“… Got’cha.”

All bets were off. There was no more sneaking around or being quiet. T scrambled to pull his legs under the bush with the rest of his body, but the man instantly seized onto the ankle closest to him and pulled hard and fast, yanking him a good way out from his hiding spot.

T screamed bloody murder and dug his fingernails into the dirt, blindly kicking at the man with his free leg. He reached desperately for any strong-looking branches that he could grab; Anything to anchor him. Frantic fingers locked around a decently thick one and he held on for dear life as he struggled and kicked and prayed.

“Don’t fucking fight!” the man snarled and gave T another strong tug.

Like hell he wouldn’t fight!!

“HELP!!!” T yelled. “SOMEBODY HELP!!! PLEASE!! HELP ME!!!” he managed to land a hard kick on the man, who took the hit with a grunt.

“You’ll regret that.” he growled.

T gasped as his other leg was caught and held, ensnared in the man’s grasp. Now all his kicking did was make him flop around like a beached mermaid, but he’d be damned if he’d stop fighting.

The force of the next jerk on his legs actually lifted his body up from the ground. Only his grip on the branch that he clung to kept him beneath the bush.

“HELP!!! PLEASE!!! ANYONE! HELP!!” Who was he kidding? He wasn’t Snow White. The forest creatures weren’t coming to save him. No one was.

Tears stung T’s eyes and he cried out in desperate, pleading whines. He pulled with all his might against the man, trying to inch himself back under the bush fully, but the tug of war was intense, especially because he was the rope. His bicep muscles were quaking. It was all too much. He wasn’t sure much longer he could bear this.

SNAP!

T flew backwards as the branch snapped. At least it wasn’t his arms.

“NO! NO! NO!!!” T was leaving claw marks in the soil, breaking branches, plucking entire sections of leaves off of the bushes in one fell swoop, ripping out large clumps of grass by the roots. “LET ME GO! LET ME GO!!!”

But he was completely out in the open again and the man was on top of him, pinning him to the ground with a knee in his back. He fumbled with something that he had withdrawn from his pocket.

“STOP IT! STOP IT!!! LET ME GO! LET ME—”

Another scream was pulled from him against his will, and his remaining breath was stolen right along with it. T sputtered and spasmed, his world once again erupting in a blinding flash of white light as a taser was pushed into his bare side.

He only caught the image for a millisecond before his eyes could focus on nothing more: The lights were on in the house in the distance. The cozy, safe, inviting glow from the windows spilling out into the sleepy morning. The farmer would be out and about soon, ready to tend to his herd. Would he even know that something so violent had happened at the edge of his property? That someone needed his help? That T had almost made it to him?

He was so close. T had been so damn close…

It seemed like a lifetime before the shock stopped, but in reality, it was only a few seconds. The man was no longer directly on top of him, but that didn’t matter. The fight had drained out of T’s body, replaced with a dazed haziness. He felt like he had been hit by a train. The taser shock hadn’t been as intense as the fence, but it had rocked his world all the same.

God, his brain was fried. He whimpered and was still. Just a few seconds… All he needed was a few good seconds to recover, then he could return to fighting as long as he wasn’t shocked again. He wasn’t done... He couldn’t be done.

Click! Tcktcktck.

No… no…

Hopelessness set in almost instantly with the sound of handcuffs being locked into place around his wrists, tight and snug against his flesh. He hadn’t even been aware that his arms had been wrenched behind him.

His eyes welled up with tears and his cheek pressed into the dewy, cold soil, loose from where he had pulled it up.

“No… please, no. Let me go. Please. Please…” his throat was scratchy from screaming so much.

Begging simply wasn’t going to work.

A second pair of cuffs locked around his ankles, and he was stuck again, just in time to regain mobility in his limbs. Of course.

“No… no!” he couldn’t help it; Tears were flowing fast and freely now. He yanked and struggled, but the restraints didn’t budge.

It couldn’t be over. It just couldn’t be. He had made a promise.

“Let me go! Let me g—mmph!” a cloth was shoved in his mouth, and he was too disoriented to see it coming. Duct tape was looped around and around his head, ensuring that the hasty gag would stay in place, even over his dirt-covered skin. T sobbed, his shoulders sinking in despair.

No... No... No…

The man looped his arms up under T’s and hoisted him up, then began to drag him away. T continued to cry, flail, and make muffled pleas as he was hauled from the scene toward the truck.

“Shut the fuck up.” Their captor bit, giving him a quick smack upside the head. “And quit your crying or else you won’t be able to breathe.”

T thrashed in the man’s grasp as if it’d change his situation, but their captor held fast and seemed unaffected. If anything, it just made him tighten his already vice grip.

What T could see of the sunrise through his tears was beautiful. He wished he could watch it fully. It promised a new day. A new hope.

But not for him.

For him it was the promise of a whole new hell, one worse than what he and D had already dealt with.

Whump. He was plopped down into the truck bed without kindness or care. Their kidnapper didn’t want to dirty his cabin, after all. The lining was hard and uncomfortable, but at least T didn’t have to be in there long. He hadn’t gotten that far from the house.

The engine turned over and gravel crunched under the tires as they set off. T propped himself up just enough to peek over the tailgate. The farmhouse shank further and further into the distance and all T could do was watch, helpless, back in the clutches of their captor.

It was over.

Sorry, D.

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Day 5!

Phew, that was a LOT more than I expected to come up with! Gotta feel bad for T... he's devastated that he let D down. At least they'll be back together soon, right?

...

Right?

That's it for T's escape attempt and this mini-story!

... or is it?

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batfall-a · 1 year

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IT had been selfish on his part , the temporary camp had done little to provide the people with COMFORT. the barbed wire electrical fencing had done it's job of assuring CONFORMITY while FEDRA started it's pull upon the remaining population. brash were his actions as the newly formed fireflies in this particular camp got it into their heads that they could OUTSMART fedra. the outcome ? burned fingers , and the smell of flesh. it seemed that there were those who TURNED within their newly formed alliance.

he had met shannon and their connection was instant , he couldn't explain nor did he question it. it was if two souls had previously met , and barred what remained.

are you trying to get yourself killed ? / @diethrice

' it was stupid i know ' a HISS as he then inhales , and shows her his hand , ' i just had been caged enough . . . - i remember this feeling ' SPEAKING OF HIS YOUTH and his helplessness when his parents were ripped away , and he was placed as if he were a precious heirloom instead of a boy. ' i'm sorry . . . ' meeting her eyes before she rolls them slightly so , and tells him to open his palms wider.

#diethrice #. / V. THE LAST OF US (CLOSED)#.001 #!!! TAKING YOU BACK TO WHEN THEY FIRST MET #:)))) hi ilysm

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rebrandedstoryline · 1 year

Text

Rebranded - 7 - Moving In

Moon brings Sun to their new home. There’s a few hiccups, but things seem to be going well.

Word Count: 1,489

When nightfall came, the two animatronics set out towards their potential home. Moon, having already visited the location multiple times, was the one to lead the way. Sun followed close behind, stepping only where his twin had stepped.

The journey took some time. A couple of hours, easily.

The landscape was not even. There were multiple hills which needed to be ascended and multiple drops which needed to be carefully climbed. It was a relatively easy journey for them. Not so much for humans.

That discovery ultimately helped Sun relax. The fact that they could so easily flee if needed. The fact that they could go back to their temporary shelter at any moment if something happened. The fact that the terrain meant that humans would struggle to maintain chase if they were found. All of it brought him a sense of comfort.

The opportunity to escape would not be so easily lost. The risk of being decommissioned seemed just a little less prevalent.

Upon arriving at the house in question, Sun hesitated for a moment before following his twin. As he hesitated his solar flares flickered and rotated ever so slightly, before retracting completely into his head for a split second.

Moon made no move to rush his twin, well aware of what Sun was doing. The sensors used to detect signs of life were stored in their rays. Sun was just making sure that there were genuinely no people loitering about in the empty house. Once the house was concluded to indeed be empty, the hesitant animatronic resumed following after his brother.

Just as had been promised, there were a lot of plants to be found. Plants which had clearly been planted by people. Plants which would bear fruit. Plants which would serve a purpose. Around the house itself there were berry bushes. They did not know what sort of berries were growing on these bushes, but they were berries nonetheless.

As Moon had mentioned, there were strange looking black panels set up upon the roof. If those panels were somehow involved in solar power, then that would absolutely explain why the house still had electricity.

Speaking of the house, it was definitely smaller than the animatronics were accustomed to. The daycare had been much larger, roughly the size of a small warehouse. They had been made taller in order to make working in that space easier.

Getting used to a normal building would prove difficult. That would probably be the only downside, though.

The AI would be able to make due with the luck they had been given.

“There’s a lot of yard space.” Moon abruptly spoke, taking a moment to point in the distance. “We’re too far away to see it, but there’s a fence marking the perimeter of the property. So we’ll have an established territory if we keep within the borders. We can treat it like the daycare… Stay within the boundaries and take care of what we have.” He explained, seemingly attempting to make the transitional period easier on his sibling.

All the while he unintentionally used language befitting a security bot.

“Moony, are your security protocols still active?” Sun jokingly inquired, attempting to poke a bit of fun at how his twin had started to speak. The question coaxed what seemed to be an awkward laugh out of the nocturnal bot.

“My security protocols... They aren’t exactly inactive, but they aren’t active either. Somewhere in the middle. I’m always on alert, but my system isn’t giving me any false flags.” Moon explained, his tone rather quiet and a bit uneasy. The subject was not a comfortable one for him to discuss, given his background. Though he did not hold it against his sibling to try and lighten the mood. “It doesn’t matter, though. Come. I’ll show you the way inside.” He added, quickly changing the subject before Sun could become distracted by the somber tone of his earlier reply.

“Can’t we use the door?” Sun inquired, rightfully confused. He could see the entrance from where they stood.

“No, not really. The door has some sort of a mechanical lock in place. Whoever abandoned the house, they set up precautions to try and keep others out. The front and back door and all of the windows on the bottom floor are locked up tight. We’ll break them if we try to use them.” Moon explained, somewhat anxiously as he unloaded this information. He suspected that his sibling may find this knowledge at least somewhat distressing.

“W-wouldn’t that mean that someone might notice us going in? A security alert could go off...” Sun replied nervously, now seeming incredibly hesitant to approach the building.

“I tested that theory already.” Moon stated in turn, shifting so that he could put a comforting hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “I would not have brought you here if I didn’t consider this building completely safe. Any potential risk, I made sure it was not an issue. The windows on the second floor are not locked. The window leading to the attic is how I’ve been getting into the house. I have gone in multiple times and explored every room to test and see if any sort of alarm would go off. No one has ever come to investigate. So long as we don’t fool around with the windows or doors on the bottom floor, we’ll be fine.” He stated, making it very clear that he had already thought of the potential risks of moving into the abandoned house.

Whatever security system was in place; if there was one in place; it would only be activated by damaging the integrity of the mechanical locks.

“I-I... I’m sorry, Moony. You’re-re ri-right. I’m just sc-sc-ared...” Sun stammered, a sort of anxiety induced vocal glitch taking hold of his voice box as he spoke. It was a symptom of high emotional distress. One that the technicians had never quite managed to work out of his system.

Moon could only attempt to coax his sibling towards the house. The vocal glitch would go away on its own once Sun’s stress had been reduced.

“It's alright, Sun. You’re alright. You know I’d never let anything hurt you. I promise.” Moon replied, gently tugging his twin towards the building.

Sun did not reply for fear of his vocal stammer rendering him incomprehensible. He simply allowed his brother to lead him to the entrance of their new home.

Thanks to their height and the long reach of their limbs, they were able to make their way to the third floor of the building without any issues. The large windows leading to the attic opened inward, allowing the two to make their way inside without need for any acrobatics.

As Moon had warned, the inside of the building was caked in dust. The attic in particular was filthy when compared to the rooms below. Aside from a few crumbling boxes, the attic was entirely empty. It was home only to dust and cobwebs.

Dusty cobwebs at that. The spiders that had built them had moved on long ago due to lack of food.

Moving down to the second floor, everything was cleaner. Still covered in dust, but nowhere near as filthy as the space above.

Moon’s footprints from the previous nights of exploration were proof enough that he had explored the building multiple times in search of potential threats.

The two had to crouch in order to move through doorways, but thankfully the ceilings were just high enough that they could stand without issue. For as small as the house was when compared to the daycare, it wasn’t all bad. Large compared to the homes that the pair had crept by in the city. But having had so little first hand experience with houses, it was unclear if this home was on the larger side or not.

Sun was relieved to find that the house was not as cramped as he thought it may be. Surprised, even. Now that he had actually gone inside and seen all of the evidence of Moon’s investigations for himself, he had calmed down considerably.

“This... This might actually work~” Sun chimed, sounding hesitant for a split second, before his chipper tone returned. Thankfully his vocal stammer had gone away.

Moon smiled at his brother, pleased to hear that they were content with their new home.

“We’ll just need to clean up a bit~” Moon replied, a sort of playful tone sneaking into his voice as he spoke.

“Clean up~! Clean up~!” Sun half sang in turn, waving his hands about slightly as a show of excitement.

Yes. This could work.

The building was secure and there would be no issue maintaining power.

This was a perfectly suitable home for a pair of runaway animatronics. If fate remained kind, they would keep it. They would tend to it.

If they were lucky, maybe they could even come to love it. Just maybe.

#Rebranded #Rebranded AU #Rebranded Storyline #Sundrop #Moondrop #Daycare Attendant #FNAF #fnaf:sb #FNAF AU

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